North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 37
He stepped closer. “Will you allow me, Salara?”
She reminded herself why she was here. This marriage was for Mercia, for her people. She swallowed and gave a reluctant nod.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
Her heart pounded in her chest. “You first,” she countered. Not that there was much—he would pull off the garb around his waist and then watch her strip multiple layers of dress. Still, it made her feel slightly better.
Surprise flashed across his face. He didn’t move. Their eyes locked, unblinking, each waiting for the other to break.
Finally, Mikael relaxed his shoulders, submitting. He reached down and loosened the embroidered belt from around his waist and dropped it to the floor. Slowly he untied his trousers, and she was surprised to see him pull it off as a singular wrap of cloth.
He stood only in short braies now, and she let her eyes roll over his body. Again, she noted the scar across his chest, a stark contrast against the smoothness of his skin.
She stepped closer, close enough to touch him.
He only waited.
Feeling bolder, she reached up and brushed her fingertips over the raised line of the scar. “They say you cut your heart from your chest to make a pact with Darkness.”
The corners of his mouth curved up ever so slightly, watching her. “I haven’t heard that story.”
She raised her eyes back to his. “This pact gave you a demon commander to do your bidding. They say he collects the souls of the fallen.”
“That part is probably true,” he said in rare jest, and she found herself smiling. “Did you believe I was a man without a heart?” he asked. “Before I told you my story?”
“No,” she whispered. She flattened her palm against the scar. “I felt your heart beat in Bahoul.”
It beat now. Fast. Was he nervous? His face didn’t show it. She traced her thumb down the center of his chest, and the depression underneath. His skin was smooth and warm.
“Take everything off,” she told him.
He waited a moment, seeming to contemplate her authority, but then complied. She watched him with an unashamed curiosity—a curiosity he seemed to enjoy. His nakedness captivated her. She drew her hand over his shoulder as she stepped around behind him.
“Why do you mark your skin?” she asked, tracing the inked patterns that ran from his chest, over his upper arms, and to his back.
“It’s my story,” he said.
Behind him, she moved her hand down, her thumb along the trench of his spine. Slowly, softly, she trailed the round of his buttocks. Moving higher now, she lingered briefly at the muscled arc at his side and then drew her hand up around his other shoulder. She followed her touch, stepping back around in front of him, and ran her fingers over his body once more—feeling, testing, exploring. He stood silently for her, letting her discover him.
She let her eyes drop to his lower body, and a wave rolled in her stomach. She wanted to touch him, but a sudden shyness overcame her.
A wry smile stretched across his lips. “Am I to your satisfaction?” he asked with a slight hint of impatience.
Norah looked back down. Feeling bolder, she reached below his waist and wrapped her hand around him. A rumble escaped him, and he moved forward. She put her other hand on his chest, quietly bringing him to a stop. A vibration rumbled through him, but he stayed. Turning her attention back to his flesh, she was surprised how he could be so hard and yet so soft, and her pulse quickened at the thought of him inside her. She let her fingertips explore his anatomy underneath, and he shifted. The fire in his eyes could burn her.
His hunger sent a flash of heat across her skin, and she suddenly wanted out of her gown. She turned her back to him, pulling her hair to the side and looking over her shoulder at him.
Not needing further prompting, he reached out and pulled at the lacing on her dress.
“Gently,” she insisted.
A complaining rumble came from his chest, but he slowed. Her dress fell open, revealing her corset, and he pulled loose the lacing on it too. She turned to face him and let the gown and corset drop to the floor. She stood in her chemise but then pulled it from her shoulders, letting it fall. Prickles rippled across her skin as she stood in her underwear. Summoning her courage, she hooked her thumbs in the sides and slid them to the floor before stepping out of them.
His breath quickened at the sight of her, and she flushed to see him grow even larger in his arousal. Norah stepped forward, slowly, and took his hand. She spread her fingers and measured her palm against his. His hand dwarfed her own.
Mikael moved forward, using his body to walk her backward toward the bed. She kept a firm hand on his chest to control his pace. When the backs of her thighs brushed against the edge, she paused. And so did he. Then she crept back into the sea of black.
He followed with a hunting prowl, moving between her legs and covering her body with his own. His mouth found hers, and it was hard and wanting. She clasped the base of his jaw, pushing him back to slow his storm. But she wasn’t sure she still had control.
She trembled underneath him.
He pulled back. His eyes moved back and forth between hers, dark and questioning. “Are you afraid?” he whispered.
Her voice came in barely a breath. “A little.”
Mikael’s face softened. “You don’t ever need to be afraid of me.”
She believed him.
Slowly, he brought his mouth back to hers—probing, asking. He pulled back to look at her, seeking her approval before he bent to kiss her again. The kiss was soft, cautious. Something changed in him, an added tenderness, and she kissed him back. A warmth pooled inside her. Her kiss grew hungry, and he answered with a leashed hunger of his own.
Mikael drew his fingers across her shoulder and down. She trembled again, but not from fear. He swirled his touch around each breast, and she writhed, wanting more. Everything fell away—the circumstance, her worry, her mind. All that mattered was the touch of his skin against hers.
He trailed his hand lower, over her stomach and down between her thighs. She gasped, and his eyes burned darker. He slipped a finger between the lips of her sex, and she writhed against him. As he found the center of her heat, she clutched him tighter.
He made her body answer to his call. Tension built in her stomach, pulsing into her thighs and tightening every fiber in her body. Her hips rocked to her need as her breaths came faster. He took his time, watching her, waiting.
Then she shattered. Release quaked through her, making her cry out. She arched against him, but he held her tight, not letting her escape his touch.
As her body came back to her, she stilled, panting. He covered her mouth in his and captured the last of the fading release on her lips. When he pulled back, she looked up at him, and her face grew hotter. She hadn’t imagined he’d be able to make her feel this way, to pull the desire from her, expose her, make her bare herself.
He moved between her thighs again, and her breath shook as he positioned himself. Their eyes met as he rolled his hips forward to meet her. He paused, waiting. She shifted slightly and opened her thighs wider for him.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
He let out a growl and pushed into her. The pain was sharp, and she sucked in a breath, balling the sheets in her fists. The second thrust put him deep within her and she couldn’t help the cry that escaped. He trembled under the effort of control.
“Wait,” she begged.
He buried his head into her neck, and they lay in the dark quiet of their union.
“Just wait,” she whispered.
He did.
Norah brought her hand to the nape of his neck and then threaded her fingers into his hair.
Mikael drew back, pulling her eyes to him. “Are you all right?”
He made it all right, and she nodded.
Her body relaxed, and slowly, he began to move inside her. It wasn’t long before the burn subsided to an ache, and the want returned. Feeling him inside her, filling her, brought a new wave of sensations. She rocked her hips, and he moved faster. His breaths quickened, and she watched him. Her fingers moved along the lines of his body—feeling him, learning him.
Intimacy with Mikael was not as she’d imagined; he was not as she’d imagined. She tightened her thighs to slow him and moved her hips to push him faster. Where she led him, he followed. She needed control, and he gave it to her. He gave her power. And she gave herself back to him, because what she wanted in that moment was him.
The muscle under his skin hardened as he reached his own release, and he buried himself deep within her. She took him; she wanted him, all of him—his body, his being. Everything else fell away.
They lay unmoving as the air quieted around them. Norah closed her eyes and waited for her body to come back. His frame engulfed her, holding her, keeping her safe, and then, ever so gently, he pulled himself from her.
She winced, and he nuzzled the side of her cheek, his breath warm against her ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
She couldn’t answer. Was it all right that she didn’t want this time with him to be over? That he’d made her forget everything else, and she didn’t want to leave him? That she wanted to kiss him again? A longing stirred deep within her. Was it all right she wanted more than an alliance between them?
“Salara?”
Norah opened her eyes to find large pools of black brimmed with concern staring back at her.
“Say something,” he pleaded.
“How long before you can do that again?” she whispered.
The corners of his lips turned upward. He slipped his arms underneath her and laid his head between her breasts. “What are you doing to me?”
A smile crept across her lips, and she drifted into the sweet arms of sleep.
Chapter forty-four
Norah woke with the morning sun, her eyes hazy with sleep. She stretched languidly and sat up, alone in the bed. It had been the most restful night she’d had since arriving in Kharav. The warmth of Mikael’s body next to hers lulled her into dreaming; his skin brought the sweet scent of comfort.
Vitalia swept in. “You look like you had a very good night,” her maid said with a grin as she piled the mix of clothes together that had been cast to the floor.
Heat flashed across her cheeks. It was strange to think of it as a good night. But it felt good between them, her and Mikael. More than good.
Vitalia poured a cup of water, set it on the side table, and laid out a new dress across the bed.
“Where is he?” Norah asked.
“He left early to go see the lord commander. He said to let you sleep a while longer.”
The windows let the sun pour in, and Norah smiled under its beams. Everything felt in its place.
“How long will you stay here before you move to the wives’ villa?” Vitalia asked.
Norah jerked her head up. “The what?”
“The villa, where the king’s wives are.”
Her heart stopped in her chest.
“What wives?” What wives?
Vitalia looked at her in surprise and then backed up slightly.
“What wives?” Norah asked again, her voice shaking.
Her maid swallowed. “Salar’s wives.”
Horror flooded her. This couldn’t be true. “He has other wives?”
“Forgive me, Salara,” Vitalia said quickly. “I thought you knew. You saw them at the betrothal celebration.”
Then she realized. The women. What were their names again? Rasha. Myral. Heta.
They weren’t sisters. They weren’t meant to keep her company.
They were his wives.
It hadn’t even occurred to her. Norah stumbled up from the bed, her mind reeling. She shook her head, unable to speak.
“It’s normal for Salar to have many wives,” Vitalia told her.
Normal? “So, I’m just one of many?” she asked, trying to hold back the flood of emotion overwhelming her.
“Only you are salara,” Vitalia explained. “You assume the highest status of them all.”
Norah bristled. “I don’t want to be the highest. I want to be the only! How is this normal?” Her heart felt it would burst from her chest. Shame flooded her.
“Salar’s father had seven wives. His father before, five.”
“How many are there?” she demanded.
“Only three.”
Only three. Norah drew in a shaky breath as an anger grew inside her. She’d foolishly believed the king felt something for her, something he hadn’t felt before. But he had married before, brought a woman to his bed before. Three times before. At least.
Her eyes welled. What she and Mikael had wasn’t special. She bit back the pain. She wouldn’t let herself be another woman to him. She was a queen, and now she was salara.
“Find him,” she said with bitterness thick on her tongue. “Now.”
Norah sat silently on the edge of the bed, waiting. The heat of embarrassment flushed her cheeks.
She hadn’t even realized. How could she not have realized?
Mikael stepped into the chamber, and she rose. When he saw her, he paused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been summoned before,” he said as he draped his cloak on the side chair by the window. While his words came in jest, there was a slight edge to them. He was offended, perhaps.
But she didn’t care.
He let out a long sigh. “I’m told you’re displeased about my wives.”
“That’s an understatement,” she said icily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His head tilted slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I presented them to you.”
“Not as your wives!”
“Who did you think they were?”
True, she could have asked who they were, but it wasn’t a question she’d even considered. Just then, her stomach clenched. We shall be good friends, she’d told them. The embarrassment was unbearable. She wanted to crawl under the quilts of the bed and never come out. But not this bed. Not his bed, not ever again.
“And kings have many wives,” he added. His tone carried an air of dismissal.
“Mercian kings don’t!”
“I’m not a Mercian king.”
“I’m a Mercian queen, and you’re my husband!” she snapped.
He snorted, and she could see his own anger rising. He wasn’t used to being challenged. “Fine,” he said cheekily as he lumbered toward her. “I won’t marry any more.”
She let out a quaking breath. “That’s not good enough.”
Mikael used his size to back her against the edge of the bed, where the fire in his eyes intensified. “It’ll have to be.”
Anger radiated through every fiber of her being. “It’s not. And you’ll fix it,” she demanded.
“What do you expect me to do?” His voice came edgier now. “The marriages simply are. There’s no pretending they didn’t happen.”
“You’ll annul them.”
His nostrils flared. “How am I to do that?”
“You’ll figure it out, or you won’t be married to me.”
“You can’t unwed me,” he scoffed. “It’s done. We’ve consummated it.” His eyes burned into her. “I know you now. Would that not bring dishonor in the North?”
He seemed to be mocking her, and it hurt.
“You don’t know me,” she hissed back. “And I won’t recognize you as my husband unless I’m your only wife.”
“So, this is the benefit of a Witness?” he cut back. “I’d thought it was a Northern perversion, but perhaps I’ll require one now. I’ll make the whole world watch.”
A flash of fury swept through her, and she delivered a sharp slap across his face. He bared his teeth with a growl against the sting. She tried to strike him again, but he caught her hand.
“Is it a fight you want?” he snarled.
Norah wrenched against him, but he held her. She fought harder, making them both stagger sideways. As she flailed out, her hand knocked the water basin on a table close by. She grabbed it and swung with all her strength, hitting him squarely in the temple. The force of the blow broke the basin, and he lost his grip on her as he stumbled backward and crashed to the ground.
“Curse it, woman!” he roared as he brought his hand to the side of his face. A deep gash poured blood into his eye and down his cheek.
She gasped in concern, but only for a moment. Her fury swelled back, pushing her concern aside, and she turned and fled the chamber.
“Salara!” he bellowed.
Norah escaped out into the hall to see her Crest guard, wide-eyed and debating whether to follow her or answer the king’s thunder.
“Are you not my guard?” she snapped, and they fell into place behind her as she hurried to her sanctuary.
His bellows echoed through the halls, and her pulse raced. Her fingers fumbled to latch the door, although there was no way it would hold him out. She sank down into the chair by her vanity, gripping the back until her knuckles turned white.
“Salara!” His roar shook her to her core. He was coming.
She forced herself to breathe, struggling for calm. He’d said she never needed to fear him, but that was before she’d hit him with a water basin and threatened to deny their marriage. Would he hurt her? Her mind raced for how to temper his anger. Perhaps if she apologized… No. She’d done nothing wrong. And she’d meant it when she said she’d be his only wife. If he thought he’d force her otherwise, she had another water basin waiting.
“Salara!” he bellowed, nearer now. He sounded near the end of the hall; he’d be at the door in a moment.
She gripped the chair tighter, crouching slightly, and braced herself.
“Come out, woman!”
Oddly, his voice sounded the same distance away.
“Salara!”
She swallowed. Had he stopped at the end of the hall? He’d told her that was the boundary, but surely in his anger he wouldn’t confine himself to a mere verbal threshold.
“Come out!”
She most certainly would not be coming out.
“You can’t claim sanctuary from me in the room that I gave you out of my goodwill!”
