“I told you it isn’t necessary.”
“Good. I’m pleased we were able to see eye to eye on this matter.”
“You’ve forgotten one thing. How can I be married to a man who will never be allowed to see me? You do realize Lord Muir will want to enjoy the pleasures of marriage, Father. I doubt one of his sort, a beast as you call him, will tolerate it for long.”
King Harold chuckled, the sound as malicious as the smile accompanying it. “I have considered that. The man is eager to return to his homeland, and from what I understand, no marriage to you will deter him from sailing to Cairn Ocland when winter ends.”
Rapunzel feigned ignorance. “What does that mean for me?”
“It means you shall remain in the tower for your own safety in his absence, of course, and these,” Harold tapped a long finger against the ring encircling her wrist, “shall not budge. Ever. While I do trust you to perform your wifely duties for our soon-to-be prince, my faith ends there.”
“Father, please if you would just—”
“You will provide an heir, birthing a suitable grandchild of his bloodline.”
“Why are you doing this? Why won’t you let me just leave?”
“All in good time, my dear. Now come, we have a wedding to attend.”
He offered his arm, looking for all intents and purposes like a cheerful, doting father. Anxiety cramped her stomach and moistened her palms until they were damper than swampland. Her heart didn’t merely race. It took flight, thundering loudly enough for the ferocious beat to drown out the sound of her wedding march.
I can’t do this. I can’t marry a stranger.
But it may be my only chance at escape.
Unless he’s as bad as my father.
She clenched her clammy hands around the bouquet in her grip, threatening to snap the fragile stems. Her father led her deeper into the castle to the grand audience chamber while her inner debate continued. The doors opened and the crowd within—larger than she’d expected—all rose to their feet.
And at the end, waiting beside her brother, was Muir.
Even across the vast distance, the weight of his golden gaze seared through her with reassuring warmth, chasing away the chill produced by her terror. Something about it steadied her. Stranger he might be, but he was nothing like her father. Nothing.
Muir had to be the most handsome man in the great hall. No. In all of Eisland. And in a few moments, he would be hers.
* * *
Tailors from Floren spent a week stitching together an appropriate wardrobe for a bridal party. When Muir refused to don trousers, the old man sighed and pleaded for a compromise—the result was Muir wore his traditional clan tartan paired with a fancy, white buttoned shirt, a silver waistcoat of fine satin, silk cravats, and a heavy black frock coat.
The grand hall had been transformed into a spectacle of lace and flowers, the end of the aisle decorated by a trellis crawling with vines of glittering silver-blue frost roses and pale rapunzel blossoms.
There were too many people, swarms of nobility and gentry, their unfamiliar faces filling the seats on Rapunzel’s side of the aisle opposite shifters and sailors from the Twilight Witch. Too many strangers. Too many smells. Each one annointed with a different scent by temple priests before gaining entrance to the grand hall.
Muir had spent much of his week reading about Eisland’s many ceremonies to prepare for the wedding. According to the texts in the castle library, each oil represented one of their gods, rose for Eisen, star lily for the sky goddess Siel, anemone for Triton, and precious amber for the goddess of love, Astra.
The only deity lacking representation was one stricken from record, unnamed and shunned by the temples for causing mischief.
Joren and Sòlas, a fellow griffin, stood beside him, the latter adorned in his best tartan and a fine shirt fashioned last minute by the royal tailor, though the man had fussed and groaned about the necessity of finding so much fabric to clothe their broad shoulders.
He glared at the shorter blond. If he had his way, only close friends and family would be present. Joren had promised a small, intimate affair, but if this was what they considered small, Muir would hate to see what a truly large celebration looked like.
Sòlas cleared his throat, tearing Muir’s attention away from how much he wanted to rip the prince’s head off.
Then he saw her, and everything he’d known, everything he’d ever believed, disintegrated into the ether, his complaints, his grievances, his angst and misgivings, all became no more substantial than motes of forgotten dust.
Rapunzel came down the aisle like a dream given physical form, her hair radiant and piled into an assortment of looped braids and flower-studded plaits threaded with rose gold. Her smile shone brighter than sunlight.
And he dared to believe, dared to hope, it was only for him.
Muir didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until Joren nudged him. His lungs were starved by then and the room swam around him until losing consciousness became a dire concern. Sòlas and the other shifters would never let him live it down, the great Muir of Clan Leomlaire laid low by the breathtaking sight of the most magnificent human woman to ever grace the solid ground with her presence.
The ceremony, or whatever it was that required so many fancy words from an overdressed man, passed by in a haze. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the celestial beauty beside him, because for one single moment when she’d emerged from the hall, he’d thought she’d been a shining gift from the stars. His star.
“Lord Muir?”
“Huh?” He blinked at the priest.
“The vow. Do you promise to honor, cherish, and protect your new wife until the twilight goddess parts you from this realm?”
“I do, yes. I will protect her with my life.”
It means nothing. Their gods aren’t my gods.
“I now pronounce you Princess Rapunzel and Prince Muir of Eisland. You may now kiss your bride.”
The priest took Rapunzel’s hand and placed it in his. When Muir leaned in to kiss her, the puffed-up little man cleared his throat and gave a pointed look at her hand.
“You kiss her hand,” Joren said under his breath.
Muir corrected his stance and leaned down to brush a hasty kiss above her knuckles. The attending nobles applauded while the Twilight Witch’s crew broke out into boisterous, unapologetically loud cheers, hoots, and whistles.
“Get it wet for us, lad!” Faolan cried above the din in their native language.
Muir was going to murder him.
The king moved over and smiled down at them. Then he raised his hands and waited for the ruckus to quiet. “We would be most honored if all in attendance would join us for a celebratory dinner in honor of the newly wed prince and princess. Please rise.”
As if timed to his voice, an army of servants swept through the room. The first wave removed the cushioned seats and floral garlands while the second wave followed close behind them with tables. In a matter of minutes, the room was transformed from a wedding hall into a banquet feast, and at some point, they’d even detached and taken away Rapunzel’s train.
He and Rapunzel were led to a private table set in the center of the room, with everyone else situated at a fair distance around them. A servant raised the lids from the domed platters set on their table, leaving Muir to stare in bewilderment at the odd assortment of food on his plate. Raw oysters in the shell sat on a bed of peppered arugula next to sliced figs and pomegranate. Fresh spears of an unfamiliar vegetable drizzled with a creamy white sauce at their tips had been arranged in a suggestive manner
Is my mind deceiving me?
Either his imagination had completely tumbled into the trench, or someone had artfully made a lewd display with their meal.
More concerning than that was the lack of appropriate food for a shifter of his size. Where the hell was the damned meat?
He grunted and took his cues from Rapunzel, using the utensils as she did for fear of
embarrassing her. To his great relief, she merely raised the shell to her lips.
Thank the stars for small miracles. He devoured more than his share of the oysters while enviously eyeballing the aromatic meals surrounding them. The guests enjoyed quail in mushroom sauce, roasted sweet potatoes, steamed green beans sprinkled in salt and cracked pepper, and honey-glazed carrots. Meanwhile, his rumbling stomach remained unsatisfied.
“Excuse me,” Rapunzel spoke up, gesturing with a raised hand toward a passing servant.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Kindly bring two of those—no, bring three of those birds for my husband.”
The young woman’s brows rose. “Three?”
“Yes, please.”
The woman bowed away and returned moments later with a fresh platter, three succulent morsels arranged atop it, each one browned to a golden perfection with a crust of butter and herbs. Muir barely refrained from salivating over them. Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“How did you know what I wanted?”
“You appeared to be in distress,” Rapunzel said, a hint of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
“Distress?”
“Your brows were all knit together in consternation and you stared many times at your empty plate before glowering at the other trays.”
“Thank you. This… meal is not what I am accustomed to.”
“I understand. It’s a customary one, meant to, um, build the fire, so to speak.”
Something told him she wasn’t referring to him setting the castle ablaze and flying home. “Right.”
At a neighboring table, Joren tapped his spoon against a glass until the low murmur of several dozen voices quieted. “It brings me immense happiness to have each of you here tonight for a blending of two peoples, our triumphant kingdom and a powerful nation once forgotten. It brings me even greater pleasure to acknowledge that today, I have regained a sister once thought lost to me and a brother. Welcome to the royal family, Muir.”
Muir ground his teeth, staring murderously at the silver-haired prince who stood at the table with a jubilant, ear-to-ear grin, either ignorant to the slow death Muir wanted to inflict, or confident in his ability to sweet talk a griffin out of plowing through their alliances and smashing him into the marble floor.
The toasts continued after that, with every noble wishing to say his or her piece. Most of the well-wishes seemed to be aimed at the king, sycophants showing their true colors.
By the time the feast ended and they were ushered away by Sebille and an escort of guards, Muir couldn’t wait to unfasten the fancy cravats and peel off the ridiculous vest he’d been cinched into beneath his frock coat. The tower doors shut behind them, and a heavy wooden bar slid into place.
He snorted. No wooden door could hold him if he chose to leave.
While Sebille removed the flowers and pins from Rapunzel’s hair, he studied the portraits on the wall. It didn’t take long.
“You’ll share my room tonight,” Rapunzel said, guiding him up the spiral staircase.
“Is that an order, Princess?”
“No, it’s a tradition. A married couple spends their first three nights in isolation, to cement their bond and ensure a prosperous and fertile start to their new life together.”
They wound their way up to the topmost floor. Without the train, her dress still dragged against the floor. Muir imagined the garment must have weighed a ton, far more uncomfortable than his formal trappings.
“You should disrobe,” he said.
* * *
Disrobe? His directive made her pause to reconsider her earlier assessments. She turned around to stare at him, wondering if the kind, somewhat solemn man had turned into a lecherous fiend, but she found him studying the decor while unfastening his cravat.
“Excuse me?”
“Your dress, it looks cumbersome. You should make yourself comfortable and be at ease.”
Rapunzel reddened. “Oh. That is, um, quiet considerate of you. For a moment, I thought….”
“Did you think I meant… that I intended….” Muir appeared flustered, so bewildered at the threat of seeing her naked flesh that her eyes stung and heat swept across her upper chest and throat until she remembered their marriage was a sham.
The response bubbled out in a rush. “No! Of course not. I… I merely can’t remove this ridiculous outfit on my own and mistook your words as an offer of assistance.”
“Ah. Right.”
Muir picked the knot apart with a few deft tugs then loosened the ribbon. An involuntary sigh of relief escaped her when the tension vanished and the corset expanded with her next breath.
“Gods, that was a mercy. Thank you, Muir.”
“Why do women wear such cruel contraptions if you find them intolerable?”
“Beauty is pain.”
Muir snorted with laughter. “What?”
“Beauty is pain,” Rapunzel repeated. “At least, that’s what my mother always told me when I asked her why she wears such devices.” She smiled at the memory of watching the queen and her maid prepare one morning for a social engagement. She’d been fascinated, a mere girl of eight and far too young to wear such fanciful items.
“And what does that mean?”
“She went on to explain to me that the corsets, the shoes, the waxing, and other traditions are merely a part of womanhood, something to be embraced once we leave our child years behind, because they are expected of us and help us to fulfill our role alongside the men.”
“Waxing? What is that?”
Rapunzel turned to face him and raised both brows. “It’s when…. Do you truly not know?”
His golden-red brows drew inward. “Should I?”
She pursed her lips, wondering about Cairn Ocland’s customs and all the more anxious to see it with her own two eyes. She wanted to meet those dangerous warrior women who shifted into beasts, but doubted such a fragile, dainty thing as her could ever impress them in return. “It is when a beautician smears a layer of sugar wax across a hairy portion of your body, such as a leg, allows it to harden, and rips it away.”
Muir stared at her, aghast. “No.”
“Yes. See.” She shrugged off the enormous wedding gown and stepped free, although she remained in her petticoat and chemise. She hiked up the former until it bared her legs to the midthigh.
“Our women do not do such things.”
“So your women are as hairy as you are?”
He frowned at her. After a moment, he tugged the front of his shirt and peered down the neckline. “I’m not that hairy, am I?”
Phony marriage or not, there was something magical about his accent and the lyrical way his vowels rolled that turned her knees and joints into mush when he spoke Mordenian. Rapunzel sighed a little, preferring it over his Eislandic.
“I wouldn’t know, since you’re wearing all of this to our supposed wedding night.” Rapunzel stepped forward and hooked a finger into his kilt. He placed a hand on her wrist.
“Nice try, lass. Anyway, a little hair isn’t something I’ve paid any mind before. Our women are beautiful as they are. And look at you.” He touched a loose curl of hair framing her face. “I’ve never seen this color before in a human, and it’s so fair I doubt it would show anyway. What’s the point?”
“I… I’m not sure.” She pursed her lips and considered it. “Comfort, I suppose. I enjoy the feeling of smooth skin. And it’s nice to be waxed and lotioned before lying in silk sheets.”
“Then do it for that reason and that reason alone, not to impress another.”
And with that, he stepped away from her and turned to the window. She gaped at his back, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
“Rapunzel?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are there so many royal guards assembled on the stoop beside the tower entrance? Is this another of your kingdom’s strange traditions?”
Rapunzel unsnapped her garters and sighed as she ro
lled the silk stockings down, her oblivious and disinterested new husband more fascinated with the landscape than her. “No, typical of perverted guards and nothing more. They’ll be there until Sebille emerges, at the very least.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Your maid is still here?”
“Well, yes. She’s waiting downstairs. It is her duty after all to announce that the marriage has been consummated.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, um… do your people not do this?”
“Have someone present during a private, intimate, and personal moment?”
“Yes.”
His expression hardened. “No. That is an invasion my people would count as the highest insult.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip. “It’s because I’m a princess. The common people aren’t obligated to follow the same set of rules.”
“What purpose does it serve? Do you think so little of making love that you would invite others to watch?”
Rapunzel avoided eye contact, despising the judgmental look in his amber eyes and the way his face flushed red with indignation. “It is confirmation that the act has taken place when one is royalty, especially among the nobility. Otherwise, a marriage isn’t valid. I didn’t mean to disgust you so thoroughly with our heathen ways, my lord. Forgive me. I’m certain your people have no customs we would find strange and unusual.”
A sharp, derisive snort was the only sound he made.
“If Sebille doesn’t tell them, then they’ll know this is a sham. She’ll lie for us, but she’s poor at it, you should know. Her entire face turns pink, and she picks her nails without making eye contact.” A fleeting smile tugged her lips. “She used to try to cover for me as a child when I was up to no good, but Father could always tell.”
“I am not bedding you.”
“Do you prefer men?” The truth came to her on a thunderbolt of realization, flushing heat down her neck and over her face. No wonder he’d barely given her a cursory glance in her undergarments. Why he had been so tender and caring when she lay in her sick bed, poisoned.
“Pardon?”
“It’s all right if you do. Dear gods, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw myself at you.” She hurried into her dressing gown and belted the robe in place over her thin chemise.
Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince Page 12