Chapter Three #3
Beside him at the small table in the center of the dining hall, his husband— husband!— flinched. Cador suppressed a grin. It was childish, but he’d anticipated the reaction and took petty joy from it.
The feast that had started as a luncheon now dragged on past sunset.
Jem had poked at his plates, barely eating from the endless courses and not even sipping from his wine.
Cador had filled his stomach early, banishing the lingering effects of too much mead the night before. Not to mention that morning.
He had to admit he wasn’t eager to be dragged by the horse again, and he’d have preferred water or ale to the sweet mead traditional at weddings. He drank sparingly—only five cups all day. It gave his head a tingle, but nothing more.
Around the four sides of the high-roofed hall at long tables, delegates ate and drank and enjoyed the feast far more than the grooms, though Ebrenn’s representatives glowered aside from the king’s pretty son, who seemed to have a special interest in Prince Jowan and kept looking his way. Perhaps they were friends.
The king’s sour face had been constant no matter what he ate, for he surely knew this alliance of Neuvella and Ergh did not bode well for him.
Cador felt no less sour himself. He scowled at Delen as she devoured another piece of fluffy cake with enthusiasm.
He shouldn’t begrudge her. Feasts at home were hearty, but he’d never seen such fancy, complicated food.
Some tasted just as ornate and confusing.
There were so many colorful fruits and vegetables, including seemingly endless bowls of sevels, the purple skins glossy over sweet, crisp flesh with seeds at the heart. He wrestled the temptation to cram his pockets full.
At least the servants had brought out the sweet cakes, and the feast would be ending. Cador just wanted to finish the day, sleep well, and get on the road north to their waiting ship. He dreaded the return trip across the Askorn Sea but would withstand it.
He wondered how Prince Jowan of Neuvella would enjoy the voyage.
He had a feeling Jem didn’t know he would be sailing north from the mainland with them.
Cador would feign surprise himself and make a show of his reluctance.
Which again, wouldn’t be entirely false.
When he thought of being stuck with Jem until the kidnapping…
Cador choked down a groan. Months would feel like a lifetime.
First, he had to make it through his wedding day.
If the absurdity didn’t do him in, the boredom would.
He stared up at the arched, painted ceiling of the hall, the mural representing the four gods of Onan and their domains.
It was the most colorful thing he’d seen at the Holy Place.
On Ergh, desperation was sparking a return to faith. Perhaps he’d see murals like this at home if the clerics had their way. Cador understood the misery and drive to believe in something. Anything but meaningless suffering.
But he would have no part of these false saviors. From what he’d experienced, if the gods truly did exist, they were spiteful vipers who punished the innocent at a whim. They could sink to the bottom of the Askorn Sea and rot.
He believed in what he could see and smell and taste and touch.
He imagined mounting Massen’s broad back and galloping until his stallion tired.
He could almost feel Massen’s powerful flanks between his thighs, the jolts of his hoofs on the earth rippling through Cador’s body, the snorts of his breath, the bracing wind reddening Cador’s cheeks as they practically flew.
He longed for the dependable weight of his spear in his grasp and the spurt of hot blood as he felled a boar.
Cador flexed his branded left hand. It throbbed, the design still blurred by swelling. He’d tried to refuse the salve and bandage, but grudgingly admitted to himself the brand hurt like the god of fire was torturing him.
“Do you believe in the gods?”
Cador looked down from the mural at Jem beside him.
Jem had tipped his head back and gazed up at the ceiling with those honey eyes.
Honey was one of the rarest treats on Ergh, with only a handful of beekeepers and wildflowers blooming for so short a time.
His eyelashes were dark and thick in contrast to the amber gold.
Cador glanced back up at the mural and the painted scenes of destruction.
There was Dor of the earth with the power to cleave the land and crumble it to dust. It was Dor who legend said had severed Ergh from the mainland before Hwytha, the god of wind, blew it into the Northern abyss with help from Glaw, who ruled the water.
Fire was controlled by Tan, with myths of mighty blazes that reduced forests to smoldering ash. Tan had stayed clear of Ergh, and Cador wondered why they hadn’t created a god of ice on Ergh in his absence.
Cador hesitated before answering, even though it was a simple denial. Did the mainlanders think the people of Ergh were godless heathens? Resentment stewed in his full stomach. “Of course I believe in the gods,” he lied. “Don’t you?”
For a moment, Jem’s expression tightened, but then he murmured, “Of course. The gods are generous and wise.”
Cador choked down the argument galloping through his mind, gulping more wine instead. No surprise the Neuvellan prince believed the gods so benevolent. What suffering had the South seen? None. Not compared to Ergh.
“What beasts do you hunt in your land?” he asked. Anything to make the minutes go by.
“Hunt?” Jem asked.
“Hunt. Kill. Do you use spears?”
Jem’s fine brows drew close. “I don’t hunt. Of course others do.” He glanced at the remains of roasted meat on one of the feast tables.
Disgust curled Cador’s lip. “Exactly how do you spend your days?”
“By the lake. I swim sometimes and care for orphaned birds in my aviary. I read in the evenings.”
Cador stared, waiting for the jest to be revealed. Read ? What wasteful luxury. Cador had learned the basics, enough to read contracts and the like, but had no use for books. As the seconds ticked by, it seemed there was no jest. “You are a prince. Do you do nothing for your people?”
Jem opened and closed his mouth. “I… Well, I collect pretty flowers for the elders in the local village.”
Flowers ? It was fitting that Jem, with his fanciful name and honey eyes, valued all that was meaningless. The elders would surely prefer gifts of grain or meat.
“Pretty things are a waste. Ugliness is far superior. Ugliness puts food in bellies. Ugly lovers fuck the best.”
Jaw tight, Jem muttered, “Then I suppose I’m in luck.”
Ha! Cador had to award him a point for that insult but kept his expression blank and drained his cup. He purposefully breathed in through his mouth and… There. Another belch. Jem grimaced, jerking his body to the left. He was trying to shift the stone chair, but it didn’t budge.
Jem fiddled with the food on his plate instead of eating it.
He nibbled at a crumbly cake’s edges, then awkwardly dipped his gleaming gold spoon into a thick pudding with this left hand, letting the pale yellow treat plop back into the bowl untasted.
He bit into a sevel with a crunch, taking only one mouthful before abandoning the fruit back to his plate.
More time passed, and the sevel’s red flesh began to dry and wither.
“Are you just going to waste that?” Cador barked.
Jem’s eyes flew wide. “What?” He sounded genuinely perplexed.
“All that food. Is the mainland so rich you can leave this to go rotten?”
Jem looked at his plate as if seeing the meal for the first time. “Oh. I…”
Cador shoved back his chair to stand and stretch, done with the conversation. The chair’s stone legs scraped back on the dais so loudly that it caught the attention of the entire hall. A shout rose up from his so-called friends from the North.
“Ah, time to bed your groom!” that traitorous prick Jory called, to rousing cheers from the Ergh delegates.
Cador would be fucking the spoiled little prince around about never , but he put on the expected show, nodding and grinning. The pious clerics looked aghast, which warmed Cador’s black heart.
Most of the mainlanders appeared shocked—but with an undercurrent of delight tugging their lips into smiles as they watched and whispered. This was clearly the most exciting thing they’d seen at the Holy Place in some time.
Jem sat, his body rigid as the drunken delegates of Ergh made crude suggestions. Tas chuckled, but Bryok remained sullen, his scowl unchanging. Everyone else wanted a show.
A show they’d get.
Cador bent and hauled Jem over his shoulder, ignoring his yelp. He easily held the slim body with his right arm across Jem’s thighs, Jem sprawled over his back, his fingers grasping at Cador’s waist over the white robe.
“Put me down!”
Ignoring him, Cador strode past the Southern delegates, noticing Jem’s parents stone-faced along with the sibling who’d been with him before the ceremony.
Cador almost paused to assure them he wouldn’t fuck Jem if he was the last person in Onan, but of course the game had to be played.
He swaggered on, waving to the hall with his other arm.
A cleric with a pinched expression and flat lips escorted them to the traditional wedding chamber, Jem squirming and muttering over Cador’s shoulder. In Ergh, a wedding night would be spent anywhere from a hut to a cottage to a hole in the ground, but the mainlanders clearly enjoyed ceremony.
Thankfully, the cleric backed away at the chamber and left them without any further blessings or platitudes. Cador had had more than enough of unity and balance and all that horse shit.
Candlelight flickered over the tapestry-covered walls of the chamber, more stinking wedding spice burning in a dish at the foot of the four-poster bed. As the cleric closed the solid door with a thud, Jem landed a surprisingly sharp kick to Cador’s knee.