Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison
Chapter Nine
“Ithought you want for breakfast, Mistress.”
The sound of Sigrid’s plucky voice and bright rays of golden sun pouring through the windows pull me from my fitful sleep. I want nothing more than to throw the covers back over my splitting head and die.
“Here,” she says, resting a tray beside me on the bed.
One sniff of the savory meats has bile rising in my throat. I sit up too quickly and barely make it to the other side of the bed, grabbing the nearest container I can find and vomiting every ounce of liquid in my stomach.
I use my free hand to hold both my hair and the golden chain linked from my nose to my ear safe from the trajectory. It isn’t until I’m finished that I realize it is one of Einar’s boots that is the lucky recipient of my stomach's contents.
Well, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving piece of footwear, at least.
Sigrid comes to my side without hesitation.
“Oh, no. It must be the mountain sickness.”
“The what?” As in, the mountain of alcohol I consumed last night?
“The mountain sickness, Mistress. It takes everyone when they are first arrive.” Sigrid chuckles and helps me move my hair away from the mess I’ve made.
Ah, that explanation makes much more sense, and in no way involves the several — or more than several — glasses of the amber liquid I treated myself to. That, at least, is a relief.
My temples begin to throb again, and all I want is for the mountain sickness or whatever it is to finish me off.
“I see the wedding night was success...” I don’t miss the amusement in her voice as she picks up the pieces of my wedding garb and folds them neatly across her arm.
“Yes. It would seem that way,” I croak out, throwing the furs back over my naked form.
I remember last night in bits and pieces, mostly drinking nearly an entire decanter of whiskey and then being rejected by my husband.
Which begs the question, Is our marriage even secured yet? Does he no longer wish for it to be?
If his ambassador chose me, what did he gain from any of this? Einar clearly didn’t want me, and I was beginning to wonder if he wished to be married at all, based on his behavior at our wedding.
My spinning thoughts are interrupted when a panel of the wall to my left slides forward with only a quiet shuffling sound to announce its entrant. I am unsurprised by the motion, having surmised there were passageways coming and going from this room.
It’s the king. Of course. After his vanishing act last night, it makes sense that he used a secret door.
I look up with more anticipation in my expression than I had intended. It is warranted, though. At this point, he’s the only person who can answer any of my questions.
If he can manage to string together more than two hateful words today.
His expression isn’t hateful, though. It’s so neutral, it borders on lifeless until his gaze snags on his defiled boot. Even then, he only lifts a single silver eyebrow the barest fraction of an inch before turning his attention to Sigrid.
“Gooan morgin, Sigrid.”
“Gooan aptan, Úlfur.” She says the words insistently, her tone a gentle chiding, and I can’t help but marvel.
Her head would not have been long attached to her body at Villa Paradís, the château I had grown up in. Madame scarcely let the servants speak at all, let alone refer to any of us with a nickname, but the king doesn’t so much as blink at the exchange.
So, he’s not opposed to showing kindness. He’s only opposed to me.
Einar walks to the tray while Sigrid pours a steaming cup of milk. My stomach flips again, and I press a hand to it, taking a slow breath through my mouth.
Though he hasn’t directly looked at me once, the king shoots me a sideways glance.
“The privy is through there.” He points to a small door. “If you would like to empty the contents of your stomach into something other than my boot.”
Sigrid turns to face him, her veil fluttering with the quick movement, but I’m too focused on keeping my food down to do the same.
“I just tell her about the mountain sickness.”
He looks me over with a deliberate slowness.
“Ah, yes. That must be what ails her.” His voice is condescending, and if I could lift my head from this pillow, I would throw it at him.
I just glare at him instead, but at least I don’t vomit. I’d rather be caught dead than have him watch me run naked to the privy.
Yes, things are going splendidly.
Sigrid makes a quiet exit, leaving me in a stilted silence with my...husband.
“Do they always wear the masks and veils?”
“Yes.” His clipped tone leaves no room for further questions.
Swallowing back another round of bile, I gesture to the passageway and try an attempt at humor to change subject. Anything to make the man act like less of an ass.
“So, is that how you go to visit your more agreeable wives?” I lift my lips in what I hope is an apologetic smile.
“Are there agreeable wives out there somewhere?” He doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t quite frown either, so I take it as a victory. “Sadly, it leads only to my own chambers.”
He sits on the foot of the bed near the tray, dumping nearly the entire bowl of honey onto one of the bowls of porridge. Adding a scoop of deep purple-colored berries, he proceeds to drown the whole thing in milk before finally mixing the horrid concoction together.
I grab my own bowl, carefully keeping the sheet close to my chest, and begin to eat it plain. He looks on in clear revulsion.
I sigh.
“Is there a reason you came into my rooms to pass judgment on the way I eat my breakfast?” I quip.
His eyes narrow.
“And by your rooms, you mean the rooms in my castle?”
So much for him acting like less of an ass. His words are a slap in the face, a cruel reminder that I have nothing here, not even a small pocket of space to let my guard down long enough to eat a sands-damned bowl of porridge the way I like it.
I feel my face turn to stone while I attempt to collect whatever vestige of dignity I can muster while naked in a bed that doesn’t remotely belong to me.
“My mistake,” I say quietly. “In that case, do help yourself to any pocket of sanctuary I eke out in this lifeless tomb of a castle. It’s not as though I could stop you,” I add.
He closes his eyes for a prolonged blink, and when he opens them, they are completely devoid of emotion.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to see the rest of this...lifeless tomb, then?”
Like is a strong word, but I need to know my way around this place sooner than later.
“That would be helpful,” I answer honestly. “I can dress and meet my guide within the hour.” The quicker I get out of this oppressive room, the better.
“The staff is busy,” he all but snaps. “I will be your guide.”
Wonderful.
“All right, then,” I say, but even I hear the grim resignation in my tone.
We finish our breakfast in silence before he leaves me to dress.