On that sober pronouncement, he sat, and the banquet hall rang with deafening silence.
She sat beside Daarik, and the feast began with all the joy of a beheading. Daarik placed servings of several things on her plate, then on his, and she pulled her scarf away from her face, despite the fact that the last thing she felt like doing was eating.
“The meat is from the giant water beasts that live on the coast,” he told her, pointing to the meat with his own eating utensils, two sticks that one used to pick up the food. Shannen had been presented with the same utensils the evening before and hadn’t even bothered to try to use them. Now, she wished she’d at least practiced.
“The stewed fruit is a mix of elderberry and wild plums, prepared with herbs gathered wild in the northern woods. It is a five day ride just to get there.”
She nodded, understanding that not only was he explaining their dishes, but what his people had to go through to obtain this meal. The coast was a long ride through rocky terrain, and the roads and trails were in poor condition and difficult to navigate on even the best of days.
“The flour for the bread is ground from the seeds of a rough grass that grows wild, but sparsely, far from here. We developed a strain of it that thrives in our dry climate, and we grow large fields of it behind the castle.”
She nodded again. “And the wine?” she asked, trying to make the effort, as his father had begged, to understand and to know.
“The wine is fermented from a type of wild berry that grows prolifically on bushes full of wicked thorns. They’re horrid eaten in their natural state, but when fermented and sweetened, make for a flavorful wine. Taste,” he said, and she obediently lifted the delicate metal cup to her lips. He watched as she sampled it. It was sweet, and earthy. Aromatic, with an underlying tartness that finished as she swallowed.
“Your people are talented winemakers,” she said, and he nodded. “I imagine that harvesting these berries is unpleasant.”
“We call it bloodwine for a reason,” he said, and she found herself smiling.
“Then I will be sure to drink every drop, gratefully,” she said, and she noted the approval in his gaze.
“Is this an act, my wife?” he asked after a few moments.
“Is what an act?”
“This,” he said, nodding his head toward her and the table before them. “You played the part of the spoiled, wealthy nightmare when you were brought before me,” he reminded her.
“Because I am that,” she said, trying to work the eating utensils, her brow furrowed in frustration. “I am a spoiled brat. I am loud and obnoxious and never do as I am told.” She glanced at Daarik. “I slept my way through the palace guard so they would not be able to find anyone to marry me. And I had some fun in the process,” she added as an afterthought.
He sat in silence for a few moments, then surprised her by laughing. It drew the curious glances of many of the Maarlai at the other tables. Daarik shook his head.
“Well. That is… interesting, my wife,” he said, still smiling a bit. “I forget your people have such a high regard for the purity of their women.”
“Yours do not?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Coupling is a natural thing. Why should we judge another for doing what comes naturally? A Maarlai woman takes whoever she wants, until she’s married. As we discussed earlier; we are loyal to only our spouses after marriage.”
“And will you be following that rule, or will you be the exception, husband?” she asked, and wondered why.
He looked at her appraisingly. “Honestly, I think few of my Maarlai warriors would have me after knowing that I copulated with a human.”
She didn’t think the words were meant to sting. “Are they worried that humanity is catching?” she asked.
“Undoubtedly. They fear they’ll become pale and soft, that their fangs will fall out, and they will develop a tendency to scream and cry at the drop of a hat.” His face was serious, but his tone held that dry note that Shannen was beginning to associate with the stoic-looking warrior.
“Very scary. You do put yourself in danger for your people,” she said.
He heaved a sigh. “Heavy is the head that will eventually wear the non-existent crown,” he said, and she bit back a smile.
He sobered, watching her still trying to work the utensils. She managed to get a bite of meat to her mouth.
“The consummation,” he said, and she shook her head, the food turning to ash in her mouth. He must have noted the look on her face, because he backed away.
“That look was not for you… not for what has to happen between us,” she said. “While I am somewhat concerned about how the parts will match up,” she said, and he choked a little on the wine he was drinking, “I am disgusted by the fact that it will require an audience. I am not accustomed to having all of my parts on display,” she finished quietly.
He watched her. “Then I will cover your parts for you, wife, and we’ll get through it somehow.”
“Do you have a penis?”
He bit back a laugh. “I assure you, I do have a penis.”
“Oh. Well, I wasn’t sure. I was almost hoping not.”
“Really,” he said, appraising her.
“I am just hoping I can walk afterward,” she said, and then he did laugh. “Though I do wonder if you’ll be able to get it to stand for me.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he answered.
“Shockingly, that does not make me feel any better,” she said, and he nodded.
“It feels wrong,” he said after a moment. “You don’t want this, and I don’t want to do that with anyone who doesn’t want it. That’s not how we are,” he finished.
“Well. You don’t want it, either,” she said.
“True.” He paused. “We can tell them to wait. They’ll just have to stick around until we decide we want to consummate it.”
“The treaty depends on verifying consummation,” she reminded him, and he grunted.
“Neither of us wants it. We both known what sex can be when it’s wanted. This is not that,” Shannen said, and she met his eyes. “It is a business transaction. As long as we both remember that that’s what it is, that we are both doing it against our choosing… we can suffer together, at least. And you have no more reason to feel guilty about it than I do. It is my people’s fault, with their ignorance and stupid customs.”
He studied her for several long moments.
“Wife.”
“Husband.”
He shook his head. “Always stay like this. Stay this honest with me, and I’ll be the same way with you. We’ll manage all right.”
She nodded, and he held his free hand out, and she took it. They shook on it, and that was, she realized, the most important vow they’d made to one another that day.
Chapter Four
They dawdled over their meal. Maarlai wedding feasts often lasted late into the night and, despite the less-than-ideal situation, this one was no exception.
Though, usually, there were not so many empty liquor bottles and tankards lined up in front of the bride and the groom. Both Daarik and Shannen had hit the bloodwine hard, and then, not wanting to be selfish, they’d agreed to switch to cheaper, less artful human moonshine.
It did the trick.
Daarik felt pleasantly warm, more than a bit buzzed. He knew he held his drink well, becoming even more quiet the more he drank. He did a good job of ignoring just about everyone around him. Everyone, of course, except the reason he was drinking so heavily. His wife. She sat beside him, eyes sparkling from the effect of the alcohol, cheeks delicately flushed. She’d become more talkative with drink, more sarcastic, louder. It was a pleasure to just sit and watch, listen as she disparaged the human emissary, who sat down the table from them, a veritable storm cloud over his pointy little head. Daarik had the sense that there was a long, unfriendly history between the two of them, and that, lacking anything else to take her nerves out on, Shannen was lashing out at someone wh
o represented her family.
Her barbs at the little man had been fairly vicious, until finally the little worm learned to keep his mouth shut. With the emissary bested, Shannen had settled in, for the past couple of hours, drinking from the bottle she and Daarik passed between them and watching the gathered Maarlai.
“Who’sat?” she asked him, her voice soft, flowing, as she nodded toward a Maarlai who stood near the dining hall doors, watching her, a smug, disdainful look on his wrinkled face. Daarik followed her gaze and grimaced.
“Jarvik,” he said. “My father’s foreign relations advisor.”
Shannen raised her eyebrows. “Your father has one of those?”
“Well, we call it ‘pest control advisor,’ but I was trying to be polite,” he said.
She laughed, shaking her head.
He leaned in toward her conspiratorially, and she leaned in as well. “He’s a vile sonofabitch,” he said in a loudish whisper.
“I don’t think the whole hall quite heard you,” Shannen said, humor sparkling in her eyes as she leaned away. She gestured for the bottle and he handed it over, watched as she took a swig. He hadn’t been aware that human females drank that way. He always pictured them more dainty and particular. She took a gulp, grimaced, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand before handing the bottle back.
“Once you get drunk enough, it tastes less like horse piss, I think,” she said, and he snorted.
“We need to get quite a bit more drunk, then,” he said.
She picked up another bottle, pulled the cork out, and clinked it against the bottle he held in his hand. “Well ahead of you, husband.”
It wasn’t celebratory drinking, of course. He knew she was trying to numb herself for what had to come next. He didn’t know what his excuse was. The longer he sat beside her, the more comfortable he felt with her. The more he looked at her, the more attractive she became.
Of course, that could have been the effect of the liquor as well.
Eventually, the Maarlai started, one by one, leaving the banquet after stopping to wish Daarik well, sometimes with nods acknowledging Shannen, more often without. Eventually, it was just Shannen and Daarik, his grandmother, his father, and the emissary from her people. His grandmother tried to hide a yawn.
Daarik exchanged a look with Shannen, saw the resignation in her eyes.
“Well. Let’s get this over with, then, so this can be made official for all parties,” Daarik said. “I think we have had as much bloodwine and horse piss as we can handle while still managing to stand upright.”
“I think I handle my liquor better than you do,” Shannen said, standing up.
“Ah, my human harlot. Sleeping around and drinking, eh?”
He noticed her eyes sparkle just a bit. She’d replaced her scarf after finishing her last sip of wine, and he found he missed being able to see her mouth. He had been amused by the way it curved, by the smirk he was growing more accustomed to seeing on her heart-shaped face.
“A brat, a slut, and a drunkard. My, what a prize you ended up with, eh? Is it any shock I was the one my family sent?”
“My Lady,” the emissary from her people chided her, looking as if he was about to fall over in shame.
Shannen ignored him. “Cold and bitchy, too. Let’s not forget that, eh Harledon?” she directed to the emissary, who was trying to look anywhere but at her. “When not being plowed by the nearest guard, I annoyed my family by insisting on reading and writing. And speaking,” she added. “Without even asking for permission!”
“Yes. Dignity never was a skill you managed,” the emissary, Harledon, said in a pinched tone as he brushed off the sleeves of his silk coat. “I imagine your family will be praying their thanks to the gods that you were chosen. You always have been a blemish on their good name.”
Daarik turned and, with one swift movement, grabbed the sniveling little wastrel by the throat, slamming him back into the stone wall of the corridor they were walking down.
“That is my wife. You will pay her the respect she is due as a member of the ruling family of the people who have allowed your pathetic civilization to remain among the living, despite the way you have destroyed this world we are forced to live in,” Daarik growled, putting his face within inches of the human’s. “The only reason I am letting you live despite this insult is that you have a duty to accomplish. Do not tempt me to send you back in a box.”
He released the human, who stumbled while scrabbling at his throat. He turned to Shannen who was looking at him in shock, her wrist still tied to his. He gave her a nod, and they continued down the corridor. At the end of the hall was the suite they would now call home. He would miss his simple hut, among his people, the sounds of life going on around them. This was yet another concession he’d made to his family’s new status.
Daarik pushed open the heavy wooden door, and he and Shannen walked through. There was a sleeping nook with a large bed covered with furs and blankets. A large mantel was near that, unlit; it was far too warm for a fire. There was a settee, a table and chairs. In a separate room beyond, there was a washstand and a large tub that could be filled for bathing.
He felt Shannen, stiff and still beside him. He knew that despite her joking tone, she was afraid. In all honesty, so was he. Not only was this not of their choosing, but he didn’t want to hurt her.
He led her toward the bed, noting that his grandmother and the emissary had settled themselves on the settee on the other side of the room, giving them as much privacy as possible while still witnessing what would come next.
“Do you want to leave your dress on?” he asked her quietly, and she nodded. He caught her eye and nodded back. Any peace she’d managed to drink herself into seemed to have fled her. Tension fairly flowed from her, her entire body rigid, her face pinched.
“Shannen,” he said, the way he would speak to a frightened animal, trying to soothe it. The more tense she was, the more difficult this would be, for both of them. He kept his eyes on hers, pulled her closer by gently bending the arm that was bound to his behind her back. It did interesting things to her breasts, pushing them up and out, and he felt himself stirring. He pressed her close to his body, enjoying the softness of her more than he’d thought he would.
Daarik reached down, gathering her dress up, and his hand found her warm, curved hip. A quick trailing of his fingers over her body, and he could feel that she wore panties of some kind of smooth fabric. He tugged them down over the curve of her hips, and she stepped out of them.
She was trembling, her breathing fast and shallow.
He bent his face toward her, resting his forehead against hers. “How can I make this better for you?” he asked her softly.
“By making it quick, so they can leave,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “And try not to totally destroy me in the process,” she added wryly, and he was pleased to see some of her humor return. He was already beginning to see that his wife used attitude like a shield, and he wondered at what kind of upbringing would lead a person to be that way.
He kept his eyes on her, kept her turned toward him, facing away from their witnesses, and he put his hand under her dress again, tracing his fingertips over her hip, down the soft silkiness of her abdomen, until he found the tuft of hair at the apex of her thighs. She was tense, eyes closed. This was not foreplay in any way he’d ever experienced it. He was trying to get her somewhat ready for him. And he could already feel his groin tightening. He was not nearly as unaffected by her as he’d thought he would be. If they hadn’t had an audience, if she hadn’t insisted on a business transaction, he would have enjoyed exploring her a bit, familiarizing himself with the lush curves her dress hid.
“Open your legs a bit,” he whispered, and she did.
He cupped her, then started moving his fingers, finding her core. He was pleased to find that she was built similarly to a Maarlai woman, right down to the sensitive nub that made her jump when he brushed his calloused fingertips over it.
&n
bsp; “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight, her eyes still closed.
“Trying to take care of you. Shh,” he added, and she was silent.
He flicked and rubbed his fingers over her sensitive flesh, and was pleased to feel her body responding to him, his fingers beginning to slip smoothly over her wetness. It had his body responding as well, his erection pressing uncomfortably against the front of the pants he’d worn for his wedding.
He rubbed her faster, and her breath quickened. He allowed himself the almost perverse pleasure of touching her, holding her, feeling her become needier under his attentions. And when he slid a finger into her almost-impossible tightness, she let out a loud, helpless gasp. The sound had him painfully hard, and it took every bit of control and chivalry he had to resist sinking into her right then and there.
Shannen’s entire existence was centered on the feel of Daarik’s thick, calloused fingers between her legs, his huge, warm body holding her close while he made her feel things, in those few moments, that she’d never felt with any of the palace guards or stable boys. He touched her as if he knew what he was doing, as if, crazy as it seemed, her pleasure mattered. She’d never had anyone try to “ready her” for sex in this way; it had always been a mad scramble, a tearing thrust, and then over long before she felt anything even approaching this.
She kept her eyes clenched closed, feeling dizzy, lost, and when he added a second thick finger, she cried out, unbidden.
“Are you all right?” Daarik asked her in a quiet, rough voice.
Exile Page 4