TheRedKing (2 page)

The feast continued long after dark. Despite the dry meat, everyone
ate and drank freely—everyone except Delia. She didn’t have much of an appetite.
Areus didn’t overindulge, either, though he seemed to have a healthy appetite. Of
course he and his men had ridden hard to arrive and they had fought a battle
just before leaving.

Most people were still celebrating when Areus glanced at her
and said, “We should retire.”

“Of course,” Urion said with a leering grin. “You traveled hard
today and I’m sure you want the comfort of a soft bed and a softer wife.”

Delia felt a bit ill. Such an innuendo from her own father
was disturbing.

Areus ignored the remark, his attention fixed solely on Delia.

“Come, daughter,” Queen Elissa said. She motioned for Echo
and another servant who stood nearby to accompany her and Delia to the chamber
that had been prepared for the new couple.

“If you would allow us just a few moments?” the queen asked
Areus who nodded.

Delia felt rather numb as she walked to the chamber. The
servants helped her out of the heavy, embroidered gown and into a clean shift
of white silk. Delia shivered as she stood in front of a looking glass. She
might as well be naked. While the other servant stoked the fire, Echo removed
Delia’s delicate gold tiara, unwound her mousy brown hair from its braid and
brushed it. It hung to her elbows in soft waves.

Echo then turned down the bedcovers and said, “My lady.”

Delia approached the bed, the stone floor cold against her bare
feet. She shivered again, though not only from the chill in the autumn night
air.

This coupling seemed as cold as this stone chamber. She had
only just met this man and she was about to bare herself to him completely, to
let him claim her body, kiss her lips. She thought about Areus’s mouth. He had
nice lips, neither too thin nor too thick. Would his beard be rough? Would it
tickle or scratch her? These were stupid thoughts. There were far worse things
to worry about, such as how would he take her? Fast? Hard? Would he care about
her comfort or should she use the salve Katerina had given her?

“All will be well,” Echo whispered to Delia, though concern
shone in her blue eyes.

Delia was so glad Echo would be accompanying her to Lortia.
She hated the thought of being completely alone in an unfamiliar land, but if Echo
was with her, there would be at least some joy in her new home.

Queen Elissa said to the servants, “Go now. I want to speak
to my daughter.”

The servants obeyed, hurrying out of the chamber.

Elissa approached with a small clay container. She placed it
next to the pitcher of water and two mugs on the bedside table.

“Mix a pinch of this with water and drink it,” she said. “It
will ease your discomfort. If he’s anything like your father was on our wedding
night, you’ll need it.”

Over the past twenty years Delia had scarcely seen Queen
Elissa, only when she visited the convent once or twice a year. This was the
motherly advice she now offered—how to soothe the pain of a savage husband’s wedding
night rutting.

“Thank you,” Delia said.

“Is there anything I can—” Elissa shook her head. “If anyone
can keep you and our kingdom safe, it’s Areus. You’ll be taken care of.”

“Only if I produce an heir.”

“You will. The women in our family are fertile.”

A wry smile tugged at Delia’s lips. “Wonderful.”

“He’s rather handsome, your husband,” the queen said. “You
could have certainly done worse.”

“I could be back in the convent, happy and safe.”

“You would sacrifice the safety of your kingdom for your own
happiness?”

“My sister did.”

“She is a whore,” said the queen. Delia almost flinched at
the harsh words her mother used regarding her own daughter. If Delia failed to
produce an heir, if her marriage fell apart, what would her mother say about
her?

“She brought shame to our family,” continued the queen.
“Your father will no longer speak of her. You’re our last hope, Delia. Make us
proud.”

Elissa caressed Delia’s hair before she turned and left the
chamber.

Truthfully, Delia didn’t care what her parents thought about
her. Now, more than ever, she realized that her sister had probably made the
best decision for herself, escaping this family while she could.

Delia waited, her heart pounding.

She dreaded the thought of Areus coming to her, but part of
her wanted him to hurry. She wanted this nightmare over.

Or would it be a nightmare?

Katerina said that if a man was considerate, coupling was an
exciting experience, bringing pleasure beyond words.

Something told Delia that the arrogant king of Lortia
wouldn’t be considerate and despite his good looks, being bedded by him
wouldn’t bring such pleasure.

She heard voices in the corridor. Laughing and shouting.

The chamber door opened and Areus stepped inside. Urion and
several male guests crowded behind him, trying to force their way in.

Impulsively, Delia pulled the sheet all the way up to her
neck. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable.

“That’s enough,” Areus stated.

“But it’s tradition to have witnesses for the consummation,”
someone shouted.

Areus glanced at Delia who stared at him, her father and the
guests, not bothering to hide her rage and disgust.

To her surprise, Areus said, “It’s an archaic practice and I
won’t have it.”

“He’s right.” Urion chuckled. “His heir in my daughter’s
belly will be proof enough. The child will permanently join our kingdoms.”

Urion was quite drunk. So were the other guests.

Delia wished they would all just leave.

“Out. I’m tired,” Areus said.

“Everyone go!” roared Urion. He turned and winked at Areus.
“Enjoy your rest.”

No sooner had Urion stepped away than Areus slammed the door
shut.

He remained with his back to Delia for a moment, his head
lowered and his palms flat against the door. He drew a deep enough breath that
even from the bed she saw his back expand and contract as he released it
slowly.

“Are you—” she ventured. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” He turned to her. “Just tired, as I said. Between the
skirmish and traveling here I haven’t slept in a couple of days.”

Maybe he was too tired to copulate. Part of her was relieved
while another part wanted to get the whole thing over with.

He removed the circlet from his head and placed it on
Delia’s dressing table, then he sat on a stool in the corner of the room and removed
his boots. When he finished, he remained seated, but his gaze drifted to Delia.

Though not handsome, he was remarkably attractive and such a
commanding presence. If she was the sort of woman to be easily frightened, he
might have intimidated her, but Delia hadn’t taken after her mother. She
refused to be intimidated by any man.

“You must be glad to get out of the convent,” he ventured.
“I imagine it’s boring there.”

His words made her bristle. “On the contrary, we’re seldom
bored at the convent. There’s always work to be done.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, angering her
even more.

“The convent is my home and I miss it very much,” she said.

Areus tilted his head slightly and his brow furrowed. She
didn’t like how he looked at her, as if she was some strange animal he was
deciding whether to capture or kill.

“Are you coming to bed?” she asked bluntly. “We should
probably get on with this.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Eager, are you? You don’t
look it.”

From the stories she’d heard, Delia had expected him to have
pounced on her already. This anticipation, the not knowing what it would feel
like to be claimed by a man, was becoming unbearable.

“It’s expected, is it not?” she asked.

“For you to not look eager?”

“For us to consummate the marriage.”

“I sent the audience away so we can do it in our own time.
If you’re worried about securing an heir, we do have a year.”

“That’s your concern, not mine,” she snapped, holding the
sheet tighter to her neck.

“It’s everyone’s concern. I need an heir and your father
needs me to protect his kingdom. We have the same goals, you and I, or at least
we should.”

“Then do it.” Delia glared, pushing aside the bedcovers. She
lay on her back, shivering in the chill of the room, as the fire had yet to
warm it. Her nipples pressed against the shift—straining rosebuds against a
veil of silk.

Still Areus didn’t move, though his gaze flickered over her
and lingered on her small but well-formed breasts. After a moment he stood and
approached the bed to stand over her. He was so tall. His whipcord body and
intense green eyes exuded power.

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush a
wisp of hair from her cheek. His fingertips were rough, but his touch
surprisingly gentle.

Areus glanced toward the nightstand and picked up the little
clay pot her mother had given her. Beside it was a glass container filled with
Katerina’s salve.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s for pain,” she replied.

He looked concerned. “Are you unwell?”

“No. It’s for after we…or before. Maybe I should use it now,
before we start.” She reached for the water, but he caught her wrist. She
lifted her gaze to his and asked, “You won’t allow me to use it?”

“You think you’ll need it?”

“Maybe not, if you agree to use this.” She indicated the
glass container. “It’s to…ease the process.”

Areus laughed—a dry, humorless sound, then his smile faded
and he stared at her with a hint of annoyance. “You think me an animal who
would deliberately cause you pain?”

“I don’t know you, so I’m not sure what to think,” she said
honestly.

She had apparently offended him and she might have tried to
smooth over the insult, but she decided it was best to find out now what sort
of man she’d married. She refused to spend the rest of her days in silent
misery, like her mother. Urion was an arrogant, demanding and sometimes violent
man. From the very little time she’d spent with her parents over the years,
their situation had been the same, with her mother cowering and attempting to
pacify an ogre.

Areus was probably like her father. Wouldn’t most kings be
inconsiderate, especially virile young warriors?

Delia wanted him to know that, unlike her mother, she
demanded at least some respect.

“Indeed you don’t,” he said and stood. He walked to the
other side of the bed. Fully clothed, he stretched out on his stomach, his face
turned away from her.

She remained still, chills coursing through her as she
waited for him to speak or make a motion to claim her.

After several moments she heard a soft snore.

Delia sat up and stared at him in disbelief. His back rose
and fell with slow, measured breaths.

He had fallen asleep.

On their wedding night.

She realized she wasn’t a beauty, but was she
that
unappealing?

He was the one who demanded an heir. How did he expect to
get one?

Delia pulled the covers over her, turned her back to him and
curled up as far away from him as possible.

Katerina had told such stories of what would happen
tonight—some horrible, but others wonderful beyond words, if her husband proved
to be a good lover.

Queen Elissa had expected the worst and the sisters—well,
they hadn’t spoken of it directly, but they had warned her of the selfishness
of men overcome by lust.

No one had mentioned that her new husband—the warrior king
most feared by Zaltana—would roll over and snore without so much as kissing
her.

Tears of frustration filled Delia’s eyes. She might as well
have remained at the convent for all the excitement of this wedding night.

Delia opened her eyes and gazed at the firelight dancing on
the stone wall. She couldn’t have been asleep for long because when she rolled
over to look out the window, it was still dark outside.

Areus was not in bed. Her gaze darted to the hearth across
the room. He squatted in front of it, prodding wood with a poker. He had
removed his leather shirt and wore a billowy linen one. His green gaze, eerie
in the firelight, fixed on her.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No I don’t think it was you. I just…woke.”

He placed the poker aside and as the fire sparked more fully
to life, she noticed that what she had thought were shadows on his shirt were
actually bloodstains.

A twinge of alarm shot through her and she sat up. “You’re
injured.”

He glanced down and touched a hand to his side. “I told you.
There was a skirmish.”

She left the bed to kneel beside him, reaching for his shirt.
“Take it off so I can see.”

He looked perplexed, then did what she asked. As he
stretched to remove it, a restrained yet guttural groan of pain escaped him.

Even as he discarded the shirt, her hands hovered over the
bloody bandages swathing his lean middle. Her gaze swept his torso, noting that
the broadness of his shoulders hadn’t been an illusion created by the leather shirt
he had worn earlier. His sinewy build reflected years of training and battle.
Several old scars marked his shoulders and arms. A jagged scar, clearly visible
beneath a dusting of reddish hair, ran halfway across his chest. At the convent
she had helped the sisters tend soldiers wounded in battle. Some had been quite
attractive, but none had ever aroused her as this stranger—her husband.

She couldn’t spend much time admiring him or wondering about
his scars, not when he required healing.

“Come sit on the stool,” she said. “It will be easier to tend
you.”

“It’s not bad.”

“That should be for me to decide.”

An amused smile tugged at his lips. “And what, pray tell,
makes you an expert on battle wounds?”

“The sisters tended many a wounded soldier and I often helped.
Because of their training, I am a more than adequate healer.”

This seemed to interest him. “A useful skill, especially in
Lortia.”

“Then I’ll be good for something other than carrying heirs?”
she said, not bothering to disguise her annoyance.

“We’ll see.”

She stared at him, her former concern fading to the more
familiar sensation of annoyance. “I should just let you bleed.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not enough to kill me.”

She hurried to the bedside table and noted there was still
water in the pitcher. Using a strip of cloth, she tied her hair at her nape.
Then she opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and removed her most prized
possession—a leather bag filled with healing supplies. It contained scissors,
tiny knives and needles for stitching wounds. She had herbal balm and some bandages.

“These probably won’t be enough,” she said, removing the bandages.
“I’ll call for a servant to bring more.”

She headed for the door, but in three long strides he
crossed the room and grasped her upper arm.

“What?” she asked.

“No one else needs to be informed,” he said in a tone that
left no room for an argument.

Her brow knitted. “But why?”

“I told you, it’s not bad enough for concern. The stitches
have merely opened. If you can fix them, that’s all the attention I require.”

“Why do men not like to admit when they need help?”

“I just did. Fix the stitches.”

She wanted to argue that he had no business ordering her to
do anything, but she was his wife. By law he
could
issue orders and she
was bound to follow them. Such laws not only kept women from progressing, but
often ensured they remained at the mercy of violent men. Part of her wanted to
rebel against Areus, but not now. Truly he needed her help and she sensed that
asking her for it was an affront to his manhood, though she couldn’t understand
why.

Also why did he want his injury to remain a secret? Did he feel
he must keep an image of an indomitable warrior, even outside of battle, even
in the home of his in-laws? Would he be like this in his own castle, among his
family and friends? Maybe it was necessary. At any sign of weakness, not only
would Zaltana strike, but his own people might lose faith in him. Here in the
Western Continent, a king had to be strong or risk losing everything.

“All right. Sit,” she said and tried to move away, but he
still held her arm—not hard enough to cause discomfort, but with enough
pressure to prevent her from escaping him. She looked up at him and he stared
into her eyes. Her heart beat quicker and she drew a deep breath. “I can’t work
if you don’t let me go.”

He loosened his grip, his fingers trailing over her arm,
then turned and ambled over to the stool. He carried it closer to the fire and
sat.

Delia prepared the necessary tools, then approached and
unwound the bandages. Beneath them, a slash ran down the length of his ribs. It
was fairly shallow, but she shuddered to think of what might have happened if
the blade had gone any deeper. As he’d guessed, several stitches were torn,
although they had been carefully and skillfully sewn.

“You shouldn’t have ridden here like this,” she said.

“It’s enough I insulted you by being late. Short of death or
takeover, I had no intention of postponing our wedding.”

His words actually touched her. She hadn’t expected him to
be so considerate. “Under the circumstances, I would have forgiven the insult.”

“But your father might not.”

Her stomach tightened. Her father. It was the king he had
been concerned with offending. It reminded her again that their marriage was
about politics, not family. Still his bluntness annoyed her and she started
cleaning his wound less gently than she should have.

He flinched a bit and drew a sharp breath.

“You call yourself a healer, woman? My horse would be
gentler.”

“I was under the impression a rugged warrior such as
yourself was impervious to pain.”

He glanced at her. “Are you always this peevish? I’ll give
you fair warning, Lortia is no place for a spoiled princess. Remember, you are
now a queen. I expect you to act like it.”

Delia’s stomach knotted. “You expect? You and my father rip
me from the only real home I’ve ever known and order me into a country
constantly at war with the most powerful kingdom in the land. My father wants a
beast to protect the gates of his realm and you want a broodmare. You should
both rot, along with most of the men in this world.”

“For a virgin reared in a convent, you have a foul tongue in
your head. I wonder if it’s sweeter when not used for speaking.”

“What— I can’t believe you just— What kind of animal are
you—” He silenced her by dragging her onto his lap and covering her mouth in a
kiss that was like nothing she’d ever imagined.

His beard tickled her face and his firm, slightly moist lips
pressed against hers.

She grasped his hard shoulders, intending to push away from
him, but something stopped her. His tongue traced the shape of her lips, then
gently prodded them.

Moaning softly, Delia parted her lips and accepted his
tongue into her mouth. Her tongue met it and they danced together, slowly and
tentatively at first, then with bolder strokes.

Her eyes closed and she leaned against him. He guided her
arms around his neck and she obeyed, holding him snugly. Areus caressed her
waist and his hands roamed slowly upward while his tongue continued exploring
her mouth. He traced the sides of her breasts in the thin shift. Again she
shivered, but this time not from the cold.

Delia threaded her fingers through the thick, curly hair at
his nape, then she stroked his back. The smooth, warm skin was roughened by
scars in places and she followed the trail of one down to his ribs where she felt
the sticky heat of his blood, reminding her of his injury.

Her head moved back and she said breathlessly, “Your wound.”

“I don’t care.” He nuzzled her neck and she couldn’t help
giggling a bit as his beard tickled her sensitive skin.

“But I do. I don’t want blood all over me.”

He met her gaze and narrowed his eyes, the fine lines at
their corners creasing even more.

“As you wish,” he said in a husky voice. Still he cupped the
back of her head and pressed another soft kiss to her mouth before releasing
her.

Delia knelt by Areus’s stool again and continued cleaning
his wound, this time more gently. To her dismay, she found her hands trembling
slightly from the excitement of his kisses. Sometimes, over the years, she’d
imagined what it would be like to be touched and kissed by a man, especially
when she listened to Katerina’s stories about passion and fornication. Yet the
reality of Areus’s lips against hers, of his warm, hard body holding her close,
was more wonderful than she’d dreamed. Instead of resisting him, she’d wanted
even more of him.

Before she set to work stitching his wound, she said,
“Perhaps I should give you some of the herbs for pain my mother provided.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Why do men like to suffer? Or is it that you’re afraid of
looking weak?”

“I’m not afraid, but sometimes pain is good. It keeps you
wary. Reminds you of the real meaning of life.”

“The real meaning of life is pain?”

He glanced at her. “It’s part of life, especially a
warrior’s life. It’s his duty, enduring pain for those he protects.”

“Then isn’t it a wife’s duty to see to her husband’s
comfort?”

“And I thought you would enjoy sticking a needle into an
animal like me, who has ripped you from your home.”

Was he mocking her?

“As a healer, I want to ease pain, not increase it.”

“Keep your herbs for when they’re really necessary, but they
won’t be needed here tonight, for me or for you.” If possible, his gaze became
even more intense. It seemed to burn into her. Her stomach clenched and heat
flooded her, mostly because when he looked at her like this, she wanted him to kiss
her again. More than kiss. She wanted to do something she swore she never
would—willingly surrender her body to him.

She tore her gaze from his and concentrated on her work.
Except for an occasional sharp intake of breath or a twitch of pain, he
remained still and quiet as she stitched his injury, yet every time her needle
pierced his skin, her stomach tightened. By the time she finished, it was
actually aching. She treated the wound with balm, then bandaged it again. She
would have preferred more padding to protect it, but she had only a limited
supply.

“I’ll have Rain bandage it again in the morning. He and my
men have fought and traveled hard over the past few days and I won’t disturb
their rest unnecessarily.”

A considerate king? He certainly wasn’t like her father.

“Speaking of rest, I can use some as well.” He stood and
touched a hand to his side. “I didn’t sleep even a full hour before this wound
woke me. Thank you, Delia, for your care.”

This was the most human he’d appeared since they’d met. He
didn’t look or sound arrogant or mocking.

Still kneeling next to the stool, she gazed up at him and
smiled slightly. “You’re welcome.”

The earnest look in his eyes turned smoldering and he said,
“Come to bed.”

Her heart skipped a beat and a wave of arousal washed over
her. Her nipples tightened and strained against the thin silk.

Areus’s gaze drifted toward her breasts. His lips parted a
bit.

“I need to tidy this mess,” she said.

“Burn the bloody bandages.”

“But—”

“Must you question everything?” He reached down, grasped the
offending bandages and tossed them into the fire, then he approached the bed.
Instead of climbing in, he pulled off his socks and trousers.

Delia paused in cleaning her healing supplies to stare at
him. His legs were long and sleekly muscled, his backside hard, enticing
curves. Hair dusted his legs and he had a scar on his powerful thigh. Wasn’t
there a part of the man that wasn’t marked by battle scars? Not that she
minded. They didn’t detract from his appeal, but it disturbed her to think of
how much he had endured. She scarcely knew him, but he roused tender feelings
in her she hadn’t expected, at least not for a man who so easily angered her
with his arrogance and his callous observations.

His back was to her, but she waited almost eagerly for him
to turn and climb into bed so that she could see the thing she most wanted to see—the
part of him that would thrust into her and possibly fill her womb with his heir.
An heir she had sworn she would never carry.

Areus might not be the beast she had thought him to be—or he
might be. She couldn’t decide yet, but until she knew for sure that she meant
more to him than a bitch to bear his pups, she would not allow herself to be
bound to him forever. He and her father might have agreed to the terms of an
heir within a year, but she had not and it was her body that would bear it. It
was her life that would be forever joined with Areus’s, so no matter what the
laws said, it would be her decision about if and when she would carry his
child.

Areus turned and she stared. Though the sisters had tried to
keep her from seeing their patients fully unclothed, she had helped tend a few
men with injuries to their upper legs and pelvic area, so she had seen men’s cocks
before. They had been small, not in an aroused state and a bit funny to look
at. There was nothing funny about Areus’s cock. It was long and thick, the head
ruddy and the balls heavy beneath. Was he fully aroused? It was quite large, at
least compared to the other cocks she’d seen. It rose from a nest of
cinnamon-colored curls, darker than the hair on his head—closer to the color of
his beard. Before she could observe more closely, he slid into bed and covered
himself to the waist with the sheet.