The King's Spinster Bride

by Ruby Dixon

  No, I am not displeased with my choice to marry her. I wonder if she is displeased with me, though. I am burned brown by days in the sun, unlike the scholarly men of her country. I have battle scars of many fights, and I gave my left eye to the god years ago. I am very different from the boy she remembers. Her eyes went wide when she realized who I was, but she did not retreat, and that pleased me.

  I hope she shows such fearlessness again today.

  I stride into the temple the next morning, my cloak of office heavy around my shoulders. I have been told that Halla will see me in the courtyard once more, so I made my warriors wait outside. If Halla is shy or has questions, I want her to ask them freely.

  Mostly I just want to kiss her again. Perhaps she will let me if others are not staring us down.

  When I enter the courtyard, she is there, waiting. This time she has no naughty book in her lap, her hands clasped there instead. Her braids are carefully arranged over her shoulders and her expression is calm, her poise regal. She looks every bit the queen she was, despite the dull gray of her clothing. Her cheeks go pink at the sight of me, and I cannot stop grinning to myself.

  She will say yes. That blush tells me everything.

  I sit down across from her, in the empty chair that has been pulled next to hers. She does not fidget, my bride-to-be. She watches me calmly, her expression serene.

  “Have you decided?” I ask, my words bald. I see no point in dancing around the reason for my visit.

  Her cheeks pink again. “You can do better than me, my lord.”

  “Better?” I echo. “Better at what?”

  Halla’s flush deepens. “You know what I mean. Younger. Prettier. With more land or money. I have nothing anymore, my lord, not even a throne. I come to you with nothing but the robe on my back, and even that is given to me by the grace of the peacekeepers.”

  “Ah.” I lean forward and take her hand in mine. She looks startled, but I do not let her go. “So you think I am choosing poorly for my bride.”

  She hesitates.

  “Will it help if I tell you that ever since I became a man, it was the memory of your face I stroked my cock to when I lay in my bed at night?” I hear her sudden intake of breath and the shocked look on her face, but I don’t let go of her hand. “Will it ease your fears to know it is you I have always wanted?”

  Halla’s mouth works silently, that pink softness just begging for another kiss. I want to lean in and taste her again, but she speaks before I can. “I am old, Mathior.”

  I snort. “You are not old. You are barely three and thirty, if I remember your birth-date correctly.”

  “And you are twenty-three—”

  “Twenty-four,” I correct. “And I have female warriors in my tribe that are twice your age and still as hale as any.”

  “I’m a spinster,” she continues stubbornly, ignoring my words. “Even if I had a kingdom, there are younger princesses, or those that have proven to be childbearers. What if I am too old to provide you with an heir?”

  Is that truly her only worry? Or just an argument because she is afraid? “Then my strongest warrior will take my place as First Warrior. It is the cyclops way. I would not have followed my father to the throne if I were not the most capable in all of my tribe.”

  “But—”

  “I will have you,” I tell her firmly. “As my bride and in my bed. Are excuses all that you have for me? Or do you truly not want to be my wife? Say so now. I would not force an unwilling woman.”

  Her cheeks color prettily again and for the first time, her hand twitches in mine. “I will marry you.” Her voice is a shy whisper. “But Mathior—”

  “No buts. You will marry me in the cyclops way?”

  Halla lifts her chin. “You ask permission to strip me naked in front of your people and mine, put your mouth on me”—her face becomes redder, which I did not know was possible—“and then bed me? If that is what it takes to unify our people, I shall do so gladly.”

  “Do you marry me only to unify your people, then?”

  For a moment, she looks confused. She straightens and that soft mouth presses into a line. “I do not understand what you ask, Mathior.”

  I straighten and release her hand. “Kiss me.” I want to see how she will respond to caresses. Nothing will be more disappointing than dreaming of Halla for sixteen years only to find she is repulsed by the touch of a cyclops. Her people think of us as crude barbarians, fools who carve up their faces in a show of strength. She will willingly submit to me…but how willingly? Perhaps I am overly prideful in this moment, but I want more than just her reluctance.

  I want her passion as I have dreamed it for all these years.

  Halla looks around the room, then when she sees no one else, turns her startled gaze to me. “Kiss you, my lord?”

  “Mathior,” I demand. “Call me by my name. I want to hear it from your lips.”

  “Mathior,” she murmurs, and bites one full, pink lip. “Forgive me. I just…protocol…”

  “Protocol has nothing to do with the two of us,” I tell her. “If I were a king that believed in protocol, I would do as you think I should and marry some royal daughter with lineage and money and not a thought in her head. I want you. I have always wanted you. I cannot make that any clearer. So if you wish to marry me, come and give me a kiss.”

  She looks frustrated at my demands. “It’s not that easy—”

  “It is just a kiss. Nothing more. I will not bear you down into the rushes and have my way with you.”

  Yet.

  Halla makes the most adorably indignant sound, and then gets to her feet. “Very well.” She smooths her skirts and waits.

  I don’t get up from my seat. I pat my thigh and lean back, giving her an expectant look.

  Her nostrils flare, the only outward sign of her frustration. She gazes at me for a long moment, and I half-expect her to storm away. Instead, she moves forward and with all the grace of the princess she is, sits on my knee. She’s tiny, I realize, her weight light. She fits into my arms perfectly, though, and it takes everything I have not to wrap my arms around her and drag her against me.

  I want to see how she handles this.

  Halla moves ever so slightly inward, studying me. Then she leans in and puts her mouth against mine. The movement is quick, firm.

  Abrupt.

  I don’t react.

  She hesitates and her mouth remains against mine. I can feel the press of her body against my chest, and her hands stray to my skin. Her fingertips rest against my pectoral and her lips move hesitantly, parting against mine.

  Then, she pulls back. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits softly.

  I bite back the groan that rises in my throat. She is untouched, and it fills me with a fierce possessive pleasure. “Shall I show you?”

  “Please.”

  I slide my hand along her back and let it rest on her hip. She stiffens against me but doesn’t move away. My other hand goes to her hair and I pull her back down until her mouth grazes over mine. I part my lips, letting her feel my mouth before I flick my tongue against the part of her lips. “Open for me.”

  She gasps, but does as I command.

  I slide my tongue into her mouth, and she immediately goes pliant against me. A little noise of pleasure escapes her, and my cock hardens at the realization that she enjoys my touch. She thinks she is a spinster? Not in my arms. I stroke against her tongue, licking at her sweetness and tasting her as I have always dreamed. Halla’s hand curls against my chest and her nails dig into my skin, and again the fierce, possessive pride ripples through me.

  It does not matter that she is older than me. She is mine and mine alone. With that thought, I growl low in my throat and deepen the kiss, claiming her mouth with deep, sure strokes. To my surprise—and pleasure—Halla timidly returns the kisses, her tongue brushing against mine. For all that she is unschooled, she is not cold.

  This pleases me greatly. I have kissed only a very few females
, and always with her foremost in my mind. Every cyclops male is trained to please a female in bed, but I have never claimed one as my own. I have been waiting for my Halla, and the kisses I give her now are a result of learning what it will take to pleasure a female.

  Not just any female, but mine.

  So I nibble on her mouth, on those full, pink lips, before stroking deep once more. When she makes another soft whimper and her hand curls against my chest, I gentle my kiss, turning it to one of exploration and languid pleasure. There will be time enough to plunder her, I reason with myself. I must go slow. I must be gentle. So I lap at her mouth, flicking my tongue against hers until she squirms with pleasure, and the nipples rubbing against my chest are hard little beads that make my cock surge with aching need.

  I would bear her to the floor and claim her as mine right now if I were not king. But I am, and she is a princess of the Yshrem line, and what we do must be public so all will know we are united. With a sigh, I pull away from the soft sweetness of her mouth and give her one final nip. “Say you will be mine, Halla.”

  She gives me a dazed, passion-glazed look, her focus on my mouth. “Of course, my lord.”

  “Mathior. Always Mathior to you.”

  A smile touches her kiss-swollen lips. “Mathior.”

  It takes everything I have not to claim her mouth as mine again. I gently set her onto her feet and then get to my own. My cock throbs under my loincloth, but I ignore it and the obvious bulge it makes. “When can you be ready to leave?”

  She straightens her clothes and runs a trembling hand over her braids. “I do not have much, so I could be ready in an hour. However, if you want to marry a princess, I shouldn’t leave the temple dressed like a peacekeeper. Send your men out to get me a dress fit for a queen, and a horse of my own, and we can ride out in the morning where everyone can see us coming up the roads.”

  I’m amused at how quickly her manner changed from sweetly giving and unsure to brisk and efficient. This is the Halla I remembered—a queen down to her bones. She is right. It has been sixteen years since any saw their princess. For them to recognize her as such, she will need to be garbed in the manner befitting a queen. If I take her out of here in the plain spun robe she is currently wearing, they will think I have snatched her. I’m both pleased and amused at her clever mind. “It shall be done. I’ll have a dress delivered this afternoon.”

  “You have the banns?”

  “Banns?” I stare at her blankly.

  “Banns,” she agrees. “A Yshremi custom. The bride and groom travel the streets with a banner showing the house symbols that will be united. It’s so the common people can come out and receive blessing coins.” She lifts her chin. “You should probably go to the nearest moneylender as well and take out a great many coins. You wouldn’t want to look poor in front of my people.”

  So because I am marrying her in my custom, I am also to marry her in hers? Impudent to suggest, but wise, too. I grin. “It shall be done. My house has no symbol, though. That is a Yshremi custom.”

  “You’ll think of something,” she says coolly, and straightens. “I must go and inform the peacekeepers that I will be leaving. Will you compensate them for my care for all these years?”

  “Of course. You are quick to spend my money,” I tease.

  “You’re marrying a princess,” she tells me in a tart voice as she saunters away. “We are not cheap.”

  I throw back my head and laugh with delight.

  I have a dress sent to the temple later that evening, and when I arrive with my warriors the next morning, we bring a pale gray mare for her to ride upon. Since we ride to the capital with all of my tribe, hundreds of Cyclopae warriors fill the streets, and it is easy to tell the Yshremi local people are alarmed. Families hide away at the sight of the crossed spears on our backs and the eyepatches on our faces. They probably think we are here to conquer once more.

  Halla was wise to suggest the banns and the dress. Two bags of coins are tied to my horse’s saddle and a bag tied to her mare. I have given my men equal amounts of the Yshremi coins so they can also toss them at the people. If all it takes is a few coins to make them forget our spears, then it is a small price indeed.

  The gates of the temple open in silence, and Halla meets us on the steps. One of the peacekeepers holds a small bag in her arms, but Halla herself is as regal and lovely as I remember. The dress I chose for her is a bright, fiery red, trimmed with white fur. It will stand out like a lightning bolt against the mare. She will be impossible to miss. Her hair is braided in a coronet that makes her look regal and elegant even without a circlet for her brow. I approach and offer her my hand.

  She comes down the steps and puts her hand lightly on mine. “Did you get the banns?”

  I turn and gesture at the men riding at the front of my warriors. Two long, fluttering flags are unraveled, and the symbol of House Yshrem—a scroll—is next to the symbol I have created for my people. It is an eye with a red handprint over it, symbolizing both my cyclops people and our love of battle.

  Once the banns unfurl, a cheer goes up around us and I turn. I did not realize we had an audience, but people have streamed out of their homes, and as Halla strides forward, they continue to call out her name. She is well loved here.

  She will be well loved by me, as well. I am pleased.

  7

  HALLA

  Castle Yshrem looks just as I remember it.

  I stare up at the stone walls as I am escorted inside. The sounds of cheering have followed me all through the streets for the last few days. I’m just happy the sounds are pleased ones instead of terrified ones. The sight of cyclops warriors riding through the villages and towns of Yshrem is a fearsome one and reminds people of the conquest sixteen years ago. The moment they see me—and the banners of marriage—their fear turns to excitement. They feel safe in their own home again.

  If nothing else, my marriage will give my people that.

  So I am glad for it. I do not mind the long days in the saddle as we ride to the capital, or that my arm aches from waving at those who crowd near our horses, curious about their barbarian king and his bride. Mathior has spent a fortune in bridal coins these last three days of travel, but he has not complained, and this makes me happy. I’m happy that my husband will be a king that realizes that content, happy people are the best kinds of subjects.

  My husband.

  I stare up at the banners on the stone walls. Whoever was sent ahead to prepare the castle has done fast work. The marriage banns hang from every wall, his symbol next to mine as far as the eye can see. Once we are inside the gates, he and his men split off, though, and I’m surrounded by ladies and housekeepers who bow obeisance and then have a dozen questions for me. They are clearly flustered, not certain of their place or what is going on. I know how that feels. Watching Mathior and the other cyclops guards leave me behind…that was not a good feeling.

  But I know how to handle myself in uncomfortable situations. I am no wilting flower. I straighten my shoulders and gaze at the women evenly and hand out tasks even as I glean information from them. The women—young Yshremi ladies or wives of the garrison soldiers—look relieved that someone else is in charge, and I sweep through the castle, noting the changes since I last saw it sixteen years ago.

  I am told that a local Yshremi lordling who bowed the knee at King Alistair has lived here ever since the conquest. He ruled this area in exchange for sending horses and an ungodly amount of taxes to the cyclops king. A traitor to his people in exchange for his own favor, I think, but I do not say such things aloud. I know very well the type of men that were rewarded when Yshrem fell to Alistair. I am also told that when the lordling received news of our arrival, he fled in the night. I suspect that perhaps someone was not paying his taxes as he should, and I feel a very un-royal bit of glee at that.

  The keep itself is dirty and in disrepair despite the fact it has been held by Yshremi hands all this time. I give the housekeepers orders, discuss ways
to house all of the cyclops warriors that are traveling with my soon-to-be-husband, and then talk of the upcoming marriage.

  They look terrified on my behalf, though do not dare speak up and say so. Strangely enough, I’m not afraid. Intimidated by what is to come, yes, but I think of Mathior and his mouth on mine, and his boyish smile of pleasure when he sees me, and I feel a flush of pleasure.

  There will be three days of ceremonies, I explain to the ladies and housekeepers that surround me. Each day will require a feast in the throne room for the cyclops warriors. I send a messenger out to the nearest lordlings, since it will not hurt to have our nuptials witnessed by Yshremi eyes. The sooner the word spreads of our union, the better.

  One timid woman—one of the old lordling’s cousins, I think—clutches the fur muff in her hands and gives me a worried look. “How long will the cyclops be visiting?” she asks, her voice low and hushed.

  “Visiting?” I inquire.

  “Yes. How long before they leave once more?”

  I gaze at the women, all wide-eyed and worried. I don’t blame them for being fearful—we’ve all heard terrible stories of the ruthlessness of cyclops warriors. We’ve seen their ruthlessness ourselves when our kingdom was conquered. Perhaps they expect the cyclops to ride in, destroy everything as they did before, and then, like sixteen years ago, ride away and return to their hunting grounds.

  It occurs to me that I don’t know Mathior’s plans, either. Perhaps his idea all along has been to install me as ruler and wife to quell the surges of uprising, and then ride away with his men once the wedding has finished. I should be pleased at the idea of being on my own to rule, but I find the idea…disappointing.

  “I shall ask this evening,” I reassure her.

  I do not see Mathior for the rest of the day, but the keep is crawling with cyclops warriors. They stand out amongst the pale, heavily robed Yshremi people with their bare chests and bronze skin and the weapons crossed over their backs. It seems that even in a peaceful keep, they are armed to the teeth. They are everywhere, too—walking the castle walls, in the courtyard, practicing sparring out in the fields. One follows behind me at all times, and I suspect that Mathior is having me guarded. I don’t mind that—it’s to be expected. But when I try to ask him questions, he just stares at me in silence.