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"You might know his motivations, but you do not understand your own value," he says, taking my hand from his chest and kissing my fingertips. "I am disappointed that we must endure another marriage ceremony. I was selfishly hoping to have you in my bed tonight."
My cheeks get hot. I glance around the courtyard. It's emptying out, all the arriving orcs and Agakor's men heading inside to eat the wedding feast for the wedding that's no longer happening today. "Would anyone notice if we went missing? Maybe we can steal away for a few minutes." I feel like a tart for suggesting it, but the idea is such an enticing one I can't help myself. I've been looking forward to the marriage bed, too. "Perhaps I can feign illness and you'll have to kiss me better."
He nips at my fingertips, the look on his face heated. "It wouldn't be proper. You're a lady, Iolanthe."
I don't want to be a lady right now, though. I want to be his wife. I want him to touch me. I shake my head. "I am going to have a headache in about two hours," I tell him carefully. "And I am going to pick up a book and hide in your study because the crowd will be too much for me." I give him a meaningful look. "I don't think anyone would notice if you left a few minutes later and joined me."
Agakor's gaze practically smolders as he stares down at me. "Do you mean to seduce me, Iolanthe?"
Do I? "I honestly haven't thought that far ahead," I confess. "But I thought maybe we could share a few kisses and touch each other…while we're waiting for our new marriage ceremony. Is that so wrong?"
He kisses my fingertips again. "Woman. You will absolutely be the death of me." He hesitates a moment and then says, "The solar. Second floor. Read your book there."
I nod. The solar it is.
We head back inside, my hand primly resting on Agakor's sleeve, as if he's a great lord and I'm his lady. Our chairs are still at the front of the hall, so I sit down while Agakor addresses his men—and the visiting orcs—and explains the change in plans. After our union has been sanctified by the orc leader, the ferociously grinning Mudag, the vows will be spoken in front of Belara's priest. Until then, I will remain a maiden.
There's a lot of disappointed catcalls and hooting at that, but I suspect no one's more disappointed than me. Tonight I was going to share my quarters with my husband…and now I must share it with Turnip once more. Grimacing, I sip at the wine and rub my temples, play-acting at a headache. It doesn't take much effort to “act.” The orc tribe from the mountains is loud and noisy and reeks of flowers. I thought Agakor’s men were boisterous, but Mudag’s warriors put them to shame. Every word is shouted, every step is stomped, every dish is banged on the table, and they drink and carouse and have a delightful time. The poor flowers in their belts and in their hair fall everywhere and get crushed underfoot, and the smell just gets stronger as the night goes on. I'm a little shocked by their boisterousness at first, but it's all good-natured. They seem happy, so I don't mind the sound.
Of course, I pretend that I do.
Clutching at my head, I soon excuse myself, saying that I'm retiring to bed early. Turnip gets up from her spot and huffs with annoyance. She doesn't want to leave the party with me but does her job as chaperone. I ignore her grumping until we return to “our” quarters, and then I pick up one of the books beside my bed. "You know what? I'm not ready to go to sleep yet. I think I'll head to the solar and read for a bit."
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "What am I supposed to do? Watch you read?"
"No, of course not," I say, soothing. "Why don't you go back down to the party?" I gesture at the guards at the end of the hall. "It'll be fine. I'm just going to hide and read and then go to bed."
If I was expecting Turnip to argue with me, I'm mistaken. She brightens, her lined face creasing into a grin. With a jaunty nod, she turns and races back down the hall toward the stairs, and I want to laugh at how quick she's moving. Boy, Turnip really does love a party, even if it's full of orcs. Amused, I clutch the book to my chest and head for the solar, shutting the doors behind me.
The solar is always the lady's private room in a keep. My sisters and I spent a lot of time sewing and reading in the solar back at Rockmourn Keep, and I remember how my mother used to love to sit at the window and gaze out at the courtyard below, watching the goings-on. Ours was a large, comfortable room with a big window to sew by, and tables for ladies to sit at and work on projects. I remember my mother’s loom, and the unfinished tapestries that lay about, the musical instruments for idle hands to play. This room is nothing like that. This solar has been long abandoned, no craft projects waiting for their owners. There’s a small table to hold a candle or two, but the loom in the corner is empty, and the window seats lonely with disuse. Even the small, comfortable pillows I expect to see scattered about a lady’s solar are missing. Whoever had this place before Agakor ransacked it. Sad.
