empress of storms (4 page)

Hoping her trembling wasn’t visible, Danaë took his hand to give him his own marriage band, and stopped. He already had a plain gold band on his ring finger, the yellow metal scratched and worn.

She flushed.
He didn’t bother to take it off. Did he even intend to wear my ring?

Blinking back tears, she looked up into Matthias’s face and saw consternation, embarrassment, and a dark flash of something that looked like regret. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s all right.” Forcing herself to smile, Danaë accepted the heirloom ring Darius had been carrying and slid it onto Matthias’s hand. It sat next to his first wedding band like a gaudier twin.

“By the power vested in me by Lord Rebben, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Patriarch Reniel announced with a flourish. “You may kiss your bride.”

Matthias leaned down, hesitated, then kissed the corner of her mouth. Somewhere between spousal and avuncular, the calculated deliberateness of it broke her heart.

Clinging to her brilliant, false smile, Danaë took her new husband’s arm and let herself be presented to her people.

2

MISCONCEPTIONS

“That bastard,” Darius growled. He paced in front of the fireplace of her sitting room, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “He’s damned lucky I didn’t punch him right then and there.”

“That wouldn’t have been a good idea,” Danaë said, rubbing her forehead. In her peripheral vision she saw the golden gleam of her wedding ring, and held out her hand to study it. It was an elegant piece of jewelry. She wondered which member of Matthias’s retinue chose it. “You can’t go around punching foreign rulers because they had a moment of forgetfulness.”

“Forgetfulness. Ha,” Darius said. “I call it insult.”

“You aren’t helping matters, my prince,” Flavia said, handing Danaë a cup of mulled wine. “The man wore that ring for over two decades. Gods know if it’ll even come off anymore.”

“Then he should have gotten a blacksmith to cut it off,” Darius snapped. “You didn’t see Dani’s face when she spotted it—”

“I was startled, that’s all,” Danaë said. “And he did apologize.”

Matthias had apologized again once they were escorted to the sacristy to sign the register. “I’ve worn it for so long, I forgot I still had it on,” he had explained in a low tone while Patriarch Reniel fussed over the ink pot and quills. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Deciding that forgiveness was the better way to start their marriage, Danaë had told him she understood and he wasn’t to worry about it. The new bride and groom then rode back to the palace to receive the congratulations and well wishes of what seemed to be the entire nobility of Ypres, with the occasional ambassador or minor royal from another kingdom thrown in to break up the monotony. After what seemed like hours they were finally allowed to head to the grand hall for the wedding feast, with a brief stop for Danaë to change into her more manageable reception gown.

It was cut in a similar style to her wedding gown, but in sea green instead of pale blue and without the billowing train. When she rejoined her new husband Matthias had blinked at her change of garb but said nothing, turning instead to greet the first of the nobles. Taking her place at his side, Danaë fell back on her years of diplomatic training to manage the constant stream of faces.
I’ll need to add someone from the court to my staff to act as social advisor. Perhaps Lady Margot can suggest someone.

“In any case, we’re married now,” she concluded, rubbing her thumb against the underside of her ring. “We’ll have to learn how to get along with each other.”

Her brother stopped pacing. “You are Queen of Hellas and Empress of the Eastern Sea,” he snapped. “You don’t have to tolerate rudeness, not even from King Matthias IV himself.”

Her headache throbbed. “Holding a grudge is not the most auspicious way to begin a marriage,” she said. “Besides, I tolerate rudeness from you all the time.”

“That’s different. I’m family.”

“So is Matthias.”

Her twin blew out a disgusted breath. “Don’t remind me. I’m just glad you emerged into this ridiculous world ahead of me. If it had been me up there, I would have punched him.”

Danaë tried to lighten her tone. “Would this be with or without your hypothetical dress?”

A corner of his mouth curled up. “Touché. All right, I won’t challenge him to a duel over this.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “But remember I’m in your corner, sister dear, no matter what.”

“I know, brother dear, and I love you for it.” She patted his arm. “Go downstairs and rejoin the revelry. I need to get ready for my wedding night.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Darius said, snapping his fingers. “If you wear the old man out, he might die in his sleep and you would become sole ruler of both countries at a single stroke.” He winked. “So to speak.”

Danaë pointed at the door. “Out.”

Darius paused to give her a grandiose bow before leaving.

“I thought he’d never go,” Flavia grumbled as she fussed around Danaë. “I have no idea why your father made him an ambassador.”

“Darius knows when to be diplomatic and when to be honest.”

Flavia hmphed. “He had a point, though. Men have been known to drop dead after taking a new young wife.”

Danaë suppressed a groan. “The king strikes me as a man in the prime of life,” she said, getting up at the maid’s urging and moving to the dressing table. “I don’t see him dying after a single night in my bed.”

“I suppose not,” Flavia admitted. She unpicked the jeweled pins from Danaë’s hair, letting the dark tresses wave down across her shoulders. “Once he lets go of that misery-guts attitude, I’m sure that he’ll make a decent enough husband. I’ve talked to some of the maids here, and they say that he’s kind and gentle behind that gruff manner of his.”

Danaë frowned. “He beds his maids?”

“No!” Flavia said, scandalized. “He’s not touched one of them, which is a rare thing among nobles if you ask me. I’m telling you so you don’t worry later on, when it comes to tender matters.”

“Oh.” Danaë considered her reflection, fingering the single lock of dark blue hair that curled over her eyes. Something occurred to her. “He doesn’t expect me to be virgin, does he? I’ve heard of men who prefer to bed virgins.”

Flavia clucked at that. “The king strikes me as the sensible sort. As long as you’ve taken your childbane regular-like, he won’t care about the disposition of your maidenhead.” Putting the hairbrush down, she separated out strands from each temple and began weaving them back, pulling the hair away from Danaë’s face.

Danaë submitted to the braiding, thinking of her parents’ marriage. Political at its beginning, it had blossomed into a true love match within the first year, with Cresus doting on his beautiful wife Clarae. After her father’s drowning, her mother had pined away in her chambers, joining him in his marble mausoleum within six months.

The familiar wave of guilt swept over her. She glared at the golden bracelet on her right wrist. It was worked with sigils, the same as the copper and silver bracelets she’d worn for years had been. Each bracelet acted as a brake on magical ability, and all mages were mandated to wear them as students until they passed the novice, apprentice, and adept exams. With the passing of each exam, one restrictive bracelet would be removed and the student allowed greater access to magical power. The adept’s band would be removed once the student became a magister, trusted with full access to elemental magic. 

In her case, it would never be removed. In her darkest moments she wondered if it was an appropriate punishment, all things considered.
Father, I miss you. I’m so sorry.

“There.” Flavia examined her work critically, then nodded in satisfaction. “A beautiful bride for a beautiful night.”

Danaë tried to smile at her reflection. “Let’s hope his majesty agrees.”

****

Matthias waited a good fifteen minutes after Danaë had left the reception with her retinue before heading up to his own rooms. His valet Mohrs had instructions to have a hot bath and shaving items ready. Once Matthias was presentable, he’d go to his new wife’s rooms and do his duty.

Nodding to the guards at the stairway that led to the royal family’s wing, he wondered if he would be able to do what was necessary. Natural needs drove him to the occasional bout of self-release, passionless and prosaic, but he hadn’t touched a woman since Hanne.

He remembered the flicker of desire he felt when he first noticed Danaë’s body. It would be enough to rouse him, at least for a few minutes.
After all, it’s not as if she wants you. The quicker you can make it, the happier she’ll be.

He paused at the top of the staircase when he saw Prince Darius leaning against the stone of the hallway, waiting. He had to assume it was for him.

“Good evening, your highness,” he said.

“Good evening, your majesty.” The younger man’s expression was polite, but a coldness ran underneath it. “Might I have a moment of your time before you attend to my sister?”

Ah, it was going to be one of those talks. “I take it this is where you make the traditional threats to my manhood if I hurt your sister in any way,” Matthias said, careful to keep his tone mild. “I already apologized to her for not taking off my wedding ring. It was an honest lapse on my part.” He held up his left hand, which now bore Danaë’s wedding band alone. “As you can see, I corrected it. You have my word as king that I hold her in the highest respect, and will do my best never to hurt her.”

The young prince studied him for a long moment. “See that you do. As Queen of Hellas, she’s worthy of your respect. As your wife, she deserves much more.”

Matthias frowned, wondering what his new brother-in-law meant by that, but Darius didn’t elaborate. The Hellene nodded and headed down the stairs, leaving Matthias to ponder the events of the night ahead.

****

Danaë heard a soft tap at the bedroom door. She glanced down at her nightgown one last time to make sure it hadn’t sprouted wrinkles or a stain, then cleared her throat. “Come in.”

The door opened and Matthias stood there, managing to look regal and awkward at the same time. His valet had stripped him of his wedding clothes, and he now wore a heavy floor-length robe in midnight blue. It had been tied at the waist, leaving a wide V of skin peeping out from the neckline. It was the first time Danaë had seen anything of Matthias other than his head and hands. Catching a glimpse of the crisp amber hair on his chest was surprisingly erotic.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting,” he said as he shut the door behind him. “The Illian ambassador caught me as I was about to leave the hall, and I’m afraid he ran a bit long with his congratulations.”

She relaxed. He wasn’t trying to avoid her. “I understand. Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, please.”

Grateful for something to do, she went to the sideboard with its pitcher and goblets, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt.
Stop behaving like a ninny, for the gods’ sake. And don’t spill wine on your gown.
 

She managed to pour two goblets with some measure of grace. Handing one to Matthias, she sipped from the other, wondering what she should say now.

He seemed to sense her bewilderment. “So, here we are,” he said softly.

“Here we are,” Danaë echoed, then blurted, “I’m not a virgin, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

His brows went up at that. For a second she had a horrible image of him storming from her chambers in fury, declaring the marriage null and void.

Instead, he chuckled. “Ah. Thank you for informing me, but I already knew. Your father kept me informed of your liaisons.”

“He
what
?”

Matthias held up a hand. “He wanted to reassure me that they weren’t serious. I agreed with him that it was good for you to gain some breadth of experience before marriage. The gods know Lukas spent more than enough time sowing his wild oats.” The amusement in his face drained away at the mention of his son.

Danaë felt adrift and searched for something to say. “It was a lovely ceremony, I thought. Very … regal.”

“Yes, yes it was.” He started tapping his goblet with one finger, then realized what he was doing and put it down on the sideboard. “Danaë, I know this marriage is not something that either of us expected. But it will do much to help both our countries, as I’m sure your advisors pointed out.” His eyes flicked up in weary annoyance. “As did mine.”

The brief flash of irritation somehow made him more human. “I know, mil—Matthias,” Danaë said. “And I promise that I’ll be a good and loyal wife to you.”

“And I will be a good and loyal husband to you as well.” He took her free hand and brought it to his mouth, his lips soft and warm on her knuckles. “I won’t bother you again, but…” He trailed off, giving the bed an uncomfortable look.

Bother me? What did he mean by that?
She took a deep breath and tried to smile. “It’s traditional,” she said. “Sympathetic magic for the union of the countries and all that.”

He nodded, obviously relieved. “Very much so. I’ll try to make this as pleasant as possible.”

Bemused, Danaë let him lead her to the massive bed with its blue velvet coverlet. He waited until she had climbed in before going around the room and snuffing out all the candles apart from the single taper on his side of the bed. Crossing to it, he leaned down and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. 

Her heart turned over in her chest when she realized what he was doing.
Oh, gods. He doesn’t want to look at me.
Her sun-kissed skin, curly dark hair with its telltale blue streak and pointed chin must be unappealing compared to Ypresian women, with their peaches-and-cream complexions and flowing hair that ran from golden blonde to deep auburn. Tears rose in her eyes, and she was grateful for the chance to wipe away the telltale dampness. 

At least he’s being kind about it, she told herself. Many marriages had begun on worse foundations. 

There was a slithering rustle of a silk belt being untied. Still trying to get her emotions under control, Danaë switched to her mage-trained darksight and watched her new husband shed his robe. Apart from scars earned in battle, the years had touched Matthias’s body lightly. A faint thickening around the waist was all that separated him from one of his younger warriors. She studied his broad chest, with its light scattering of hair, and the well-muscled arms, strong from years of fighting with sword and pila. A long, thin scar along his side ran down across his abdomen; she followed its path downward to his groin.