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She gave me a sad smile. “I’m starting to know you, Anton. I’m also guessing that it will upset me. Let’s just get it out of the way.”
I shifted, cracking my neck to release a painful knot. “The Magnar is coming for a visit tonight. It is a great honor for my clan and me.”
She exhaled and clasped her hands on her lap. While her face remained neutral, her knuckles whitened.
“Is he coming alone?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How nice do I have to be to him?”
I felt a sour taste in my mouth as I struggled to find the words. This whole situation infuriated me, but worse, it shamed me. What the hell kind of a man couldn’t protect his woman?
“You’re my consort, Grace. He’s not supposed to do more than cop a feel.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. I could guess her thoughts; ‘not supposed to’ didn’t mean ‘would not.’
Grace may never forgive me if things got rough. I would protect her of course, but the Magnar wasn’t Gerwin – he would squash me like an insect.
“When does he arrive?” she asked, looking away.
It wasn’t in defeat. The stiffness of her back and the hard line of her jaw spoke of repressed anger. She didn’t want me to see how she felt, on her face, in her eyes.
“He will be here in an hour or so.”
She nodded. “I should go get ready then.” She rose gracefully and walked to the bathroom.
“I’m sorry, Grace.”
She paused in the doorway. “I know,” she said without turning to look at me, then closed the door behind her.
William commed me to let me know the Magnar had arrived. I went to get Grace as she needed to be by my side when I greeted him. To my utter shock, she walked out of the room wearing a diaphanous, thigh-length white dress. It was sheer enough to tease about her delicious curves but opaque enough to hide any indecent details. Barefoot, no underwear, her long reddish-brown hair cascaded down her back. She looked good enough to eat. It was also a perfect traditional Braxian concubine outfit.
Where the fuck did she get that?
Despite my curiosity, I escorted her to the lift in silence. The Magnar would arrive any minute and we couldn’t dally.
Right on cue, the lift chimed as we took position in front of it, Grace standing two steps behind me. My stomach lurched at the sight of the behemoth revealed by the doors opening. Magnar Ravik was almost eight feet tall, his head only inches from the lift’s ceiling. He easily weighed over four hundred pounds. The stretchy dark fabric of his clothes seemed about to tear with each movement of his rippling muscles. Like me, raven black hair fell to his shoulders. As the purest bloodline on Braxia, the Magnar’s features were as brutish as they came. His strong brow line and broad forehead gave his hard face a permanent, terrifying scowl.
However, his eyes held my attention. They shone with keen intelligence and wisdom, in sharp contrast with his fearsome appearance.
The Magnar stepped into the room. He gestured for his two guards to stay in the lift with William who took them back down.
“Magnar Ravik,” I said with a deferential bow, “your presence honors me. Welcome to my home.”
“Anton Myers of Clan Aldriss, we meet at last.” His voice rumbled like a waking volcano. “I accept your hospitality and thank you.”
His obsidian eyes drifted to Grace. Heart pounding, I schooled my features and introduced her.
“This is my consort, Grace,” I said, gesturing towards her. “My concubine and my house are yours.”
The words scorched my lips and twisted my innards. To both the Magnar’s and my surprise, Grace approached the Magnar then kneeled at his feet. Sitting back on her haunches, she rested her palms on her knees and bowed her head.
“Welcome, Magnar Ravik. Health, wealth, and strength to your clan,” Grace said. Her voice sounded steady, respectful, and beautifully raspy.
I didn’t know when she learned the Braxian greeting protocols observed by concubines, but it honored me, my clan, and the Magnar. My chest hurt realizing that despite me hurting her repeatedly over my culture and clan honor, she still embraced them to please me.
I don’t deserve her.
