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Especially when Madame finds out.
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 myhusband.
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 wantme, 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.
