Storms of Destiny (26 page)

He will be King,
she reminded herself.
As soon as I say my
vows, I will be a princess. My father will be so proud.

She swallowed dryness.
It is natural for a bride to be
frightened on her wedding day,
she tried to reassure herself.

Soon you will know each other, no longer be strangers. He is
well-favored, strong, a great leader. Soon, Goddess willing,
there will be children to bind you together.

Ulandra loved children. She had taken care of many in her days at the cloisters. The good sisters ran an orphanage, and the older girls had been permitted to help care for the little ones.

Ulandra knew her father was waiting for her. He would not be performing the ceremony—the High Priestess would do that. Male bishops had many duties in the temple, but marriages and burials were not among them.

She had nearly reached the altar now. Ulandra glanced up to meet her bridegroom’s eyes. Salesin appeared relaxed to the point of boredom, as if he were wed every day. Ulandra, realizing this, took an awkward step that nearly turned into a stumble.
Bored? Surely not!

His dark eyes, when they met hers, held no warmth. After a moment he smiled at her, but the expression did not reach his eyes.

Ulandra fought a sudden impulse to hike her fine skirts up and race away from the altar, out of the temple.

Stop this!
she ordered herself.
You are imagining things!

As the ceremony began, she raised her hand, and the Crown Prince took it. His fingers were strong and cool and dry. Ulandra was chagrined to realize that her own were cold and sweating.

The High Priestess was talking, but her voice seemed so distant. One of the young acolytes began to walk around bride and groom, carrying a pot of sweet incense. The fra-grant smoke curled through the air, making her dizzy.

Ulandra cast her eyes down, modestly, as befit a bride— but it was not modesty that prompted her action. She couldn’t stand to see that faintly amused detachment in the Crown Prince’s eyes.

It will be over soon,
she promised herself.

Now the sacred vine was brought out and draped around the couple, symbolically binding them together. It was time for the marriage bracelets. Twin emerald bracelets, proffered by yet another young acolyte. Ulandra fumbled as she took the larger of the two off the satin cushion, and, to her horror, she dropped the precious cuff.

Quick as a cat pouncing on prey, Salesin caught it, then gravely handed it back to her. Laughter twinkled in his eyes.

He was amused by her clumsiness. Her cheeks scarlet, Ulandra slipped the gemmed cuff onto his wrist. Moments later he did the same for her.

Ulandra forced herself to breathe.
I am wed!

Now it was time for the crowning.

Old King Agivir approached, carrying a slender gold circlet that was studded with emeralds. Ulandra sank down into a deep, formal curtsy and continued without a break into a kneeling position. Much practice paid off—she did not falter, her motion smooth. Slowly, she raised her hands to her head and lifted off her bridal wreath.

The King looked down at her, his aged features gray and worn. There were tears in his rheumy old eyes, and all traces of the once legendary ruler had vanished. It had been a terrible blow for him when young Prince Eregard had been lost at sea last fall.

Just for a moment, as he gazed down at her, Ulandra could

have sworn she saw pity in King Agivir’s eyes. “I crown you Princess of Pela,” the King intoned. His hands trembled as he raised the crown and placed it on her head. “Princess Ulandra, wife to my son, Crown Prince Salesin. May the Goddess bless your union, my daughter.”

Ulandra felt the crown settle onto her head. The King extended a hand, to raise her. She stood, feeling the band of the coronet on her brow. It seemed far heavier than its true weight.

King Agivir released her hand and stepped back, just as Prince Salesin reached over to grasp it. He turned her toward the congregation, and for a moment the two of them stood poised together before the altar. Then, moving with slow, proper dignity, they began the recessional.

The carriage ride to the palace amid the cheering throngs of Pelanese, and the reception that followed, were a blur to Ulandra. She managed to eat a few bites, and sipped a little wine, but mostly she stood beside the Crown Prince, greeting guests, smiling, and chatting—and moments later could not remember faces, names, or what had been said.

Prince Salesin stayed by her side for as long as was proper, then courteously took his leave and vanished. She glimpsed him several times with friends, drinking and laughing.

She heard him mention “Kata,” then, a few minutes later, “Kerezau.” He was talking about the growing unrest in Kata and the fact that the Chonao Redai, Kerezau, after wintering his forces on Taenareth, was now threatening the Meptalith Islands. Ulandra had heard that the Meptalith had broken off their negotiations with Kerezau. Now they, too, faced conquest.

But all of that seemed far away, too distant to be worth considering. Her feet hurt. Ulandra repressed a grimace. The reception seemed to drag on for hours, and at the same time went by in a rush.

Finally things seemed to be winding down. Her feet throbbing, her bladder uncomfortably full, Ulandra sought out the water closet. It was the first time she had sat down since the carriage ride, the first time she had been alone all day.

After she had relieved herself, she tried to find the strength to rise. Suddenly, without warning, tears overflowed her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks. Hastily she dabbed them off with her handkerchief, mindful of the powder on her cheeks.

When she emerged from the water closet, her lady-in-waiting set her gown to rights again. “I will rejoin the party in a moment,” she said, and deliberately stepped out of her high-heeled slippers. Padding barefoot into the small, adjoining chamber, she paced nervously back and forth, forcing herself to breathe deeply, trying to regain her composure. The chamber had windows. Ulandra saw, with a stab of fear, that the light outside was failing. Soon it would be dark.

Her wedding night …

She swallowed, summoned a smile, pinched her cheeks and lips to give her some semblance of color, then went back out into the reception.

Her high-heeled slippers were now a torment. Ulandra saw that many of the court ladies were dancing with stocking feet, but she did not dare do that. Her wedding slippers were beaded with jade and tiny emeralds, and she dared not lose them.

Finally, after she had danced with Prince Adranan and a number of young noblemen, her husband returned to claim her for several dances. Ulandra felt the strength in his arms, the solidity of his chest. She looked up at him and ventured a smile. Salesin did not see it. He was looking over her head at someone across the room.

Ulandra swallowed dryness. Soon they would be alone togther. What would happen? She knew so little. She had no mother to ask, and it would not be meet to ask one of her maids. Her great-aunt had taken her aside and cautioned her that the marriage bed was something every woman must endure so she could have children. Ulandra felt Salesin’s strength and wondered exactly what it was she was supposed to endure.

She looked up at Salesin again, and this time he was looking at her. Ulandra smiled. “My lord, the ceremony … it went well, I thought. I hope … the King and Queen were pleased?”

He glanced down at her. “My father takes little pleasure in anything these days, my lady. But yes, the ceremony went off smoothly enough. Now it only remains for us to produce several heirs to the throne, and we will have acquitted ourselves well.” He grinned, but again there was no warmth in his eyes.

Ulandra felt the heat in her face, and looked down, unable to think of what to say.
What will happen next?

“You’re blushing,” he said, after twirling her and guiding her through an intricate pattern. “Admirable. How maidenly.” He chuckled, and there was a note of anticipation in the sound that made her miss a step.

Ulandra was sorry she had said anything.

Later, much later, though the party was still going, Salesin handed her into the keeping of her ladies. He gave them a smile and a wink. “Don’t fuss too much, ladies. I need my rest.”

The ladies giggled and exchanged knowing glances.

They led her to the official royal bedchamber. It was grand beyond anything she had ever seen. She could not look at the great, gilded bed with its snowy sheets of fine linen.

Ulandra waited, passive, while they removed her gown and her jewelry. She stood there in her voluminous petticoats while they loosened her bodice, then removed it. It was a relief to be able to take a deep breath—but she didn’t seem to be able to do that. The ladies noticed how her heart was beating and giggled.

As they dropped the folds of her pale green nightgown over her head, then began arranging her hair, Ulandra had an impulse to grab their hands and demand, “What will he
do
to me? What will happen?”

But such a question would be undignified and unseemly.

She sat down on the great bed with its fine white sheets, to allow them to take off her thin silk stockings.

The ladies quickly hung up her clothes, then two of them lifted the coverlets. She slid her icy feet beneath them and sat there, stiff and waxen pale as a doll, until they gently pushed her down onto the pillows. “Lie back, Your Highness. We’ll tell His Highness you are abed.”

The maids and the ladies, exchanging amused glances, bowed themselves out.

Ulandra was alone.

She clasped her hands on her breast and began to pray.

“Lady Goddess, hear my prayer. Make me a good wife. Let me be fruitful, and a good mother. Help me … help me …

to endure.”

Endure
what? her mind screamed.

It took all her willpower to lie there quietly when she heard the door in the dressing room click open and footsteps come toward her.

Prince Salesin paused in the dressing room for a long moment. She heard two thumps that were undoubtedly his boots hitting the floor, and the rustle of cloth. For the first time, she realized that wedded intimacies might well involve a lack of clothing. Ulandra had never seen a naked male, and had only the haziest idea of how their anatomy differed from a woman’s. When she’d seen certain works of art that featured naked or nearly naked people, the males had certainly appeared different … down there … but it was improper for a maiden to gaze too closely, so she never had.

Besides, her duenna had always hurried her away from “unsuitable” art and sculpture.

Footsteps again. In the light of the few candles left burning, a shadowed shape filled the doorway. It was the Prince—
my husband,
she reminded herself. To her vast relief, he was not unclothed. His chest was bare, but he still wore his breeches.

He gave her a slightly tipsy, mocking bow. “Greetings, my lady. We meet again.”

“M-My lord …” Ulandra managed. Her mouth was so dry she could barely get the words out.

“Well met, well met by candlelight,” he said. “Might as

well get this over with. I’ve a busy day before me tomorrow, and the hour grows late.”

“Y-Yes, my lord.” As he moved toward her, Ulandra began to tremble.

She tried not to stare at his wide, bare shoulders, thick with muscle, his chest, matted with hair as black as that on his head.

“You’re shaking, my lady,” he said, and it was plain the honorific was meant to mock her. “That’s right, you’re a virgin,” he sighed. “Bother.”

Going over to a cabinet, he reached into a drawer, took out a small jar.

Then he walked back over to the bed. “Let’s get a look at you,” he said, smiling. He picked up a strand of her long, pale hair, soft and shiny as any silk. “You are a pretty thing, though not to my usual taste.”

Ulandra tried to hold onto the covers, but he pulled them free easily and tossed them off her. He regarded her in her beautiful nightdress, her hair tumbling around her, and nodded. “We ought to be able to manage this, my lady. Just behave yourself and don’t be difficult, eh?”

Difficult? Behave myself?

Ulandra saw him reach for his breeches, start tugging them down, and shut her eyes. She could scarcely breathe.

She tried to pray but could summon no words.

Moments later she could feel the bed sag as he lay down beside her. She could smell the reek of stale sweat from dancing, the strong, sour ale smell of him. His breath was harsh and hot, and stank of fish and cheese.

He reached down, grabbed the hem of her nightdress and began yanking it up. Ulandra’s eyes popped open and she made a faint sound of protest. “My lord!”

“Relax, my lady,” he said, looming close to her, dark and very warm. She could feel heat spilling off him, as though she lay next to hot coals. “I’ve done this before. Just lie still.”

Ulandra could not just lie there and be naked with him.

She shook her head frantically and struggled slightly, pushing the gown down. “No, wait a moment, please, can’t we … I don’t want—”

“My lady, what
you
want makes very little difference to me. Very well, be difficult.”

With a move as quick as the one he’d made when he grabbed the falling marriage bracelet, Salesin grabbed the bodice of her nightgown and, with one swift yank, ripped the thin fabric all the way down.

Ulandra’s eyes widened in horror. She made an instinctive gesture to try and roll away from his gaze, but a heavy hand grasped her arm. “Lie still,” he ordered. “Lie
still,
and let’s get on with this.” He made an exasperated sound. “Goddess, I
hate
virgins!”

Ulandra gulped, then squeezed her eyes shut and obeyed.

He’s my husband, he’s my husband, he’s my husband,
she repeated silently.

Now he was running his free hand over her skin, touching, kneading. His other hand still grasped her arm, keeping her from moving away. “Good,” he grunted. He was breathing harder. “That’s right.”

His hand left off fondling her breasts. She heard him fumble with something … the little container? Then his hand was back, touching her tightly clenched thighs. His hand felt slippery. “Come on, open up,” he said. “Let’s make this as easy as possible …”