Chapter Seven
He couldn’t sleep. Days of studying with her.
Eating with her. Finding her charming and artless with him, and charming and artful with others.
She knew how much or how little to say to keep up the pretense that she belonged in the elite circles where she had never set foot before.
She looked like a beautiful brown seal in her new dresses, sleek and angelic—and then they would shed their attendants and guests, and her tongue would fly free, her hair would cascade out of whatever formal style Letty and Laren had forced it into, and he would have to yank his eyes from her by force.
Who said she was no great beauty? Did someone say that? They should sell their eyes for marbles; they would be of more use!
In a way, the beauty that rough work and durable clothing had hidden was a godsend. People would assume he chose her for her beauty, as well as her magic. She made Renata look like a snow statue, so fragile and frigid. Jocasta sent warmth spiraling into every room.
He said as much to Cole the morning before the ball. “It is warmer whenever she is near, have you noticed?”
Cole looked at him, saying nothing.
“When Jocasta enters a place, it warms at once!” Girion persisted, feeling the knots of nerves in his stomach undo as Jocasta hurried past, following the Master of the Wardrobe and trailed by her servants, the two winter hare shifters known for their grace, speed, and cunning.
“I think that might be just the effect she has on you, sire,” Cole whispered.
“I think her magic is already working through the palace.”
“Maybe. It hasn’t worked through the kingdom yet. I hear that Port Hebron delayed shipments yesterday. The ice was too thick to cut the ships free. They are sending for fire mages from other kingdoms.”
“Well, they will have no need by this time next week. She will have joined the house of Caledon,” Girion whispered, eyes trailing her. “Where is Nalar taking her to in such a hurry?”
“The ballroom. You’re supposed to meet her there.”
“I am?”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I will put off dancing until it is entirely necessary.’ Your guests are already in the city. Some will be here tonight, some tomorrow morning. You don’t want the first time you dance with Jocasta to be in front of a hundred staring eyes, do you?”
“It’s only sixty,” he grumbled.
“It’s sixty guests, plus all the servants, the guards, the guests’ personal valets and attendants... It’s at least 120 eyes if you want to be difficult about it, sire. That only includes the guests. Now, if we count the servants, let’s see...”
Girion said nothing. “I don’t want people staring at us while we practice.”
Cole nodded and sighed. “Funny, isn’t it? Even being a king doesn’t spare you from lessons.”
Girion growled and made a mental note to go kill something in the woods later.
SHE MOVED VERY GRACEFULLY. Girion watched Jocasta in the arms of Idry, the reindeer shifter whose mother had been a doe from the Spring Kingdoms. He carried some of her lightness, and he passed it to Jocasta.
Far too easily.
Making her giggle and throw her head back, showing her how to whirl in big sweeping motions, hands open and out, and then back to him.
Idry was holding her entirely too close.
But it was worse when the big, jolly dancing master handed her over to him with a breathless laugh and proclaimed, “Your turn, sire!”
He tried the big sweeping turn and nearly threw Jocasta through a wall. He pulled her into a twirl, smacked her into his chest, and knocked her backwards.
Idry stopped smiling.
The small chamber orchestra (which Girion realized should have been asked to either face the other way or been concealed behind a curtain) started missing notes.
Jocasta held up a hand. “Do you know ‘All Across Three Winters, My Heart Has Searched For Thee’?”
The conductor nodded eagerly and flicked his baton.
“I don’t know that one,” Girion hissed.
“It’s slow. It’s a... It’s a slow song. About a man who searched through all three of the Winter kingdoms for his true love. I think if we just slide together in a circle, we can manage it.”
Idry made a noise like someone had kicked him in the nose and retired to the corner, his hands rubbing his temple, muttering about “All the latest steps from Cerf-Biche, but no. Slide in a circle...”
“Ignore him,” Jocasta whispered and pressed up close.
Girion held onto her. That he could do. He was good at holding tight.
Fiercely gripping. He took possession of her hand and her hip like they were his and pretended not to notice a new level of heat emanating from her.
Or the strange, sweet smell that seemed to pour from her, bursts of scent that beat in time to the ticking of her pulse under his hand.
Slide. In a circle.
Don’t look at anything else but her.
Sliding with her.
Against her.
Into her.
The thought hit him hard, and he wanted to pull away, only to find Jocasta’s hand digging into his side, his tunic clutched in her fist like a lifeline.
You can’t abandon her. She won’t abandon you. Bound together, endlessly, like a circle.
“Across three winters, I have walked, in frost and snow so blinding,” Jocasta’s soft humming turned into murmurs so low that he had to strain to catch them.
“Feet so weary and heart near broken, but of every pain unminding. If I could have found you sooner—” She looked up, and her voice broke away into nothingness, a sharp gasp making her stumble in their slow, repetitive steps.
“Keep going. It’s beautiful,” he urged, nodding.
“I didn’t know I was singing,” she whispered, eyes not meeting his.
“You know all the words.”
“My mother likes the song. It’s too sad for me.”
“Don’t the lovers find each other?”
“They do, they do!” Jocasta hastily reassured. “I just don’t like that they had to suffer first.”
“Ah, well. I can relate to that. Love seems to hurt people.”
“Mhm.”
Another slow circle. Idry was looking at them now, with a thoughtful, calculating expression on his face.
“Not that I believe it should," Girion said when Jocasta’s face closed over.
“My... My father loved my mother so devotedly. He was an empty thing without her, so he threw all of his efforts into me, into the kingdom, and then... Then my stepmother caught his eye. Ensnared him. He thought it was love. It was not.”
Instead of questioning, Jocasta simply nodded, and that made it easier to talk. “Love gives someone such control over you. It’s not wise, is it?”
“No, not unless it is someone you trust. Someone bound to you so tightly that what hurts you hurts them. They would only want what was best for you and your kingdom.”
He said it without thinking. “You are what is best for me and my kingdom.”
When she beamed at him, the warmth of a spring that would never bless his land in her smile, he was glad he couldn’t take the words back.
“Stop!” Idry silenced the chamber orchestra.
“They have played that through three times. You know... I think it’ll work!
The look of utter devotion, the way you two are so in love, and so lost in each other’s gaze.
.. Yes! Yes, this is boring, but very effective.
I think it conveys the right spirit, sire. ”
“It wasn’t boring!” Jocasta burst out.
“Boring but very lovely,” Idry said by way of apology. “But be careful, sire. Are you ready for the entire kingdom to know you’ve found a bride?”
“What?” Girion barked. He could feel his muscles twitching, ready to burst into the form of a raging beast.
“Hm?” Idry looked at the conductor, who shrugged and looked at the musicians, who seemed confused.
“Does everyone in the palace think that?” Jocasta whispered, eyes huge in her luminous face.
“Yes, of course! Who else would don the late and most beloved Queen of Caledon’s robes?” Idry gestured to the gown and overlay Jocasta was wearing. “Why else would the Master of the Wardrobe have sent for thirty yards of white silk and asked the royal jeweler to come to lunch on Sunday?”
Girion felt the sharper teeth in his mouth lengthening still more.
Jocasta’s hand gripped his, and he could feel the sweat on her palm.
Everything in him raged, and then settled. Protect. Be her fortress. “It is all right, Idry. It is a secret, but not for long.”
“Ohh! Every congratulations!” he cried, and then put his hands over his mouth to muffle his glee. “May I choreograph a special wedding dance for you, sire?”
“No!” he and Jocasta shouted as one.
Idry let out another guffaw. “Ah, well, I don’t mind. Not when it is clear you are so perfectly suited.”
Perfectly suited? Girion’s face remained immobile, but his eyes slid to the side and caught Jocasta’s doing the same.
We are suited. Of course we are, or I wouldn’t have bartered with her, and she would not have accepted.
“I have to go and see what Nalar has chosen for me tomorrow night. It will probably be something that stains,” Jocasta sighed.
She took away her hand, and he was quick to take it back and tuck it into his elbow. “I will walk you to your chambers.”
HE WALKED HER TO HER chambers, left her with a mumbled thank you, and fled, yet the feeling of his presence stayed with Jocasta all night.
She soaked in the stone tub that was more like a cavernous hot spring, body restless, mind racing.
Everything ached inside. Her heart, missing her parents, missing her brothers, missing... Missing the idea that someday, someone would love her.
The ache persisted in parts of her that were usually quieted with a few fast rubs and a reminder that she needed to do something else. Tonight, she had nothing to do but worry and soak.
Jocasta’s fingers found their way between her legs, and Girion’s body pressed against hers in memory. His hand, grabbing her hip, only with her eyes closed and her lips panting out his name, he was grabbing both her hips.
His body calmed hers when she was afraid.
Thoughts of him built a fire between her legs, then soothed it as she thought of him working against her, kissing her with that same hard grip, taking her with that same unrelenting force, and yet always with the promise, “you never need fear me, in any form.”
And suddenly her mind was spiraling, thinking of his Bear Folk form, white fur between brown thighs, the face so strange, but the eyes, always his, always the same piercing shade of blue, always bearing a single scar.
Her fingers bucked and wouldn’t stop, mimicking the force and speed she thought he would take her with.
Her heart doubled in speed as she imagined every detail, the way her legs would strain under his weight, the way her womanhood would split and cling to him the same way it was throbbing on her fingers.
I’m not supposed to feel this way. Think this way. Act this way.
It was not part of their pact—forbidden.
Somehow, that made it even more exciting.
Somehow, it made her wish that Girion wanted an heir right away.