Here is my Agnidari husband, and he’s beautiful, just as Khay said. I admit it now. I have a beautiful husband who’s nice to me, so much nicer than I deserve.
Something clatters in the distance, and the smile freezes on my face as my insides tighten with guilt. No, this is wrong. I’m all wrong.
Magnar killed my father, and here I am, complimenting his hair.
“I know I’m bad for not hating you,” I say with a sad sniff, my throat squeezed tight with tears I refuse to let out. “Such a bad girl. Horrible. I deserve to be locked up in my cellar without food and water. And no one should come. No one ever comes.”
The gentle rocking of Magnar climbing the stairs stops. When I look up to see if we’re there already, he’s frozen, watching me with cold, assessing eyes.He’s appalled by me, I realize, feeling an odd sense of relief. Maybe if I’m punished for not grieving my father, the guilt will lessen a bit.
“Who locked you in a cellar?” Magnar asks, his soft voice at odds with his fearsome expression.
I close my eyes with a sigh. “Governess. Teachers. I’m very bad, you know. You should have picked a better princess, because I’m a disgrace. So stupid, that girl. Never gets anything right.”
“What the fuck is this?” he asks, his voice no longer gentle, but vicious. “Who said that?”
“Khay,” I say with a stupid giggle, remembering something. “You know, Khay asked me if I’m daft before you killed my father. Ha! So glad you did. Now you know. Now you know how horrible I am. You should really lock me up.”
Magnar’s arms shake as he gathers me more tightly to his chest.He walks again. My eyelids are heavy, but I manage to lift them enough to peek at his face. He looks livid, his pretty mouth flat, his eyes casting thunder. Oh, now I did it. He’s so angry with me.
“But Khay’s nice,” I slur, trying to take it back. Everyone hates a snitch. You can’t run to teachers and tell on other people. “He was joking. Khay’s always joking, saying I’m beautiful. Funny Khay.”
“Mm-hmm. Very funny,” Magnar says, his voice tight. “Why are you glad I killed your father? Did he lock you up, too?”
I blink in confusion. “Oh, no, he’d never. No-no. I’m his prize. You don’t lock a prize in the cellar. Don’t you know?”
Magnar hums, though the sound is wrong, growly. “Why then?”
But I shake my head, knowing I can’t say that, no-no. It’s forbidden. I told once, and look what happened.
“I’m bad, horrible, ugly, good for nothing,” I say, laughing, because it’s a relief to finally let Magnar know. “Can’t even grieve my father. I’m sorry I deceived you, making you think I’m a proper princess. Then again, you only need me for the seat at that stupid table. You have it now. Lock me up somewhere dark so I don’t shame you. I always make everyone ashamed.”
Magnar’s hold on me grows tighter and tighter until I’m curled up in his arms like a kitten. I try to hold on to a strand of his hair, but it slips through my fingers, silken and smooth. I think I’m drifting away.
“I’ll find each and every one of them,” Magnar says quietly, his voice dark with menace. “And I’ll have them whipped, drawn, and quartered. You have my word.”
I snort with weak laughter, remembering something else. “Oh, yes, whip. They whipped my horse when I told. I had to sit there and watch, and a knight whipped my horse until she died. Took hours. Father felt bad. Got me a new one. Please, don’t whip my horse. I’d rather be locked up.”
“Fuck,” Magnar grunts, his fingers spasming where they dig into my thigh. “Are you hearing this?”
Khay, who I only now realize is walking by his side, grunts in confirmation. I sigh in dismay, realizing the nice, beautiful Khay who made me feel so good heard all this. Now he knows, too.
How horrible I am.
XIII Delay
“Get up, little diamond. Open your pretty eyes. Come on, it’s almost time for breakfast, and I can’t let you sleep any longer.”
I force my eyes to open with a groan of pain. My mouth is dry, and my head feels a size too small, squeezed tight and achy. Khay smiles at me, caressing my cheek. I moan from discomfort and lift myself, blinking around at the pretty room bathed in golden candlelight. When Khay pushes a cup of cold tea into my hands, I realize with horror he didn’t actually caress my face just now.
No, he wiped drool from the corner of my mouth.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask after downing the entire cup of tea in four large gulps.
Khay pours me more with a small chuckle. “I’d guess you’re having your first hangover, my lady. The wine you drank last night was too strong for you, and you had a lot. Don’t worry. It should clear up before evening.”
“Before evening?” I repeat, slowly moving my head from side to side. The pounding in my skull grows louder and more vicious. “Oh, no. Please, I never want to drink wine again.”
For some reason, Khay laughs, the usually pleasant sound horrid and abrasive. I wince, and he pats the top of my head with affection.
