Chapter Three
O f all the feeble, pissant princes in Onan to make him marry, this one had to be the worst.
Cador laughed to himself, because what else could he do? His head still spun faintly, a dull throb of pain at the base of his skull growing stronger. He remembered too late he was actually at the altar, all eyes on him. He coughed to disguise the laugh, but fuck it.
He glanced around to find his brother and share a look.
Maybe a grimace. Yet Bryok stared at the temple’s stone floor with a face to match it, his thin mouth pressed into a thinner line, a twitch of the jagged scar on his cheek the only sign of life—a sign Cador knew betrayed a dangerously icy fury.
The irritation and unease simmering in Cador since the night before when Bryok hadn’t joined in the drinking only boiled hotter. Cador didn’t damn well like this either, but what was he to do? This marriage was vital to their plan. He would do his duty.
Although he’d expected to wed a man , not this pathetic little prince.
Sitting on display in the temple the day before while the mainlanders gawked, he hadn’t even noticed Jem at the end of the row where the Southern royals sat.
That the mainlanders thought this… nothing of a boy worthy of wedding Cador was such an insult he hadn’t needed to pretend his shock and outrage.
He looked to his groom with disgust. The Southern prince was tiny and weak.
Jem . A foolish, useless name that suited him well.
His eyes were pretty, Cador would grant him that.
They were a rich honey, set off perfectly by his golden-brown skin.
But what use was prettiness? None that Cador had ever known.
Clearly the mainlanders thought differently. Yes, the ancient temple to the gods was austere, the clerics clad in plain robes. But the delegates from the three mainland kingdoms wore so much frivolous color Cador wanted to shield his eyes from the glare.
He’d seen the rare bloom of yellow and pink daisies one spring, but that was nothing compared to the rich, bright shades he didn’t even have names for.
Never mind the soft, flowing fabrics that looked as if they wouldn’t survive a ride on the gentlest mare over a meadow, let alone a hunt through the dense forests of Ergh.
Since childhood, he’d been told the mainlanders were greedy and idle. That Ergh and its people were far better off alone without Onan’s false gods. Then everything had changed, and here he was with mainland earth and stone under his boots, marrying an unworthy prince.
The acid remains of emptying his stomach clung to his tongue. Delen could have at least brought a mint twig for him to chew. The pleasant diversion of being too drunk to think was gone, and now he wanted the cleric to get the fuck on with it.
The damn woman droned about unity and balance, about the four corners of Onan and pleasing the gods of earth, fire, wind, and water. As if it hadn’t been clear enough the day before and they were all fools who didn’t understand why this marriage was happening.
Of course, the true reason was known only to a small few.
It was necessary, Cador reminded himself.
Kenver, his tas and surviving parent, Ergh’s chieftain, had first returned to Onan in peace two years ago and had tried to find a solution.
It did nag at Cador that Tas hadn’t tried simple honesty in asking for what they needed, but it seemed honesty was in short supply when it came to politics.
It was evident Ebrenn’s king despised the Neuvellan queen and that the feeling was very mutual.
Yet they played pretend as the clerics made themselves out to be lambs instead of wolves.
From what Cador could tell now that he was on the mainland himself for the first time, everyone in Onan was as treacherous as he’d always been warned.
The longing to be back on Ergh stole his breath like a punch. To be home in the forest with only the goats and chickens to bother him. Oh, to hunt again. He had his sword with him, but his spears were home.
So long, Ergh had been isolated in peace. Well, they’d fought amongst themselves from time to time, but not in Cador’s memory. Wishing would not turn back the years. He would do his duty. Even if it meant he must marry this pampered prince.
Jem barely came to Cador’s shoulder, and a gentle breeze could be the end of him.
Cador cursed himself for not wedding one of his lovers when he’d had the chance.
Jory had an easy smile and a love of sucking cock.
Or there was Rewan, whose prick was almost— almost —bigger than Cador’s own.
Kensa was lethal with a spear and would have been a dependable wife.
They’d always shared an affection for ale on a cold winter’s night.
Anyone would have been better than this Jem .
“Now for the sacred, unbreakable bond,” the cleric intoned.
Thank fuck . Since Jem was quivering to his left, Cador stuck out his left hand. The cleric slowly moved to take the hot iron from a ceremonial pot that sat over flaming coals. Cador couldn’t make out the design of the brand that would have been chosen by Jem. Or in this case likely his parents.
The cleric shuffled back toward him, taking so long the iron would be ice by the time it met his flesh.
Meanwhile, the sun beat down on the back of his neck, no clouds in sight.
Sweat dripped down his spine, his hair damp with it.
Cador missed the dependably gray skies of Ergh.
Was it always so damn hot and sticky on the mainland? This was supposed to be spring.
Finally, the cleric took his wrist with her gnarled fingers that held surprising strength. With her other hand, she branded his palm. Cador didn’t so much as flinch as the iron seared his flesh, keeping a bored expression on his face.
Fine , it hurt. It hurt so much that bile rose and a cry clawed at his throat. He would have retched if he’d been alone. Fortunately, his stomach was newly empty.
The cleric shuffled back for the other iron, this one cast in the traditional boar tusks. All hunters on Ergh bore a similar tattoo and used this symbol when they wed their mates. Tas’s palm was marked with the tusks since he’d been wed to a great hunter.
With a familiar, distant twinge, Cador wished their second father was still with them.
He’d been gored by a boar when Cador was only a boy, an honorable death that had left his husband, their tas, their only parent.
Tas had become chieftain after Cador’s grandmother had died.
She’d been a mighty leader until the end, even as her body had stooped like the cleric who stood before him now.
The cleric waited as Jem reluctantly held out his right hand, palm up. He jolted and made a pitiful cry as his skin sizzled, but he didn’t pull away. He stared down at the tusks, his hand trembling.
Cador examined his own palm, the design of curved edges difficult to make out with the swelling of his burned flesh. “What is it?” he asked.
In the sudden silence, thick and shocked, Cador glanced around. The cleric’s wiry brows met, and everyone seemed to hold their breath. Apparently speaking during the ceremony was frowned upon here on the mainland.
Jem whispered, “A dillywig.” Then added, “I like birds.”
Of course you do. Now Cador would have delicate wings etched into his hand forever. He fought a rebellious urge to grab at the other iron and blot out the bird with mighty tusks but instead grunted and looked to the cleric to finally finish this.
After a few more minutes of sermonizing, Cador gripped Jem’s right hand in his left, sealing their seared palms tight.
Jem stood stiffly, barely breathing, clearly in agony.
His hand was small in Cador’s as Cador muttered, “May this seal never be broken and love be eternal under the eyes of the gods.”
In Ergh, it was the chieftain who performed marriages, and Cador had always expected if he decided he enjoyed someone’s company enough to marry, it would be his tas sealing the bond as chieftain. That it was a stooped old woman made it seem even more wrong. And to speak of love ?
He knew most couples chose marriage. Somehow they actually believed love would last, even in Ergh, where practicality had ruled. Love . It wasn’t real, only a figment of the lesser-minded. Fucking and hunting and feasting were real. That was all Cador needed.
Jem repeated the vow in a hoarse voice. It was done. The cleric stood before them again and raised her hands to the skies as polite applause filled the courtyard. All that was left was the usual kiss.
Fuck it. Instead of kissing his new husband, Cador announced, “Let’s eat,” and strode from the temple, towing Jem along in his wake. If he had his way, he’d never kiss this little prince. And he really liked getting his way.
*
Gulping from a fresh cup of sweet mead, Cador waited for the servant to leave him and Tas alone in the guest chamber. The northern wing of the Holy Place’s guest housing was neat and clean and in good repair, as if it hadn’t sat empty for lifetimes.
Tas leveled him with a glare. “Didn’t you drink enough last night? Not to mention this morning.”
Cador couldn’t argue with that, cringing to be scolded like a child even when he deserved it. He was a grown man, but even now he didn’t disobey Tas, lowering the ornate cup to the table. As much as he liked getting his way, he followed his father’s orders. Not only his father—his chieftain.
“I know this isn’t easy for you.” Tas sighed, removing his headdress and prodding over his ear. “Damn tusks rub.” He ran his hands through his thick blond hair, blunt nails scratching his scalp. For a moment, he closed his eyes and looked so very tired.
Guilt flared in Cador. “Let’s sit.” He pulled out a chair for himself from the small table, knowing that it was the only way to get Tas to rest.