The King(5)

“Who shall attend you this night and this day afore the public ceremony?” he asked.
She hated to leave him. “I should return to my quarters.”
He frowned deeply. But then he released her and took his sweet time adorning her with the rubies until they hung from her ears and her neck and both of her wrists.
The King touched the largest of the stones, the one that hung over her heart. As his lids lowered, she believed that he had gone somewhere carnal in his mind—mayhap he was imagining her without benefit of clothing, nothing but her skin to frame the heavy golden settings with their diamond accents and those incredible red gems.
The last of the suite was the crown itself, and he lifted the circlet from the velvet tray, placing it on her head and then sitting back to survey her.
“You outshine it all,” he said.
Anha looked down at herself. Red, red, everywhere, the color of blood, the color of life itself. Indeed, she could not imagine the value in the gems, but that was not what touched her. The honor he was paying her in this moment was legendary—and as she considered that, she wished this could have been private between them fore’ermore.
That would not be, however. And the courtiers were not going to like this, she thought.
“I shall take you to your quarters.”
“Oh, my lord, you should not bother yourself—”
“There is naught else to consume me this night, I assure you.”
She could not stop her smile. “As you wish, my lord.”
Except she was not sure she could stand with all the—
Anha didn’t make it all the way onto her feet. The King swept in and gathered her in his arms, holding her up from the floor as if she weighed naught more than a field dove.
And with that, he marched across, kicked open the closed door and strode out into the corridor: They were all there, the hallway full of aristocrats and members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood—and instinctively she turned her head into Wrath’s neck.
Whilst being raised for the King’s purpose, she had always felt like an object, and yet, that had gone away when she was alone with the male. Now, exposed to the invasive gazes of the others, she was once again in that role, relegated to a possession rather than an equal.
“Wherever goest thou?” one of the aristocrats demanded as the King strode by without acknowledging them.
Wrath kept walking—but clearly this one courtier would not be denied that which was not his due.
The male placed himself in their path. “My lord, it is customary for—”
“I shall attend her in mine own quarters this night and all others.”
Surprise flared in a thin, pinched face. “My lord, that is the queen’s honor only, and even if you have had the female, it is not official until—”
“We are duly mated. I performed the ceremony myself. She is mine own and I am hers, and surely you do not wish to be in the path of a bonded male with his female—much less the King with his queen. Do you.”
There was a clapping sound of teeth meeting teeth, as if someone’s jaw had fallen open and then been closed with alacrity.
Looking past Wrath’s shoulder, she saw smiles on the Brotherhood’s faces, as if the fighters approved of the aggression. The others in the robes? ’Twas not approval on their visages. Impotence. Supplication. Subtle anger.
They knew who held the power, and it was not theirs.
“You should be accompanied, my lord,” one of the Brothers said. “Not out of custom, but in deference to the times. Even in this stronghold, it is appropriate for the First Family to be guarded.”
The King nodded after a moment. “Fine enough. Follow me, but”—his voice dropped to a growl—“you do not touch her in any way or I shall rip from you the appendage that offends her physical form.”
True respect and some kind of affection warmed the Brother’s voice: “As you wish, my lord. Brotherhood, fall in!”
All at once, daggers were ripped out of chest holsters, black blades glinting in the torches that lined the hall. As Anha’s fingers dug into her King’s precious vestments, the Brothers let out a whooping battle cry, those weapons going over their heads.
In a coordination that was bred from long hours in each other’s company, every one of the great warriors went down on their knees in a circle and buried the points of their daggers in the flooring.
Bowing their heads, and with one voice, they said something she could not comprehend.
And yet the verbiage was for her: They were pledging allegiance to her as their queen. It was what would have happened at nightfall on the morrow, in front of the glymera. But she far preferred it here, and as their eyes lifted, respect shone forth—directed at her.