Chapter 3
Everything around me is blurry.
It might be the alcohol, rushing through my veins like horses on a hunt.
Maybe it’s the dizzying movement of Aileen spinning me around in circles on the dance floor.
It might very well be the way Charles looks at me across the room, talking to his advisers, but never quite taking his eyes off me.
We have barely spoken a word to each other and yet, I belong to him, utterly and completely.
His ring on my finger, his name on my lips, his essence wrapped around me in an eternal embrace.
The King’s hall is ablaze with candlelight.
Stone pillars rise toward a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, their pale surfaces glowing gold where the flames catch, then sinking back into darkness again.
Hundreds of candles line the walls and tables, their wax weeping slowly in the heat, the air thick with the smell of tallow and smoke.
The light flickers constantly, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
The windows stand open, tall and narrow, cut deep into the stone. Beyond them, the night hums with life. There are people in the streets below—laughter and music, the rough joy of celebration carries upward in waves. Their voices drift into the hall like a distant tide, joyful and unrestrained.
Inside, the heat is relentless. Silk and velvet cling to damp skin; wine flows freely, adding its sharp, sweet tang to the air.
There is the smell of sweat beneath the perfumes and spilled beer, of bodies packed too closely together.
The warmth presses in from all sides, and the open windows offer no relief—outside, the air is just as heavy.
I twirl again, my dress flaring, momentarily cutting off my view of Charles. When I turn back, he is gone.
A shiver glides down my back, not unpleasant, but…unfamiliar.
I pretend to keep dancing, but my eyes are searching for him in the crowd. My gaze catches on a couple up on the balcony. The man’s back is turned to me, but I can see two hands with bright red nails digging into his back, pulling him closer.
I know what they are doing.
I might be innocent in all the ways that matter physically, but I am no fool.
Growing up in a rural castle meant listening to the maids talk and asking my own questions in return.
But seeing the carnal lust between this man and his lady is exhilarating.
The way he presses himself into her, his head buried in the crook of her neck, her hands flexing on his ass, pulling him closer still.
Heat curls in my stomach and an insistent, pulsing rhythm settles between my legs, making me ache. Oh to be touched liked that!
Soon, Ada, soon…
“Do you like what you see?” a smooth voice murmurs behind me.
I do not need to turn to know who is there.
“I was not—I mean, I was, my lord, but I have no knowledge of what is transpiring up there,” I babble too loudly.
Charles chuckles.
“That is a shame. But of course it’s only proper for the blushing bride to be innocent in all matters.”
I was imagining my death to be dramatic and violent, but it turns out I might just die of shame.
I stare ahead, trying to look anywhere but at the couple, who have since started moving toward the staircase.
“Turn around, Fastrada.”
It’s a command, clipped and direct, yet without any malice.
I press my hand to my heart.
And turn.
This is the first time I am truly looking at him up close.
I have to crane my neck to be able to take him in.
His hair is dark and slightly mussed, the crown Charles was wearing during the ceremony is gone.
His gray eyes are alight with amusement, the faint lines around them indicating that he is a good bit older than me.
His mouth is relaxed, the beard neatly trimmed back.
There is kindness in his gaze, but also something else I cannot quite place yet.
I lower my eyes to my hands, suddenly self-conscious about how I must look. I have been dancing all night.
Charles reaches out and places his finger underneath my chin, tilting my head up.
“No looking away, Fastrada. You are a queen now. A wolf never breaks eye contact.”
He releases my chin and offers me his elbow. I nod and hook my hand into the crook of his arm. There are so many things I want to ask him, so much I don’t know. And yet, in this moment, I am utterly speechless.
“Have you eaten, my Queen?” Charles asks as we walk along the columned rows to take a turn around the room.
“Yes, thank you my Lord. It was excellent.”
He hums. “I hunted the deer myself, did you know that?”
“I did not. I have heard of your love for hunting, but I was not aware that the King takes it upon himself to hunt for such an occasion.” Devil’s mercy, I sound like my mother.
“There are only few things more liberating than a good hunt. After all, it is my duty to care for the people in my court, don’t you think?” I can see him looking at me from the corner of my eye.
“Indeed, my Lord, and we are all grateful for your protection and loyalty toward your kingdom.”
He stops and turns toward me, his eyes searching my face. I stare back at him, unsure of where to look or what to say. A wolf never breaks eye contact. So I stare.
His eyes fall to my lips and a small smile spreads across his face.
He leans in, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin.
“You are oh so polite and demure, my Queen. I cannot wait to see you transform into the passionate, outspoken woman I know you to be. I will delight in seeing you unravel, peeling away those polite manners one by one, until you forget how to whisper and must speak the truth with your whole body.”
With that, he pulls back and drops a chaste kiss on the back of my gloved hand.
And I am left standing between the thick marble columns, feeling as though he stripped me bare. My heart thuds loud in my ears, my skin still tingling where his breath had brushed it. I feel undone, as if he has reached inside me and shifted something I did not know was there.
I am flushed, breathless, and strangely light-headed. A hot, shameful awareness coils low in my stomach, making me want to both shrink into the shadows and run after him.
What is happening to me?
“There you are!” An excited shriek pulls me out of my trance.
Aileen appears next to me, alongside a young lady whom I recognize from the ceremony.
“Aileen, it is good to see you,” I stammer. My mouth feels too dry to speak.
“Are you quite alright, my Queen?” Aileen asks with a concerned tone to her voice, taking my arm and guiding me toward some chairs at the back of the room.
“Yes, of course, just feeling parched after all the dancing,” I say with an unnatural smile on my face.
“Sit down, m’lady, I will arrange for a drink,” the other woman interjects.
As soon as she is out of earshot, Aileen turns to me.
“Oh devil’s mercy, did I see the King speaking with you just now? What did he say? Was he kind to you? I heard he is quite the conversationalist,” she babbles on.
I like the way she talks. Her voice has a slight rasp to it, and it habitually curls upward at the end of her sentences. It makes her sound…hopeful, as if any second something wonderful might happen.
“Yes, we took a few steps together. He was kind and rather…charming,” I lie. He had been more than that. But Aileen is still a stranger, and I am not inclined to confide in her so quickly.
“Charming, huh? He is very handsome, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Aileen giggles.
“That he is, but I fear I am feeling a little uncertain about how to talk to him. He speaks his mind freely, but after all, he is the King, so why shouldn’t he?” I answer truthfully.
Aileen bites her lip, her brows drawing together in thought.
“I would think that the King wants his wife to be authentic in private conversations. There are enough people telling him what he wants to hear, I assume.”
I nod and look over to where Charles is standing, talking to his adviser, Aynhard.
The latter seems displeased with something, but Charles is laughing, so whatever has Aynhard upset, doesn’t seem to bother the King.
With a slap to his back, Charles sends his adviser on his way and turns toward me again.
The moment he sees me watching, he raises an eyebrow and smirks.
Devil’s mercy, why do I have to be so obvious? Gawking at him like the lovesick girl that I am.
Aileen chatters on as she settles beside me, smoothing her skirts, her voice a steady stream. I nod in the appropriate places, though my thoughts are still elsewhere.
“…and truly, the musicians are better tonight than they were at the spring feast—oh!” She leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Did you notice Lord Aynhard earlier? He looked positively sour, didn’t he?”
My attention sharpens at once. “I did,” I say carefully. “I have heard of him.”
Aileen’s brows lift. “Of course you have. Everyone has.” She glances toward the far side of the hall, where Aynhard stood not long ago. “He has been at the King’s side for years. Since before …” She trails off, lips pressing together.
“Before Queen Hilde,” I finish.
“Yes,” Aileen says softly. “Before her.”
I slowly turn the ring on my finger. “My father warned me about Lord Aynhard,” I admit. “He said I should be…wary.”
Aileen nods. “That sounds like good counsel.”
“Because of Queen Hilde?” I ask.
“In part. His family was close with hers. Very close. They were…fond of one another.”
The words feel carefully chosen.
“What was she like?” I ask, unable to keep the question from my lips. “Queen Hilde.”
Aileen exhales, as though weighing her answer. “She was gracious. Quiet, in her way. Not weak…just…gentle. She listened more than she spoke, but when she did speak, people paid attention.” She hesitates. “The King adored her.”
My fingers still. “Did he love her?”
“I believe he did,” Aileen says without hesitation.
I glance across the hall, to where Charles stands laughing with one of his lords, broad-shouldered and at ease, as though the weight of grief has never touched him.
“It is strange, then that he seems so carefree. And that he should remarry so quickly.” I swallow. “She has only been gone a few months.”
Aileen follows my gaze. “That is the way of kings,” she says gently. “The crown does not wait for mourning. Alliances must be secured. Succession ensured.”
“I know,” I reply. Of course I know. I have been taught all of this. And yet the knowledge offers little comfort.
Aileen babbles on about this and that, her words blurring together until they become nothing more than sound. At some point, the other lady presses a goblet into my hand. I take it out of habit alone; I do not drink. I do not even look at it. My eyes remain fixed on Charles.
See me.
Notice me.
Come to me.
What a curious thing—to crave the attention of a man I barely know.
And yet, in this moment, his presence feels like the only one I could bear.
The room is full of people, full of voices and movement and expectation, but all of it feels distant, muted, as though I am watching the world through glass.
They come to me one by one, offering congratulations, praise, blessings meant for a new queen. These are the moments I had imagined, the ones I thought I would savor. And yet, I feel overwhelmed by the attention.
When our eyes meet, a small smile spreads across Charles’s face.
He does not come to me at once. Instead, he lingers where he is, speaking briefly to another courtier, as though deliberately testing my patience.
Or perhaps my composure? I sit straighter, schooling my expression into something suitably queenly.
When he finally crosses the room, he does not look hurried.
If anything, he seems amused, like a hunter who knows his prey is already caught. He stops just short of me and bows.
“You study me very intently, wife.”
The word sends a small, treacherous warmth through me.
“I was not aware I was so obvious, sire.”
“Oh, you are.” His mouth curves. “I find myself wondering what conclusions you have drawn.”
Conclusions. As though I am meant to understand him.
“I was attempting to decide,” I say carefully, “how I ought to address you.”
His brow lifts slightly. “Ought?”
“You are my King,” I answer, keeping my voice steady. “Yet earlier you spoke to me as though…” My courage falters, but I press on. “As though we shared some private understanding.”
A glint of amusement lights his eyes.
“And that troubles you?”
“I do not know which version of you I am meant to answer.”
For a moment he only looks at me. The noise of the court feels very far away.
“You answer the man who stands before you,” he says at last.
“And who is that?”
His voice lowers, not enough to draw notice, only enough that I must lean closer to hear.
“Your husband.”
My pulse stumbles.
“The crown is for them,” he adds lightly, with the faintest tilt of his head toward the watching courtiers. “You may leave it where it belongs.”
I nod wordlessly.
His gaze flicks briefly to Aileen, polite but unmistakably dismissive. “May I steal my wife away for a moment?”
Aileen scrambles to her feet, curtsying so deeply I fear she may topple.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Charles offers me his hand this time, palm up.
I hesitate only a heartbeat before placing mine in his.
His fingers close around mine. He leads me away from the noise and heat of the hall, toward a narrow passage half-hidden behind a tapestry.
The music dulls as we step into the cooler shadows, the stone beneath my slippers chilled and steadying.
Here, away from the crowd, he releases my hand, but not entirely. His thumb lingers at my wrist, resting over my pulse.
“You are overwhelmed,” he observes.
“I am…learning,” I reply. “Everything is new.”
His expression softens at that, something gentler eclipsing the sharp amusement. “Then let this be something simple,” he says. “You need not perform for me tonight. Not here. Not yet.”
I look up at him, startled by the kindness in his voice.
“And what would you have me do instead?”
“Breathe,” he says, faintly smiling. “Stand with me. Let them see us together, even when we say nothing at all.”
He steps closer—not enough to touch, but enough to make a point. For the first time since the ceremony, I do not feel like a girl being shaped into a queen. I feel…chosen.
And when he offers me his arm once more, I take it without hesitation.