The Traitor's Bride

by Alix Nichols

  “Your turn, my child.” Reverend Goyyem waved to Etana to take his place, handing her a clean sponge and a towel.

  Superior Fo turned to Areg and held up an ancient-looking key. “Would you lift the hem of your nightshirt, please.”

  He obliged.

  “Are you comfortable, or is this too tight?” she asked, tightening the waistband of the knickers around his hips.

  He stifled a sarcastic smile. “Fits like it was made for me, Your Glory.”

  She turned the key, then tugged to make sure the knickers were well secured.

  “When Etana is ready,” she said, drawing back, “Reverend Goyyem and I will leave you alone for a few hours, until midnight. You can do what you wish during that time, but we recommend that you talk and get to know each other.”

  She went on suggesting various discussion topics, but at some point Areg stopped listening.

  More exactly, at the point when his gaze fell on the screen. Lit from behind by the power candles, its fabric had lost its opacity, creating a shadow play effect like the cutout puppet shows he’d seen as a child.

  Except, the current show was unsuited for children.

  His heartbeat accelerating, Areg feasted his eyes on Etana’s delicate frame, the curve of her pert ass and the swell of her breasts peaking so sweetly into beautifully erect nipples. Nipples that seemed to beg for a gentle rub of his thumbs before he took them, one by one, into his mouth and laved them with his tongue.

  Etana hunched her back and kept turning a little awkwardly, as if she knew about the shadow effect and was trying to block her treasures from prying eyes.

  “My child?” Reverend Goyyem broke him from his trance. “Are you listening?”

  “Huh?” he rasped, barely recognizing his own voice. “Yes. Yes, I am, Your Glory.”

  A tiny smile curved the old vestal’s lips just as a realization hit Areg.

  Sweet. Aheya. Etana had seen him like this, too, while he stroked and lathered every part of his body, unaware of the backlight. He’d paid particular attention to regions that were now enclosed in metal, wanting them squeaky clean for the occasion.

  No wonder her voice had sounded weird. He must’ve shocked the living spirit out of the poor girl. She was an innocent, for Aheya’s sake! If Areg had been the blushing sort, his face would’ve gone up in flames now.

  “I will return at midnight,” Superior Fo said, “and unlock both of your knickers. Then you’ll be left alone for the rest of the night.”

  He nodded to show he was paying attention this time.

  Reverend Goyyem reached behind the screen with a nightshirt and patience knickers for Etana.

  “The moment I collect your knickers later tonight,” Superior Fo said, “your marriage will be considered consummated. It will become fully binding in the eyes of the Ra-human law and of Divine Aheya.”

  “Understood,” Areg said.

  Her face crimson, Etana came out from behind the screen.

  Superior Fo locked her knickers and refolded the screen. Reverend Goyyem tucked it under her arm.

  “Your next night together will be in a year, my children,” she said in lieu of a goodbye. “Make the most of this one.”

  8

  With the vestals gone, Areg found himself studying his feet, unsure what to do next.

  Etana looked down, too.

  He shot a glance at the door viewer. Two small, bloodshot eyes were watching them from the other side.

  Ultek.

  It was outside of Areg’s power to make him go away, but he could remove himself and Etana from the police chief’s field of vision.

  Determination in his step, he strode to his pallet and dragged it toward the door and then along the wall, all the way to the corner, positioning it in Ultek’s blind spot. This wasn’t going to make them inaudible to him, but it was the closest thing to privacy they could have tonight.

  He sat down on the pallet and adjusted his patience knickers so they wouldn’t dig into his flesh.

  Etana watched him bustle about, her expression perplexed. Then she noticed Ultek’s eyes in the viewer, and her pretty face contorted with hate.

  He pointed to the pallet. “Come here.”

  She marched over and lowered herself next to him, folding her legs demurely to the side, her eyes downcast.

  Areg inhaled her head-turning scent. The Eternal Garden couldn’t possibly smell better.

  But the anger in her eyes aroused a suspicion in him.

  “Did that scumbag finger rape you during the vestals’ examination?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.

  Etana pulled a strand of hair out of the thick braid that wreathed about her head and twisted it around her finger. “No.”

  He could only hope she wasn’t lying out of some misplaced sense of propriety. Given the things that had been done to her since this morning, they were beyond propriety. Far, far beyond, in his case.

  Images of the torture he’d endured over the last month, the gunk he’d been eating, the bucket he’d been using and reusing to relieve himself, the long stretches he’d gone without a chance to wash flashed before his eyes.

  Even during the worst of the Teteum invasion and the longest of battles, it hadn’t been that bad.

  “I’m still chaste, my lord.” Etana scrunched her face without lifting eyes. “Areg.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Me, too.” She twisted a straw sticking out of the pallet’s side. “It would’ve broken my heart if… that man had taken what’s lawfully yours.”

  Dammit.

  She was mistaking his worry about her well-being for a selfish whim as if he wanted his gift with the wrapper and the bow on. Like he wanted to be sure it hadn’t been used before.

  He touched her chin, nudging it toward him. “Look at me.”

  With a visible effort, she met his gaze.

  “You’re young and unworldly.” Areg dropped his hand, realizing that his touch was growing sensual.

  It was hard to resist the effect Etana’s soft, silky skin was having on him.

  “How about this, for starters,” he said. “I am not a virgin. Hente’s tradition calls for chastity in both men and women, but I was too weak to abide.”

  She smiled. “You’ve had more time and countless more temptations than me.”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s the double standard. Menials are expected to be conservative and virtuous. But nobility and rich proficients enjoy a lot more freedom.”

  She knit her brows. “The Gokks live up to all the standards and they’re very rich.”

  “They’re the exception to the rule.” He shifted to sit more comfortably.

  Fucking patience knickers.

  Were they supposed to “talk and get to know each other” while standing?

  “Anyway,” he said, “noble-borns enjoy much more sexual freedom than commoners. We’re rarely chaste when we marry.”

  “Even women? They don’t wait?”

  He shook his head. “No one does. It’s not uncommon for a lord or a lady to have had several adventures before he or she settles down.”

  “But what about…” She hesitated. “What about unwanted pregnancies?”

  “We have access to several types of protection and fertility inhibitors, all smuggled in from other planets, and pricey, of course.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “You see, chastity loses some of its sacred luster when you have alternative means of contraception.”

  She winced.

  “You disapprove.” He touched her face again. He couldn’t help himself. “You think we’re decadent.”

  “Um… No, I’m just processing.”

  She changed her position, squirmed, and winced again.

  “The patience knickers?” He gave a sympathetic look.

  She nodded. “They’re uniquely uncomfortable.”

  “Tell you what.” He scooted to the wall and stretched out on his side, propping his head on his elbow. “They were not designed to be
warn in a sitting position.”

  She grinned, teetering.

  He patted the pallet. “Lie down. You’ll still feel the bite of the damn thing, but you’ll be much more at ease.”

  His heart skipped a beat when she reclined next to him.

  How weird.

  Just this morning, he’d braced himself for a quick and brutal death. Then he’d struggled to come to terms with a more protracted and degrading end. In fact, he was still struggling. Several months—or maybe years—filled with abuse, gunk, stench, helplessness, and guilt were not something he looked forward to.

  So, how could he feel so excited about this sweet pea lying next to him? Or about making love to her later that night?

  “Rather archaic, this whole patience knickers business, don’t you think?” he said, reminding himself this was a time for “talking.”

  “It is, even though I see the reasoning behind it.”

  “Me, too.” He tore his gaze from her breasts calling to his palms from beneath her nightshirt.

  She was staring at the opening of his nightshirt.

  “We’re lucky the bed inspection didn’t make it to this century,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “In the past, the newlyweds’ parents would study the bedsheets after the wedding night, looking for stains of blood and seed.”

  “Eww.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d be mortified.”

  “The custom faded away after it became an open secret where the blood came from on bedsheets of noble-borns.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Where would that be?”

  “Pricked fingers.” He pointed at the heel of his hand. “Nicked palms. Not perforated hymens.”

  She cracked up.

  He was watching her laugh when a clang came from the door, followed by the sound of retreating steps. Areg leaned over Etana to get a better look. The viewer flap was down.

  Ultek was gone—to eat and shit, no doubt. He did those things around the clock, even when spearheading torture sessions that he liked to call “advanced interrogation.” Or perhaps he’d gone home, deciding he’d seen enough of brick wall and heard enough of useless banter. Whichever it was, none of the guards posted outside the door reopened the flap.

  Areg lay back down.

  Etana gave him a questioning look.

  “Ultek just left, and nobody’s taken his place for now,” he said.

  “Do you think the guards can hear us?”

  “Not if we speak quietly.”

  “Good.”

  This was as good time as any to inquire about her situation.

  “Were you being forced to marry against your will?” he whispered.

  Her eyebrows went up. “No. Why?”

  “I thought…” He scratched the back of his head before giving her a crooked smile. “You seemed desperate when you proposed to me this morning.”

  She blinked before chuckling softly.

  “So, you weren’t desperate?” he asked. “This marriage wasn’t your ticket out of a tight spot?”

  She shook her head, and the loose strand fell onto her forehead. “I had excellent reasons for marrying you, but family arm-twisting wasn’t one of them.”

  He frowned, processing.

  Her virginity had already ruled out the bastard child motive, and now she was telling him she wasn’t being forced into an unwanted marriage, either. Then why was she doing this?

  Could it be… He studied her face. Could it be that it wasn’t him, ex-army major Lord Areg Sebi, doing a last good deed to save a helpless menial girl? Could it be her saving him?

  “My family may be starchy, but their hearts are in the right place,” she said. “You heard Rhori earlier. Did he sound like a bully to you?”

  Areg grinned. “He sounded like a great guy. And he was right. You should’ve discussed your plan with him and your parents before ruining your future.”

  “My future, huh?” She blew at the stray wisp covering her eye. “All those closed doors and dreams that will never come true.”

  He reached to push the wisp out of her face, fully intending to return his hand to where it had been before. “The Gokks are good people.”

  “They are.” Etana leaned her head into his palm. “And they treat their servants well. But it’s like you said that day in their house… On Hente, birth equals destiny.” She searched his face. “I’m stuck forever with birth-duty, a life without choices, remember?”

  He gave her cheek a barely perceptible stroke. “Yes, I remember very well what I said that day. And I’m not trying to downplay the menials’ predicament now. But things may’ve been different for you, personally.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  Areg traced her cheekbone with his thumb. “Sir Gokk’s oldest son—Geru—he’s enamored with you. He might’ve asked for your hand one day.”

  She waived him off, laughing. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? The way he stood up for you, the way his ears burned as he spoke. I remember thinking perhaps you were lovers.”

  She tapped her forehead and whistled in a you’ve-lost-your-mind gesture. “May I remind you who he is—and who I am—in the Gokk household? And in society?”

  Areg gave her a so-what look.

  “Besides,” Etana said, “his parents, and everyone really, expect him to marry his best friend Lady Marye Atiz. He was just being kind. Kindness is a family trait with the Gokks.”

  It was, indeed. Areg’s thumb slid down to the corner of her mouth and lingered there, hesitant. The temptation to trace her plump lips was making it hard to focus on what he wanted to say to her.

  He moved his thumb to her chin. “Whatever your good reasons for marrying me, I’m nearly certain you’ll be worse off than before.”

  Etana opened her mouth to protest, but he placed his fingertips against it. “Let me finish, little one.”

  She swallowed and stared into his eyes.

  He pressed his fingers lightly into her soft lips. So warm, so yielding…

  “You still have a chance to bow out of this.” His words came out hot and rushed before lust could get the better of him. “Walk away with Superior Fo when she comes to unlock our knickers. We won’t consummate the marriage. It will be annulled. You’ll be free.”

  “And you’ll be dead,” she said against his fingers.

  “I’m dead anyway.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t say that!”

  “People don’t last long in this place.” He sighed. “Which is for the best, considering.”

  “We’ll find a way, if you just—”

  “Sweet pea.” He traced the contours of her lips, marveling at their loveliness. “I won’t be able to cherish you like I promised at the ceremony, to provide for you… For Aheya’s sake, Etana, walk away.”

  She kissed his fingertips. “No.”

  His resolve failing, he pulled her closer.

  She placed her hand on his chest, slid it up his shoulder and then gripped the nape of his neck. “I chose you. There’s no turning back for me.”

  So be it.

  The words from the wedding ceremony echoing in his head, Areg cupped Etana’s face, yanked her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. Fighting the urge to run his tongue over her lush lips and then push it inside, he kept the pressure light and his lips close together, barely grazing Etana’s, as he gauged her reaction.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut. She didn’t recoil and kissed him back with a heartrending tenderness. Then, on an exhale, she parted her lips for his tongue. Desire blazing in his chest, he slid the tip of his tongue inside her mouth, stroking hers, and coaxing her to open more. When she did, he pushed his tongue deeper against her.

  A groan escaped him, as he drank in Etana’s taste. Honey and woman. The sweetest and at the same time sultriest mouth he’d ever kissed. He dared not imagine how luscious her cunny would taste. He couldn’t wait to sample it.

  But first things first.

  Bre
aking the kiss, he drew back.

  Etana didn’t move, her face flushed and her eyes still closed.

  Areg pushed himself to a sitting position, spreading his legs to minimize the discomfort caused by the patience knickers.

  He rubbed one of the tight braids wrapped around her head. “Will you undo these for me?”

  She opened her eyes and tried to focus. When she sat up between his legs, her face was so delectably kiss drunk in the flickering light of the lamp he struggled not to descend on her mouth again. She lifted her hands to her hair and began unbraiding it.

  He joined in, untwining the long silky strands, lifting them up a little and letting them fall through his fingers. His fingers moved slowly, reverently. And all the while the urge to lean into her, to tear off her nightshirt and stroke her everywhere swelled in his chest. It made his hands tremble and his shaft strain against the metal. But he fought it. The delicious anticipation of what he would do to Etana after the abbess removed their patience knickers, of what they would do together, was a gift in itself.

  For the first time in months—make it years—his mind was exactly where his body was. Here and now. All those big, bad, important things that were at the front of it day and night had receded into a remote corner.

  Eia’s takeover by a tyrant and his hounds, Nyssa’s uncertain fate as a hostage at the mercy of that tyrant, his own grim future—all of that had grown hazy and distant as if he’d dreamed it. His burden had turned into an empty shell, a weightless phantom.

  In contrast, Etana was acutely corporeal.

  Better still, she was within reach, willing and desirable. A sweet promise of joy.

  Everything about her pleased him—her heavenly mouth, her breasts that he burned to touch, her intoxicating scent… Would it be so wrong to indulge himself tonight, to take what she was offering?

  Despite her being a little sheepish and very inexperienced, Areg knew she was drawn to him, knew he could pleasure her like she deserved. Just as he knew he would relish every moment of their lovemaking.

  He rolled her name on his tongue. “Etana.”

  My wife.

  9