The glowing heat from the soldering wand was applied to the bracelet and held, melding the two ends together. There was a slight discomfort from the heat, but nothing unbearable. However, the young Princess could not stop the slight cry of pain as the soldering wand accidentally grazed her flesh as it was removed.
"I am sorry, Highness," Tohre said with feigned contrition, his gaze going to King Shaz.
Shaz was ignoring the priest. He was looking at Conar. "Outside of childbirth, this had better be the only pain my daughter will ever experience or suffer because of you, Conar!"
Conar barely heard the man. Although he found the ordeal and the marriage, itself, an abomination, his tender heart would not permit him to overlook pain caused in his behalf on another. He had firsthand knowledge of too much such agony in his lifetime. He bent his blond head to the woman and spoke softly over her shoulder. "Are you all right?" When she nodded, he asked again, "Are you sure?"
"Aye, Your Grace," she whispered. "I will be fine." She reached up to briefly pat his hand.
The Prince raised his head and the look he gave Tohre made the man take a step back.
Tohre’s chin came up. "Kneel at your woman’s feet so you may be bound to her," Kaileel sneered at his Prince, seething rage at Conar’s look of warning turning the priest’s face hard with revenge.
Conar stood there, staring intently at Tohre, hating him with every fiber in his being. His hands clenched into fists, a muscle jumped in his lean jaw, but he finally knelt, his legs spread wide as his bride placed herself behind him and put her icy hands on his flesh. He schooled himself not to flinch, not to let Tohre see how much the woman’s touch bothered him. He shivered as she pulled him against her.
Dyreil came forward and brought up Conar’s left arm, holding it against her hip to brace it as his father knelt beside him and slipped the wedding bracelet over his son’s flesh.
Conar looked at his father. The King’s eyes were misted, his lips trembled, but he held his son’s gaze as the bracelet was soldered into place around the young man’s flesh. Gerren knew his son felt the heat from the soldering wand, but he gave no outward sign that it hurt. Not even when Tohre held the wand in place far too long and the flesh around the bracelet began to turn red. Conar’ lashes partially closed, his breathing stopped, but he didn’t move.
Beneath her hands, the muscles of her husband’s shoulders tensed, bunched and Anya felt a tremor go through him. Her grating voice from behind the veil was a hiss of warning as her hands tightened protectively on his flesh. "You are deliberately hurting him, Priest. Remove that wand. Now!"
King Gerren looked at the woman, struck with the possessive way she had spoken. His gaze went to Conar, and although there was pain and despair on Conar’s face, there was something else. Admiration for the woman who had dared speak so to Kaileel Tohre.
The High Priest let his piercing glare settle on the woman’s face behind the veil and he hissed back at her. "Do you presume to tell me my business, woman?"
"Aye, and I will presume even further. I will make you a promise, Tohre," she hissed, "if you ever lay hands to this man again to hurt him, you will answer to me!"
Conar’s head snapped around and he stared at the woman whose hands were now painfully tight on his bare shoulders. Toad or not, his eyes glowed with respect. When he turned around, he found Kaileel’s hot glower on him. The smile Conar gave him, one of pure delight, and the snorting laugh he added for insult, made Tohre snap off a long nail as he clenched his fist.
With his mouth a thin slit of rage, the priest stared at Conar and his words were filled with venom. "As this woman is now a part of you, and this man, a part of you, woman, so shall these bracelets be a part of you. As your wife and your husband may not be taken from you, so shall these bracelets never be removed. They are the symbols of eternal union blessed by the gods, sanctioned by Tribunal Law, acknowledged and accepted by your parents, witnessed by those gathered and placed by my own hands as a representative of Alel on this earth." His smile was evil as his voice lowered and the words became a seductive, insinuating caress. "Conar McGregor, you are bound to this woman for the rest of your life."
King Gerren cringed at the words, still another deviation from proscribed ritual. He watched as the smile on Conar’s face slid away.
It was over, Legion thought. Done. Finished. No turning back.
Ever.
Conar was this woman’s mate for life. The look on the young man’s face told everybody that he thought it a pronouncement of eternal misery.
Tohre turned his fierce regard to the woman at Conar’s side. "Anya Elizabeth Wynth, you will be the only woman for this man for as long as you live."
Legion shuddered. The two were now legally wed.
The King helped his son to rise and walked behind him and his bride. Now was the time for the unveiling. He glanced at his sister, Dyreil, and tried to smile.
Conar’s thoughts were no longer on what was happening around him. His thoughts were far, far away in the big brass bed at Ivor Keep. He glanced briefly at his father’s worried face as the King took his place at Conar’s right side, could almost feel the anticipation flooding the room, but it no longer mattered.
Nothing mattered.
Not the smoldering pain along his left elbow, nor the blazing nag in his heart.
Not what his bride looked like beneath that infernal veil, nor what she was.
Not all the miserable years of unhappiness he saw before him.
Nothing would ever matter again.
He stepped back as Tohre advanced, waiting for the priest to lift the woman’s veil, but when Tohre bent toward him and spoke, Conar’s head jerked up and he stared at the High Priest. "Why now?" he asked.
"Do you wish for me to have my men escort you?"
"What is it?" the King inquired, stepping forward. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, Highness," Kaileel assured him. "I must speak to our Prince privately regarding a matter that has come to my attention. There is no need for anyone else to be privy to personal matters regarding the royal family."
"What personal matters?" Gerren snarled. "He went through everything today at the Temple."
"With all due respect, Highness"—Tohre bowed—"it is a delicate matter between your son and the Temple."
Conar flinched. He looked at Tohre and he saw the warning in the man’s thin face. He wanted to refuse, but fear, old and well-remembered, well-taught, shot through him and he lowered his head, nodding. "It’s all right, Papa. I’ll go with him."
"Conar, no!" the voice came hissing through the thick veil, but Conar didn’t hear it. He followed Kaileel from the altar through the archway and into the sacristy. He vaguely heard the mumbles coming from those assembled guests, but paid no attention.
Kaileel led him out of sight of the wedding party and those assembled. He stopped, turned, and reached inside his robes to bring out a curved, jewel-handled dagger.
Conar’s face stilled, then became infused with hate and fear. His arm still stung from the soldering wand. He had known Kaileel would hurt him, had expected it. It was why he had schooled himself not to show the pain when it came. Looking at the blade, he almost wished the insane fool would come at him with it. He would have enjoyed turning the man’s own weapon against him and ridding himself of Tohre once and for all.
They stared at one another: Tohre with smug satisfaction; Conar with wariness and loathing. Neither spoke, but they were as aware of the other’s feelings as if they were carrying on a conversation.
"Your carefree days are over, aren’t they, sweet Prince?" Tohre cooed to him.
"What do you want, Tohre?" Conar asked, unable to bear looking at the man much longer.
A smile of pure malice touched Tohre’s bloodless lips. His gaze lowered, then moved up to Conar’s and fused. "Give me your wrist."
Blazing fury entered Conar’s face and he took a slight, protective step backwards, his gaze immediately lowering to the same place Kai
leel’s had—the black braided hair bracelet on his right wrist. He protectively covered his wrist with his other hand. Slowly, very slowly, the Prince’s eyes came up to Tohre’s. "No." It was a soft, quiet and decisive denial.
"You knew better," Kaileel told him. "I let you save face before the wedding guests, but I demand you give me your wrist. Now, Conar." His voice was pleasant, charming as though he were reprimanding a slightly stubborn child.
"No." A single, firm, blunt reply.
"The King bows before the power of the Temple, Conar. Our word is law. When we speak, Kings obey. You will obey, Sweet Princeling." He held out his free hand. "You will obey me!"
"No!" A sharp, bitter snap of anger, bitten out from teeth grinding so hard it was audible.
Tohre quirked a brow at his Prince. "Give me your wrist, Conar. I will not tell you again."
Conar stepped as close to the High Priest as his lurching belly would allow. "And I told you no!" His jaw clenched into a hard, unforgiving line. "Why now, Kaileel? You must have seen the bracelet when I was disrobed. Why do this now?" He could barely speak for his rage.
"Conar," Kaileel said with exasperation, "I don’t believe you want me to have my Temple Guards take hold of you and force you to your knees in order for me to cut that whore’s filth from your flesh!" He saw Conar start. "Aye, my fine Princeling, I know of her. I know all there is to know of her, and because of her, and your illicit lusting after her, I will gladly call forth my men and have them drag you to the very steps of the altar for all to see me do this to you." His smile turned evil as the pits of hell. "If that is your wish."
Conar jerked his head away, tearing his sight from that hated smug and vile face. "I won’t let you do it, Tohre. I won’t."
"If you want to bring shame to your father, and yourself, bring shame to the McGregor name in front of all these witnesses, then so be it! But I will promise you this. If you force me to such an action, I will humiliate you before I am through with you, Conar." Tohre’s voice was oily smooth. "Far worse than I ever have before."
Kaileel willed the young man to look to him and was not surprised that he obeyed. He held the prince’s desperate stare and smiled. He took in Conar’s bleak eyes, and knew the young man was being pushed to the edge of endurance.
Tohre’s push became a vicious shove.
"How do you think your father will react to what I can tell him about you?" He cocked his head to one side. "Shall I introduce him to the friends you made at the Monastery, Conar?
"You would do that, wouldn’t you?" Conar whispered.
Kaileel smiled. "With the greatest of pleasure, my Prince."
Conar lowered his head. "You enjoy hurting me, don’t you, Kaileel?"
"Aye, sweet child, and you know why."
Conar flinched. He wasn’t used to begging for anything, from anyone. It galled him to do so, especially with this man, but he looked into Tohre’s waiting face and pleaded with the High Priest.
"Kaileel, please. Let me keep it. It’s all I have left of her. What harm is it doing?"
True glee spread over Tohre’s face. It did his black heart good to hear his greatest of enemies’ agony. To hear Conar begging him as a man instead of a boy. It brought back fond memories. It made him glad he was able to dash all hope, to destroy that part of Conar McGregor that was willfully holding on to the last dregs of a happiness Tohre meant to see him live without.
"You need no reminders of your past indiscretions, Conar. You are bound to that woman in there. You are hers, now, and not that whore’s." He held out his hand once more, the wicked, curved nails spiraling upward.
For a long time Conar held Kaileel’s stare. He saw his own shame written there and he knew it would humiliate his father and aunt if he had to be forced to his knees in front of their friends, and there was no doubt in his mind that Kaileel would do just as he threatened. There would be no stopping the evil man once he began.
Through the grasp of his fingers over the braided silk, Conar could feel the warmth of Liza, could feel the silk of her hair and body, could feel the heart inside his chest aching, he caressed the black braid, squeezed it one last time. His hopes and dreams and future dissolved before him. There would be nothing left.
Painfully, agonizingly, he withdrew the protection of his fingers from his wrist. His eyes lowered beneath the sweep of his tawny brows and he looked at the black silk of Liza’s hair for the last time. He sighed, his pain too great to bear.
Slowly, reluctantly, sorrowfully, he held out his arm to Tohre, flinching as the priest’s hand shot out to grip his forearm in a steely clutch. The sight of the long, curving, red-tipped nails made him ill and he cast his sight to the recesses of the sacristy where Legion stood, a look of uncertainty on his bearded face.
"No!" Tohre commanded, snatching viciously on the young man’s arm. "You look at me, Conar!" He tugged again. "I will see your face when I do this!"
The young Prince shook his head, unable to look at Tohre.
"Aye, Conar!" Tohre snarled, tightening his grip even more. "You will!"
"No," came the weak, whispered reply. "I can’t."
"You can and you will!" Tohre’s grip turned malicious on Conar’s arm, the long nails gouging into his flesh. "Or else I shall have you taken before the altar for this to be done."
Kaileel felt a degree of supreme gratification when Conar reluctantly turned his gaze to him.
"Don’t you ever get tired of this game, Kaileel?"
"You are mine, Conar." The thin lips parted. "And you always will be." A hateful smirk appeared on the lean face. "You will never truly belong to another this side of hell!"
"Get on with it," Conar mumbled, his heart breaking, his soul bleak and barren of hope.
"Then, you keep your eyes on me. I want to see your reaction when I take away the last link you have with your past." Tohre smirked.
"No, you want to see me hurt, Kaileel. Call it what it is." Conar’s words were broken, filled with suffering.
"Aye, you are right. There has never been any need for lies between us." Tohre’s hand caressed Conar’s forearm. "We understand one another."
The dagger slipped none too gently under the braid and slashed upward, severing the only tie Conar had left to the woman he loved.
* * *
Legion had warned Conar to remove it when they were leaving the steaming chamber. Now it had been cut from him in a way meant to humble him. Watching his brother’s shoulders sag, Legion could almost feel his despair.
Conar’s eldest brother pushed away from the wall and took a few steps toward the two men. They were staring at one another, speaking in low tones he couldn’t hear, and he wondered what the High Priest could be saying that would cause such fury on Conar’s face, what could be so horrible that it would cause such a reaction. Wanting to help his brother, but not daring to interfere for fear of bringing further punishment down on Conar’s head, Legion remained where he was.
* * *
"It is past time you remembered who I am, Conar," Tohre reminded his Prince as he dropped the silken braid into the pocket of his robe. "I am the Master; you, my sweet Princeling, are the servant. I command; you obey."
His young eyes turned old as sin as Conar narrowed them at the High Priest. With a growl of hate, he leaned close and spat on the floor at Tohre’s feet. "Go fuck yourself, Kaileel," Conar ground out, wiping his hand across his lips.
Tohre smiled and the smile was vicious and teasing as Conar turned away, his hands clenched into fists, not even waiting for the evil man to follow him as he stalked through the Chancel to his new bride.
Conar glanced at Legion as Tohre took his place in front of the altar and wondered if Legion had realized what had happened. From the pity on his brother’s face, he knew he had.
"It is time for the unveiling," Tohre called, drawing the attention of those who had been whispering about the exchange between the young Prince and the High Priest.
Everyone present was exceedingly interested
in what the young bride looked like. Speculation had been rampant concerning her deformities and those who had gathered were now sitting forward on their chairs to get a good look.
"No!" Medea shouted as Tohre reached for her daughter’s veil.
The people jerked with surprise. All heads turned to her.
The Oceanian Queen walked to the High Priest and looked at him with authority. "It is the custom of our people that only the husband of the bride may see her unveiled on her wedding night, and only then in the privacy of their bridal chamber."
"What?" the elderly noble sitting next to Teal asked. "What did she say?"
"That is not our custom," Tohre snapped.
"My husband and I have adhered to your rituals, even brought the wedding here to your country, but in this we are adamant. No Oceanian bride is unveiled until after her groom has seen her."
"That isn’t true," Dyllon’s wife said as she leaned over to whisper to her husband. "I’ve been to several Oceanian weddings and not once has the bride not been unveiled at the ritual."
Dyllon shrugged. "If The Toad looks as bad as Conar suspects, it’s just as well he doesn’t unveil her here."
"Aye," Coron agreed as he leaned across his wife to speak with his brother. "I don’t think he’d like to have our guests see what he really thought of the woman."
"Well, that may very well be the reason her mother doesn’t want her unveiled," Coron’s wife reminded them. "Perhaps she is concerned for Conar."
"One thing’s for sure," Dyllon replied, "I’m gonna gods-be-damned well postpone our leaving until I see her!"
Kaileel turned to the bride. "Madame? Is this your desire, as well?"
"Leave it up to His Grace," came a grating whisper through the veil. "If he wants me unveiled here, then I shall allow it."
"Daughter!" her mother gasped, looking to Conar. "Not now!"
The young Prince could feel Tohre’s expectant stare on him, but he refused to look at the bastard. "It matters not to me. If that is what the lady wants, then it shall be so." He could feel his wife’s gaze on him and he turned his head and looked down at her. "I can wait if that is your wish."
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