Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison

Chapter Thirteen

Once I’m out of the bath and dried off, Sigrid wraps me in a thick, warm robe and sends me back out to the bedroom.

Einar pointedly ignores my presence as I sit across from him at the fire, pretending to focus on the book he’s reading. He looks even angrier than he had when I left, and I’m not sure I have the energy to try any more today.

Hadn’t he just accused me of sucking the life out of a room, of making the servants miserable with my mere presence?

It hadn't been fair when he’d said it, but it felt uncomfortably true now.

When Sigrid emerges from tidying the privy, though, she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. She clears her throat and faces him, her expression concealed by the veil, but something in his countenance softens.

He sighs and arches an eyebrow, then goes back to his book.

Sigrid huffs, then scolds him in Jokithan, and I can’t help but wonder how she gets away with it. I’ve yet to meet a lord or lady who tolerates such a thing.

Einar’s eyes narrow as he closes his book. He doesn’t respond to her rebuke. Instead, he stands and moves toward the door.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I have matters to attend to,” he says, reaching for the knob.

“What matters?” Sigrid boldly asks, placing a hand on her hip.

Einar’s hand freezes, and he glares back at her.

“I am King still, am I not?” he asks calmly.

“Of course, Majesty.” She uses his title condescendingly. “But Leif has already everything in control. Remember? You have nothing but to know your new wife today.”

“I don’t mind. I would hate to take him away from something so important. I’m not feeling very well anyway,” I interject.

Even though he hasn’t outwardly reacted, half a lifetime of watching servants be punished for less has left me unreasonably afraid of what her obstinance will result in. And besides, it’s not untrue; my head and stomach are still vying for my attention while they do somersaults.

Sigrid only tsks again and walks over to the king’s side. Whispering another rebuke, she pushes him bodily back to his chair.

“I get tonic brought up for sickness, Mistress. You are feel better after.”

At this point, I’m not sure if the words are encouragement or a command. With that, she walks out of the room. Judging by the slight spring in her step, I would say she is quite pleased with herself.

As soon as the door clicks shut, a squeak sounds from the crate at the center of the room. The chalyx is back securely inside of it, but I’m hesitant to make any moves to let it out just yet, especially under Einar’s watchful gaze.

Einar’s knee bounces repetitiously as he stares too long at the same page in his book, and I continue to watch the flames dance in the hearth.

Another meow has him glancing from me to the cub and back again. He shakes his head, presumably because I’ve shown little interest in the thing he purchased for that very purpose.

The silence stretches on until I have no real choice but to break it or spend the rest of my evening in the suffocating tension that has permeated every inch of this room.

“So,” I begin. “Leif is taking care of your duties? Your...ruling duties?”

The king’s eyes meet mine, and he grunts what might be an affirmation. I’m missing something here. The man wouldn’t grant his own wife a shred of power, so surely not a subordinate, one he forces to wear a mask for reasons he refuses to even hint at.

Though Sigrid would point to a different dynamic entirely, I assumed she was a unique case.

“I thought he was just a servant?” I seek to clarify, and he slams his book closed.

“He isn’t just anything.”

His gaze doesn’t waver from mine for several heartbeats.

“My mistake,” I offer, not breaking eye contact. “I am only trying to understand --”

He stands abruptly, cutting me off before I can dance around all of the things I had just been thinking.

“You understand nothing.” He looks at me for a final, stilted heartbeat before stalking off to the passageway.

Well, then.

I sit in stunned silence while I try and fail to make sense of him and my purpose here. He doesn’t seem to want to be married, or have any interest in me at all, for that matter.

Every woman I’d seen on our journey since crossing the border was tall and broad-shouldered, strong-looking, with fair hair and eyes. Their skin was either dark as coal or white as snow, and I am simply a middle-ground of sorts between the two.

While I am of average height back home, I feel like a child here. Even Sigrid towers over me.

My skin is much darker than Einar’s, as is my hair. And my topaz-colored eyes are far different from the various shades of blue I’ve seen on every person in Jokith.

Am I so different from what he is familiar with that he finds me disgusting?

From the way his pupils went wide when he saw me bare before him, I would say no. There are some things you can’t lie about; your traitorous body always gives you away.

I shake my head at the whole situation, mulling it over again and again and always coming up short.

I’ve been direct with him. I’ve tried subtleties. But nothing has worked.

The man is impossible.

The tonic Sigrid had sent up does seem to be helping ease my body aches and nausea. I was even able to eat some of the roasted venison and carrots from the dinner she had delivered, though there was no plate for Einar.

He still hasn’t returned, and I’m unsure of what to make of that.

A squeaky growl reminds me that I am not the sole occupant of the room. Leaning over the side of the bed, I peer down at the cub, who is desperately trying to gain my attention.

It raises its little paws up, seemingly reaching for me.

“You’re spoiled already, I see,” I coo, but I pick her up anyway.

The servant who brought up our meal also saw that the cub was fed and taken outside to relieve itself, as well as inform me that my new pet is a girl, in case I wanted to name her.

“What is it that you want?” I ask the cat. “To annoy me? To make me crazier than these walls are already?”

Metallic teeth flash as she opens her mouth to yawn, rubbing her small head against my palm. Her fur is softer than the finest silks I’ve ever touched. Softer than gosling feathers or a butterfly’s wing.

I’m still marveling at her when she presses her sharp teeth against my flesh.

“Khijhana!” I gasp a word from home in surprise, one that roughly translates to little nuisance.

I pull my fingers away to examine them, but she didn’t seem to draw blood, or even break the skin. It was just a warning nibble that there is something she is wanting from our exchange as well.

She nestles in closer, her turquoise eyes opening and closing slower than before.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“If I let you sleep with me, you’re not allowed to bite me again. Understand?”

The cat purrs, vibrating through my chest.

“Fine,” I sigh.

I plop her down on the bed and lie down next to her. She goes straight to my pillow, kneading the fabric with shimmering claws until she’s satisfied.

“Khijhana,” I say again, more amused this time. “It would seem that we have found your name, at least.”

She stretches and purrs before closing her eyes to sleep.

I wish I could follow suit.

Over-thinking is getting me nowhere, but neither will closing my eyes and wishing this all away. I force my eyes to stay open, trying desperately to turn the gears in my weary mind.

I need to find a way to make this better, and I need to do it soon, before this convoluted mess of a situation gets any worse.