11. The point of no tangible return #2
The king crowded my space just enough that I had to tip my head to look up at him. “We’re a little busy, Miss Wynn,” he said, voice quieter but still strained. “Come back later. Better yet, I’ll fetch you when we’re done.”
“No. I’ve come to bargain,” I stated before my confidence vacated me entirely.
His dark, arched brows climbed, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Bargain?” he repeated. “Princess, I hardly think you’re in a position to negotiate.”
“If I’m to become your servant, or wife, or whatever it is you decide to call me…” I said quietly, “I. Have. Terms.”
To Maksym’s credit, he barely reacted. That cocky, amused expression didn’t leave his face as he nodded and straightened, but I caught how his pupils dilated, swallowing up the amber for a fraction of a second.
“Give us the room,” he called back without breaking eye contact with me.
Chairs scraped, and grumbles started.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” one man with a thick, lilting accent muttered.
I heard papers scattering and objects thudding—I didn’t even need to see a man tantrum to know it was happening behind the pillar of king blocking my view.
“Incredibly serious,” Maksym said, still staring down at me, before he shot a glance over his shoulder.
“Out, Lydus. Jasper stays; everyone else leaves. Now.”
I’d hoped the king would give me a breath of personal space then, but he didn’t.
Maksym just stood there, toe to toe with me, as the men he and his mage had been arguing with filed out on either side of us.
A mix of Umbrites and shifters, they didn’t bother masking their scrutinizing stares as they passed.
The very last one, though, golden-skinned with short, chestnut brown hair, didn’t have as much urgency in his step.
He paused right beside me, roving his pale green gaze from my head to my feet and back. As if that weren’t unsettling enough, he leaned in, taking a deep breath through his nose before a grin peeled across his mouth, baring a set of sharp canines.
“Oh, she smells sweet, Maksym,” he purred, and a band of tension snapped through me. “Ripe fruit, just begging—”
“Malakai,” Maksym snapped. “I won’t tell you to leave a third time.”
The man huffed, shaking his head, but he heeded the king’s command with a couple of lengthy strides. The doors pulled shut with such force, my skirt rippled against my legs and my hair fluttered around me.
Finally, Maksym vacated my personal space.
He walked back to the war table his mage was still posted at. With a casualness unbefitting a king who had cleared a room with such ease, he sat on the edge of the table, long legs swaying in front of him.
“So, Miss Wynn,” Maksym drawled with a look of amusement. “Your terms. Let’s hear them, shall we? Jasper will note them down, and I’ll let you know if I accept.”
Jasper audibly sighed before he rifled through some papers on the desk and sat with a stack.
Oh, Goddess, help me. I hadn’t been sure I’d make it that far, and it was a damned good thing another one of my father’s once-unappreciated teachings was circling at the forefront of my mind—never balk in a negotiation.
Speak true. Speak what you want. Accept no less.
“First,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster, “is my people. The ones down in your crypts. They get last rites, proper ones.”
Maksym nodded slowly. “You know we burn our dead here, right?”
“That’s fine.”
He nodded again. “What else?”
This one came far more easily.
“This might be some kind of marriage of servitude…but I won’t stand for being treated like you own my body,” I said. “My clothes. My hair. What I eat. I decide all of that.”
There’d been enough of that shit from my brother before I’d left Odessa, little comments to guilt me over my rough appearance, to pick me apart over how little I looked like the women at court.
And while I’d thought I’d suffer through that with my future husband—when it had been Callum—there was no way I wouldn’t fight it, given the chance.
A hint of amusement flitted over Maksym’s face, his amber eyes glinting as he chuckled, “Mina, no. None of that is my place. I wouldn’t dare.
But, ah—” He pushed off the table. “As you would be marrying a king, you understand there are a couple of necessities that require me to make use of your body, right?”
A bit of heat unfurled in my chest at the way his tone lowered. “And those are…?”
“Heirs,” he stated. “At least two, though I’d prefer three. All in due time, of course.”
Oh, my skin was definitely flushed now.
I knew this, as much as the entire idea brought me a mixture of embarrassment and unease.
Pushing out heirs seemed to be one of the more important jobs of a king’s wife, after all.
I just wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it being spoken about so transactionally, especially after never having put much thought into having children.
Not outside of taking my annual contraceptive, which I’d done right before I’d left Odessa—just in case.
It should have brought me at least a little relief that Maksym wasn’t unattractive by any stretch of the imagination, but with my luck, he would prove as capable as a wet rag in bed.
Even with that miserable thought lingering in my mind, I nodded. “I know that.”
“Good.” He pursed his lips for a long, tense moment before he glanced back at his hurriedly writing mage, whom I’d almost forgotten about, compounding my embarrassment tenfold. “You’ve got all that?”
“Of course, my liege,” the mage muttered, not lifting his hooded attention from the paper.
Maksym glanced back at me. “I accept those terms. What else?”
It took a moment for his words to wash over me.
I swallowed. Fuck.
Just those asks were supposed to be a fight.
I’d imagined all morning the uphill battle I’d have ahead, trying to get an ounce of agency in a marriage that was nothing but an alternative to my execution.
I’d thought of other things I wanted, of course, but I hadn’t considered I’d actually get to fucking ask for them.
“My own horse,” I spat out, the first thing on my mind.
Maksym smiled, actually smiled, as he took slow steps towards me. “Grimmorian dyrehorses are nothing like you’ve seen, Miss Wynn, but you’ll have unfettered access to our stables. Your pick of the litter, so to speak. I couldn’t deny you that.”
I didn’t have the faintest idea what he could mean about these dyrehorses—I’d dealt with some pretty inscrutable equines in all my years in cavalry service—but I’d have to take his word for it.
Who knew if I’d just caught the king in a good mood, despite the argument I’d interrupted, or if he was always so agreeable.
But it wasn’t the time to squander my opportunity.
I pulled back my shoulders and said, “I also need someone to tutor me. About Grimmoria. If I am to be your…wife…” Goddess, that felt strange. “It’ll be important for me to know about this place, its people. It’s history.”
The smile on Maksym’s face that felt genuine a moment ago shifted into something predatory as he stalked closer until I was left with little personal space again.
Even though it drove me crazy to do it, I let my attention drift up to look him in those terrifying amber eyes.
It was better than staring at his chest, wondering how he managed to smell just like the first frost of fall.
“You mean,” he drawled, “that as my wife and my queen, you should know more about this place that is your home, and our people, right?” I nodded, finding no words to confirm the gravity of that, and he looked satisfied.
“Jasper will see you thoroughly tutored in necessities in time for the Agōn Ferr, and we’ll figure the rest from there. ”
“Right,” I breathed.
There was that to be thankful for, at least. Even though I didn’t entirely understand what would be in store for me with this Agōn Ferr—other than proving my worth, of course—the preparation for it would at least serve as a healthy distraction. I hoped.
I was distracted enough then that I barely registered the king shifting until he had my chin in his lithe fingers, tipping my head from side to side subtly, like I was some object to be examined.
“Anything else to add to your list of demands, Miss Wynn?” he asked, eyes harsh and appraising. “I’m finding my charitable nature is waning.”
“Partners,” I rasped, and Maksym’s eyebrows climbed as he released me.
“Go on…”
“I know how marriages to kings work. How unbalanced they are.” Grasping a tiny thread of confidence, I straightened my shoulders. “If you are allowed to take partners outside our marriage, then so am I.”
He blinked, and the look of surprise on his face only deepened. “It’s very bold of you to assume I’d leave you so unsatisfied, you’d even wish to seek other partners.”
A scoff crawled out of me. What a fucking arrogant man.
“And it’s bold of you to think so highly of yourself when you know nothing of me.”
His jaw hardened, amber eyes narrowing in appraisal, before a look of unnerving realization dawned on him. “If you’re allowed other partners, and I’m allowed other partners…what about another partner together, hm?”
I stiffened.
“Together?” The word came out as more of a cough, and Maksym only nodded, though I heard his mage sigh as he continued scrawling away. “That would be…fine. In theory.”
The king cocked a brow before he turned and strode back to the table, calling back, “Only in theory? Do go on, Miss Wynn.”
A rush of heat blossomed in my chest as I stuttered, “You can’t just agree to a…a threesome once and never talk about it again. It needs to be agreed upon every time by all parties.”
It shouldn’t have been a relief that the king looked appreciative, albeit a bit amused, while I was ready to crawl out of my own damned skin.
In all the reenacting I’d done in my mind of the terms I’d ask for—if I’d even been given the chance—all I had wanted to do was ensure some measure of equality would apply in this forced union. I hadn’t expected it would devolve into any discussion around sharing our marital bed.