Duty-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book II ]

45

Later that evening, after the feasting was done, Matei lay in his bed, wearing his nightshirt. It was a frivolous garment; normally, it was all Matei could do to shuck his shirt before falling into bed of an evening, wearing the same rumpled trousers he'd had on all day long, but given the circumstances, he had thought it best to bend to custom.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. "Come in," he called, pulling the blanket up a little farther and crossing his arm over his chest.

The door swung open, and there stood Mhera in an embroidered robe cinched at the waist, flanked by two blushing servant girls with downcast eyes. Someone had made Mhera a crown of snowblossoms, the only flowers that would bloom in the winter. She wore her hair unbraided, and the silver-blonde tresses flowed down over her shoulders, soft in the light. She looked beautiful—and she looked terrified. The delicate scent of the flowers followed her into the room.

The two servant girls curtsied to Matei and then made their way across to the bed. One of them peeled back the coverlet, and the other stepped back as Mhera approached.

Matei saw the way she clutched her robe closed at the neck as she sat on the bed. The servants arranged her clothes around her carefully and then lay the coverlet back over her lap. They curtsied again and backed out of the room; as the door swung closed, Matei heard a girlish giggle.

For a moment, neither of them looked at one another. Matei grasped for something to say, something that would set her at her ease, but he was having trouble sorting through his own tangled feelings. At last, he sat up, still holding the blankets close to his chest.

"I'm glad of some privacy, at last," he said finally. Mhera threw him a startled look, curling her fingers into the blanket she held clutched to her chest, and Matei realized how she might have misconstrued what he had said. "We can be ourselves," he quickly added.

"I...I had not considered—" Mhera reached up again, smoothing the robe over her chest and clutching the sides of it closed. "I should have been prepared for...for this."

"The whole...event...is just for tonight," Matei said, aiming for a reassuring tone. He did not feel very reassured himself. "After, it's less a matter of ceremony."

Mhera was silent for a while. They sat on opposite sides of the bed, looking at the closed door, uncomfortably aware of the fact that an empire awaited without, eager for—or dreading—the consummation of their marriage and the quick conception of an heir.

"I need some wine," Mhera said, her voice a meek whisper. She searched the room. Matei saw her notice the goblets and decanter that had been left on the sideboard for them, saw the indecision in her eyes.

"I'll get it." He slid out of the bed, throwing the blankets aside. The nightshirt he wore fell only to his knees; he felt terribly exposed, but there was nothing at hand to layer over what he wore, and he did not want to mortify Mhera any more. She had been spared the indignity of a kiss at the conclusion of their ceremony in the temple—such a public display of affection was standard in marriages among commoners, but unheard of at the royal altar. Still, as they had walked out of the temple arm-in-arm, she had seemed like a stranger, brittle and shy. To allow her to get out from under the sheets in her nightclothes would be cruel.

As casually as he could, he went to the sideboard and poured a goblet of wine. He took it back to the bed, passing it into her hand. When she looked up at him, he saw the gleam in her eye and his heart sank. "Mhera, are you all right?"

She sipped the wine first, then nodded her head. "Just humiliated," she confessed. "And sad."

He sat down beside her, hesitant, and took hold of her free hand. "Why humiliated, dear heart?"