Chapter 33 Mother
XXXIII Mother
I wake up to a sunlit room, finding only Arvi in bed with me. He sits up against the headboard, reading a book.
He’s wearing spectacles.
“Um… Good morning.”
He turns to me with a grin, marking his place with a folded piece of paper. “How did you sleep?”
I stare at him. The spectacles are round, their frames thin and gold. Arvi could never look scholarly with the tattoos and all those knives hidden around his person, but he does have a certain intellectual air now. It’s very attractive.
“Thank you,” I answer when he frowns at my silence. “What are you reading?”
“Oh,” he says with a sly smile. “I stole it from your castle’s library. You had nine copies of it. It seemed important.”
He shows me the cover. It’s a book I know well and hate—Lady Darbury’s Manual for Young Ladies’ Betterment and Education.
It’s a very thick, heavy tome, and we had so many copies because Avinia used to beat me with it whenever I turned out to be a disgrace and a disappointment—so a few times a week, on average.
“Why would you read this horrible thing willingly?” I ask with distaste.
“I see you’re familiar. Well, I want to understand you better.
I had little time to read when we rode, but I dove in this morning.
It’s quite fascinating. Considering you grew up with all these rules, I’d say you turned out all right.
A princess who actually followed all of these would be an abomination. ”
I snort in agreement. “Have you seen the part about the appropriate ways to smile? My governess had me practice in front of the mirror for days until my face was numb, and she still beat my hands every evening and pronounced my smiles unseemly.”
Arvi turns his face away, his spectacles flashing as light reflects off them. He clears his throat.
“You can’t say things like that and expect us not to have that woman drawn and quartered, laruna,” he says, still not looking at me.
“It makes me so angry to imagine you beaten for something so ridiculous. I don’t know what to do with that anger if I can’t at least pull out her teeth for daring to criticize your gorgeous smile. ”
I know he said some significantly more outrageous things, but all I focus on is gorgeous smile.
My chest squeezes a little, but not as much as it used to every time one of them gave me a compliment which I knew was untrue. Instead, butterflies take flight in my belly, and I remember last night, Khay and Raduna kissing sweet things into my skin, forcing me to take the praise with pleasure.
I’m lighter now, light enough to consider it. Maybe my smile truly is beautiful?
I let myself believe it and beam at him, so happy and fizzy inside. His jaw slackens, and he swallows roughly.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Fucking stunning. I love your smile.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, not brave enough to say it with my whole chest. “But pulling teeth, Arvi? That’s so gruesome!”
“It’s fitting.” He shrugs. “Teeth for lying about your smile, fingers for beating your hands, and her fucking heart for making you hurt and cry. It’s fair, no?
And it’s not like you’d have to watch it.
I’d just have my fun until all the anger was gone, then I’d wash up, tell you it’s done, and fuck you sweetly. What’s not to like?”
He bares his sharp teeth in a grin and I sigh, my shoulders dropping in defeat.
“I like your smile, too,” I whisper, cupping his cheek in my palm. “And I like the last part. Would it make me a monster if I agreed?”
He shrugs as if it’s of no consequence at all. “You’re married to the bloodthirsty Tyrant and cavorting with his fearsome knights in this very bed. I’d say you’re a monster already—our sweet little beast.”
He smiles and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. My breath catches, and Arvi pushes his spectacles up his nose, flipping through the book.
“You have your own courting rituals, you know,” he says with a snicker.
“There is a whole chapter here. See? “Proper Conduct with Suitors.” It says you should smile with dimples at every young man who brings you a gift, pays you a compliment, and asks you to dance. You are to laugh at their jokes, and use your fan to cover your face a lot to appear mysterious. Oh, and you should never tell a man he’s wrong, or you’ll be called a harridan and die husbandless and alone. ”
My nostrils flare when I remember this lesson. Avinia forced it into my head, and I never even had one opportunity to use those skills in practice. What a waste of time.
“Well, Lady Darbury clearly has no idea since I got a husband just fine,” I mutter, throwing the book a baleful look. “And not once did I have to simper.”
“Simper? What even is that?” Arvi asks, turning the pages with a frown.
I fold my hands demurely in my lap, tilt my head just so, and flutter my lashes prettily, keeping the corners of my lips turned up like I was taught.
“Oh, mister Arvi,” I say in a high, girly voice. “You are such a smart man! Thank you so much for explaining that to me. I’m sure my silly female self would be quite lost without your guidance!”
He stares at me, aghast, then bellows with laughter. “Fuck, please, no! Stop making that face, you look like a creepy doll. Can you imagine doing that to Magnar when he told you to marry him? Oh fuck, he would have run from that priest!”
There’s a sound behind me, but Arvi snatches my hand before I can turn to see. His expression grows mischievous.
“Do it again, please. Show me. How would you have simpered at Magnar when you met?”
I giggle and clear my throat, straightening. I bat my eyelashes at Arvi and fold my lips into a childish moue that Avinia insisted was my only good expression.
“Oh my, how big you are, Mister Tyrant! Of course I shall give you my hand in marriage. I am quite a lost little lamb and need a big man like you to tell me what to do! Oh, shall you catch me in those big, muscled arms if I faint? I am quite overcome by your strong, masculine aura!”
“Keep making fun of me and I’ll show you a strong, masculine aura,” comes a growl from the door behind me.
I turn with a gasp to see Magnar, his forehead lined with anger, arms folded on his chest. His jaw works, belligerent gaze drilling into me. Behind me, Arvi snickers meanly. I glare at him with outrage.
“You knew he was there! You goaded me!”
“Yeah, well, I wanted Magnar to see what kind of a bride he would have gotten if any of the earlier princesses weren’t deceased,” Arvi says, still laughing. “That’s how they teach those girls to speak to men. She wasn’t making fun of you but of this stupid book. Caliane isn’t like that.”
My husband closes his eyes and clenches his fists, exhaling a long, controlled stream of air. I fidget uneasily. I haven’t seen him since we fought yesterday.
“Are you angry?” I ask in a small voice. “I apologize, I didn’t mean…”
“Stop. Don’t fucking apologize to me. I’m not angry.”
“Look down,” Arvi says in a loud whisper, just as Magnar presses his hand to his tented crotch. “Did the simpering trick do that, man? Huh. Maybe that lady was on to something when she taught girls to do that.”
Magnar groans with fury, turns around, and leaves. From the abruptness of his movements, I expect him to slam the door, but he closes it quietly.
“Right,” Arvi says, his smile growing fixed. “Let me get you dressed nice and fast, and we’ll have you take breakfast in his study, hm?”
I snort, watching him bang the doors of my wardrobe in haste. “Are you afraid of him? Really?”
Arvi doesn’t look at me, quickly sifting through dresses in bold, jewellike colors: ruby, amethyst, sapphire, amber… My head spins as the fabrics rustle; even the sounds they make are different from Farneerian dresses. I can already tell the cuts are unlike the ones I’m used to wearing.
“Man’s pining, laruna. He has all this work to do when the only thing he wants is to breed his wife twelve times a day. Are you all better, by the way? If you are, let him have his way with you on his desk. It should lift his spirits right up.”
“O-on his desk?” I shake my head, bewildered, and Arvi turns to me with a wide grin, holding an emerald dress that’s made of liquid silk and black lace.
“Yes. His desk. And wear this.”
I finger the dress with trepidation while Arvi pushes my flimsy nightshirt up my legs, his breath catching. I let him undress me, and he presses the dress to my front, turning me to a tall mirror by the wardrobe.
“Definitely. And nothing underneath.”
I shake my head, scandalized, but before I can protest, he stands in front of me, bending low so we’re face to face.
“Lady Darbury is far away, sweet,” he whispers, his mouth so close, I taste his breath. “She’s not going to clutch her pearls if you wear fewer than three petticoats. Live a little, hm?”
He brushes my lips in the faintest kiss and pulls away, looking smug as ever.
I lift my arms obediently, and he puts the dress on me.
I gasp when it slithers down my skin, cool and soft, molding to my body like no garment I’ve ever worn.
The bodice is thicker than the flowy skirt, and it doesn’t detach.
Arvi secures it tightly with a sash sewn into the fabric, helping me into flat, green slippers, and points at the mirror.
“Look at you. Agnidari queen ready to make her husband happy.”
I stare at my reflection, awed and shocked.
The dress is utterly indecent, showing off every curve of my figure.
My breasts aren’t as tightly bound as they normally are, yet they are gathered nicely, pushing up against the low neckline.
The thin sleeves are long, the skirt deceptively simple.
When I turn, the outline of my buttock and thigh is clearly visible through the clingy fabric.
“And hair,” Arvi mutters, combing his fingers through my tangled strands while I gape at the seductive, outrageous nymph in the mirror. “That should do it. Bedhead, but tamed. It’s good enough, and I can’t do better, anyway. Come on.”