Chapter Two
H e was too short, as usual.
The robe pooled around his shiny boots, and Jem felt like a silly child playing dress-up instead of a man on his wedding day. Scowling, he rolled up the sleeves of the traditional wedding robe a cleric had brought him that morning, neatly folded and smelling of lemons.
The white, lightweight material went over his head and draped down over his body, his arms poking through wide, overlong sleeves.
It was designed to fall to a person’s knees, and he wore his regular thin, tight breeches underneath.
Cador would wear the same white robe, although his would surely be quite a bit larger.
The robes had wide collars, and Jem’s dipped down almost to his nipples.
The austere chamber had no looking glass, but any doubt about how ridiculous he may or may not have looked was put to rest as Locryn and Pasco burst through the door without pausing to knock, a bottle in hand. Jem cursed himself for not barricading it.
He nodded, jaw tight. “I look foolish. I’m well aware.”
“Oh, don’t pout!” Pasco grinned. “It does nothing to elevate your stature.”
“Nothing would but lifts in your boots,” Locryn added. He and Pasco were tall, with the same glossy dark curls as the whole family. Locryn winked at Jem and nudged his shoulder. “Cheer up, brother. You’ll finally get your wish.”
“My wish is to go home and be left alone,” Jem muttered.
Putting the bottle on the little table in the corner, Pasco rolled his eyes. “That’s not what you want.”
“It is! I want to go home!
Pasco’s gaze narrowed shrewdly. “Come now. What you want is a burly man to sweep you up in his arms and fuck you ’til you can’t walk straight.”
Locryn chortled, agreeing with Pasco as always, and Jem huffed.
Pasco was the eldest and bossiest and hadn’t outgrown playing pranks even after marrying the daughter of a wealthy trader and becoming a father.
They’d never been close, yet Pasco still seemed able to peer into Jem’s soul and read him so very easily.
“I don’t want it to be him !” Jem exclaimed before he could school himself. He hadn’t confided in Pasco so much as his favorite flavor of summer iced treats since he was a child and didn’t know better. Pasco could take even the most innocuous information and twist it into some prank.
Locryn laughed, but Pasco only sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you do. He’s no brave and handsome royal soldier, that’s for certain.”
That particular debacle was the last thing Jem wanted to contemplate. “Please, can you leave me be? I assure you I’ll be humiliated enough today without you lending a hand.”
Pasco scoffed. “We’ve no wish to see you humiliated, as much as you enjoy playing the victim.”
Bristling, Jem clenched his fists. “Don’t give me that. You made me think that soldier desired me—”
“Because I thought he did! And I knew you were far too timid to proposition him without encouragement.” Pasco ran a hand through his curls before letting his arm drop.
“You know the outcome wasn’t what I intended.
I thought the soldier had good taste and would accept your offer. I was trying to help.”
Jem opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. For once, Pasco wasn’t smirking. His brown eyes regarded Jem steadily with…sincerity? Still, he muttered, “I know no such thing.”
Locryn watched Pasco with a furrowed brow. “Do you mean that winter feast when the Eastern queens visited? The one when—”
“ Yes ,” Pasco snapped.
Locryn’s confusion only seemed to grow. “But that was ages ago. You’re still bothered by it?” He blinked at Jem incredulously. “Forget that fool of a soldier.”
“Perhaps that’s easy for you two, but I’m not—I don’t—” This was why he’d spent his nights with his books instead of seeking a lover. He’d been safe. He’d been in control. He hadn’t had to deal with the chaos of other people.
Pasco sighed. “I did try to convince Mother to call it off, but she won’t. You’ve no choice, I’m afraid.”
Jem hesitated. Again, Pasco seemed unnervingly genuine. “You did?”
“Yes, but she won’t be budged. I’d actually thought you and Treeve of the West might be a good match. Alas.” Pasco uncorked the wine and filled a goblet, passing it to Jem. “Here. This will calm your nerves.”
Yes, Treeve was handsome and muscled in a much more reasonable manner, and though the West had long been their adversaries, he was far less terrifying a prospect as a husband. But it was apparently too late now.
Glumly, Jem sniffed the wine, ready to gulp it even if it was some trick. Santo came in, not bothering to knock either. Santo frowned at their brothers. “What are you two up to?”
“Celebrating our brother on his wedding day!” Pasco insisted with indignation so sincere Jem had to snort.
Jem said, “Like my birthday when you gave me cakes full of hwyja berries and I spent the day with the chamber pot? Or when you told me you’d found a nest of dillywig hatchlings in the caves and I searched for hours and was left in the dark when my torch burned out?”
“You conquered your fear of the caves, didn’t you?” Pasco opened his arms wide. “You’re welcome.”
Santo sniffed the wine bottle. “You two drink first.”
Pasco and Locryn did, insisting there was no trickery. Santo poured themselves a goblet and sipped it suspiciously, but Jem didn’t risk it. The last thing he needed was to be violently ill at the altar in front of everyone.
“Why do you think they’ve come back recently?” Jem asked. “It’s been lifetimes. I didn’t even think there was anything in the Askorn Sea but ice and rock. Has anyone sailed to the North but the clerics?”
“Not that I know of,” Pasco said. “The new bits of trade with Ergh goes through the clerics too. No one would risk that icy sea without the gods’ permission. The clerics have always nattered on about making Onan whole again, but we’ve done just fine without Ergh if you ask me.”
Locryn shrugged. “Perhaps they’re lonely.”
“They must want something,” Santo said. “Aside from peace and unity.”
“They want our baby brother, it seems.” Pasco grinned, white teeth gleaming. “It’s just like one of your fanciful stories, Jem. Married to a savage! Come on, it’s exciting. Admit it.”
“It’s exciting when it happens on the page! Not when it’s real .”
Pasco shrugged. “Well, that leather conceals nothing, and the barbarian’s prick seems very real. So do try and enjoy it. You’ve stayed a virgin long enough. Take the plunge.”
Santo frowned. “How did you know he’s still a virgin?”
“How did you not?” Pasco threw up his hands.
Locryn unhelpfully added, “Even I knew that. Remember when—”
“Can we please stop discussing it?” Jem begged. He gulped the wine, throwing caution to the wind.
His mind whirled with images of his betrothed—muscles and stubble and yes, an impressive bulge in that tight leather.
What would it feel like under his fingers?
Like his own cock? Would it taste sweaty and…
wild? Morvoren’s merman tasted of salt and freedom, and she loved it when he fucked her mouth and spent down her throat.
Jem imagined himself on his knees. Naked, though the barbarian still wore boar skins and fur and those massive boots that came up to mid-shin, the leather and buckles rough compared to the smooth, supple material of Jem’s thin boots.
He imagined the ache in his jaw as he submitted, taking the thick rod of flesh into his mouth.
Letting the barbarian use him. Thick, rough fingers tugging his curls, holding him in place.
Perhaps his hands would even be bound tightly behind him.
He’d be helpless, at the mercy of the barbarian and his huge cock, barely able to breathe…
Jem coughed and turned to the window, glad of the voluminous robe.
His imagination had always run wild, but the thrum of desire was quickly doused by an icy shiver of fear.
His mind was his own kingdom. He was master there, but the barbarian he was being forced to wed was all too real and beyond Jem’s control.
“To Jem on his wedding day.” Santo held their goblet high. “May he find love and good fortune.”
Pasco added, “Not to mention—”
“Even more love and good fortune!” Santo said loudly, glaring at Pasco.
Jem drank to that, praying to the gods he didn’t believe in that his groom wouldn’t be as beastly as he feared.
*
Through the marble archway, the courtyard temple was awash in brilliant sunlight. Standing back in the shadows of the tunnel, Jem blinked and shielded his eyes. He could just make out the altar and hear the murmur of the waiting delegates.
The wedding herbs had always reminded him of sweet summer bread baking at dawn.
But as the scent drifted down the tunnel, it was cloying.
His parents and brothers were already seated in the courtyard while Santo hovered near Jem, talking nonsense and trying to cheer him up. They’d been waiting far too long.
“Maybe Cador was able to run,” Jem whispered to Santo.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” they whispered back, glancing at the young cleric in her plain gray robe at the tunnel head who was kindly pretending not to listen.
Any mild buzz from the wine Jem had gulped had faded away into sickening dread. The lemon scent of his wedding robe mixed with the burning herbs. He thought he might retch. Behind them, someone cleared their throat. A servant had appeared, slightly out of breath.
“I beg your pardon. Your groom is—” He opened and closed his mouth. “Unwell.”
Jem frowned. “Oh.” He had no idea of the protocol for such things, having never been forced into a political marriage with a barbarian stranger before. “Have you fetched the healer?”
“I don’t think it’ll do any good.”
Jem frowned. “The bar—Cador is that ill?” Good gods, had he been poisoned? He’d certainly seemed in hearty shape the day before.
“It’s not illness so much as…indulgence.” The servant’s face was scarlet.
Santo chuckled. “Ah. He’s being dragged by the horse this morning? We’ve all been there, haven’t we?”