Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison
Chapter Five
Despite my brave words, I already feel the gnawing of hunger in my stomach. Part of me wonders what it is that they’ll be serving for the feast, and another tells myself that I shouldn’t care.
Before I can deliberate further, an eager knock sounds at the door.
I’m fairly certain it isn’t the king. I doubt the man knows how to knock, much less would bother with it.
The door opens, and in bustles a tall, round figure sporting a black veil. With the wedding over, I’m beginning to wonder if this is a custom all the time here.
“Æ, dúllan mín!”
I’m a bit taken back by her familiar greeting, so I respond uncertainly.
“Hello.”
“You have even more beauty up close.” Her accent is thick, and there’s something like wistfulness in her chirpy voice.
“Can you see through that, then?” I finally ask what I’ve been wondering since my arrival.
She halts, but whether she’s affronted by the abruptness of my question or the veil itself, I can’t tell.
“Yes. I could not help His Majesty while not see.”
I’m gleaning nothing from her carefully neutral inflection, so I decide to push a little further. I need more information to navigate the murky waters of this strange place.
“Surely, it would be easier to work without it, though.”
She lets out a surprisingly wry laugh for such a high-pitched voice, shaking her head.
“I now understand His Majesty’s temper,” she says instead of answering. “He is angry like wolf.”
I bite back a sigh.
“So, you’ve been sent to coax me to dinner, then?”
She bristles.
“I am not sent anywhere, Mistress, though why a bride needs to be coax to come to her own wedding feast is very much confuse to me.”
“I see.” My tone is clipped, my fury rising to the forefront again. “Is it also confusing for you to understand why a bride might want a moment or two to collect herself, to use the facilities, or, odder still, be introduced to her groom before their wedding?”
I don’t even mention whether it’s beyond the whole twisted lot of them to see why I might have wanted a single familiar face here. Though, at this rate, I wonder if the only face I’ll ever be familiar with again is the king’s, considering everyone else hides theirs.
My eyes sting unexpectedly, and I look down. I don’t cry. Ever. It must be something else. The damnably frigid air, perhaps.
When the woman’s posture slackens ever so slightly, I want to disappear in between the freezing floor stones.
“It is not done, Mistress. A bride and groom are not see each other on the day of marry. If you had --”
“No,” I interrupt her. “It is not done here.” I don’t need to say the rest. That not a single consideration was given to my needs, to my traditions.
A beat of uncomfortable silence stretches on until I finally break it.
“I apologize --” I drop off, not sure what to call her.
“You call me Sigrid,” she supplies. Or orders?
“I apologize, Sigrid,” I tell her sincerely, lifting my fingers to massage my throbbing temples. “I know none of this is your fault.”
She huffs and waves her hand.
“Do not have worry. I am sure you had long journey, Consort Zaina.”
Another stilted moment passes as I cringe at the title my husband has bestowed upon me before she reluctantly speaks up again.
“I suppose you do not want hear this, either, but is no good to stay shut up in this room. In Jokith, the union is not being final until the partake.”
“Partaking?” I parrot back to her.
“Yes.” She pauses and scratches her cheek through the veil. “The two of you have witness when you partake what the other offers.”
I freeze in my pacing, mouth agape. Either the language barrier is stronger than I thought, or she’s suggesting our wedding night will be performed in front of others.
I run through my knowledge of the ice kingdom and come up short. No one engages in public consummations anymore. Not even Jokith can be that archaic.
“But, what about the feast?” I ask hesitantly.
Her head cocks to the side, the black fabric swaying below her neck.
“That is where it is happen.” She sounds confused, like it's obvious.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say under my breath as I clench my fists.
“This is usually considered not a hardship, Mistress.”
I say nothing, because I can’t imagine the type of woman they breed here if that truly is the case.
“Come, Mistress. It is over before you know.” Her tone is softer this time.
I finally find my voice.
“And just where is this…” I search for her words, “partaking to occur?”
She stops and turns back toward me, her head tilting to the side the way I’ve seen birds do when they are listening to something.
“In dining hall, of course.” Again, she sounds bewildered by my confusion.
And again, I am stunned into silence.
The dining hall? I wonder if there are furs on the ground or if he plans to take me right atop the cold stone tables.
I grit my teeth and curse the woman who forced me to come here.
But of course, it scarcely matters how I feel, I remind myself. Not to Madame, nor the king, nor anyone else in this sands-blasted castle.
There is little use in delaying the inevitable. I muster all the dignity I possess, but the words still come out baked with resentment when I finally respond.
“Lead the way.”