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“But we marry tomorrow.” Though she would give near anything not to be trembling under the weight of the royal raiments as she spoke her vows, Elina could not simply discard tradition.
“Wear a gold dress, then—it will not be out of place amid the Midsummer festivities. Wear the crown inside Khides’ temple, if you must. But forego the queen’s face.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Do not forget he said you are more lovely without it.”
Never would she forget that. She leaned back against Warrick’s chest, suddenly bubbling with happiness. “We marry tomorrow!”
Smiling, Serjeant Iarthil translated her happy statement to Warrick. He bent his head to her ear, and rumbled an equally short reply in a voice that sent shivers racing over her skin and arousal heating everything within.
“What does it mean?” she asked the serjeant, then repeated Warrick’s reply as closely as she could.
Warrick began laughing behind her as Serjeant Iarthil turned quite red. “It means ‘We can’”—he mumbled something she didn’t catch—“‘tomorrow.’”
“We can what?”
And that was how Elina learned the barbarian word ‘fuck.’
On Midsummer morn, barely a moment passed between Elina calling for her attendants and Chardryn charging into the tent with a battalion of maids armed with buckets of steaming water, lotions, and brushes. The nurse shooed a naked Warrick off to his breakfast, tossed his wrap and boots out after him, then seized Elina—who was bathed and buffed and plucked until there was not a single hair remaining below her neck and not a single curl astray above it. Then she was wrapped in gold silk, perfumed, and polished—and finally declared ready to wed by the old nurse, who promptly burst into tears.
But this was a day for laughing, not for crying. Elina soon teased Chardryn out of her tears, and was sent off to marry with her Nanny Char scowling in the way Elina had loved for so long.
Armor shining and hair trimmed, Serjeant Iarthil met her outside the tent. “You are truly radiant, my queen.”
She felt radiant. “I thank you, Serjeant. You are also looking very well. Your beard is charmingly tamed.”
“Nanny accosted me when my defenses were down.”
“She was on a rampage,” Elina agreed. “I wonder if she intends to oil my husband-to-be? I’ve noted her appreciation for the way his muscles gleam.”
Though if Nanny Char had caught him, he’d already washed it away. Dripping from his bath, Warrick strode across the camp, leading his horse and wearing only his axe on his back.
Elina could not take her eyes from him. “Do you suppose that is the traditional wedding attire in the Dead Lands?”
“I hardly know, Your Highness.”
“Perhaps he is merely eager. And efficient. Ask him if he intends to consummate our marriage before we even leave the temple.”
“I beg you to teach him more words, my queen, so that you might ask him yourself.”
“I might call to him with the word you taught me yesterday. If I say it enough, perhaps he will not even wait until we reach the altar.”
Looking pained, the serjeant spoke in the eastern tongue.
Warrick grinned at Elina, causing her heart to skip. Then he dropped his horse’s reins, apparently leaving the beast to stomp about the camp like a drunken mammoth, and vanished into the attendants’ tent.
Elina eyed her man-at-arms curiously. “Did you truly ask him what I told you to? I expected some reply.”
“I told him that you were admiring the swing of his mighty weapon and that you would like to see it oiled.”
She gave a delighted laugh. “Well done, Serjeant!”
A faint smile curved his mouth. After a moment, he asked quietly, “You will be happy?”
“I am already,” she said. The serjeant nodded, then blinked and looked away, but not before she saw the glint in his eyes.
At this rate, Elina would be the only one who did not cry today.
Though perhaps Warrick would join her in laughing. He emerged from the tent carrying her tonic in one hand and a length of gold silk in the other. The cup he gave to her; the silk he knotted around his waist.
Apparently Nanny Char’s rampage had continued. At least his wrap was still efficient. He only needed to lift it.
Anticipation thrummed through her. “Ready, then?”
Warrick’s dark eyes met hers. Without a word, he plucked the cup from her fingers and tossed it over his shoulder in the general direction of the tent. Elina was the next to be tossed, though he made certain she landed astride his horse. He swung up into the saddle behind her.
“Onward,” she said—and they were off to be wed.
Midsummer being the longest day of the year, when they entered the city many revelers were already in the streets, celebrating the full length of the day. Elina tossed to them the gold coins that Serjeant Iarthil and his knights had brought along for the purpose of sharing the Radiant Queen’s joy.
