“Be not afraid,” he said in a voice that was velvet and gravel. “None shall e’er harm you, for I am here.”
Tears pricked in her eyes. And then her mouth opened itself, words jumping out. “My lord, you should not kneel.”
“How ever else would I greet a female such as yourself?”
Anha tried to respond, but caught up in his gaze, her mind became entangled—he seemed not real, this powerful male who bowed his honor afore her. To be certain once and for all, her hand lifted and moved to close the distance between them …
Whate’er was she doing? “Forgive me, my lord—”
He captured her palm and the impact of the flesh upon flesh made her gasp. Or was that both of them?
“Touch me,” he commanded. “Anywhere.”
As he released his hold, she placed her trembling hand upon his cheek. Warm. Smooth from a blade’s recent passing.
The King closed his eyes and leaned in, his great body shuddering.
When he just stayed as that, she felt a surge of power—not in an arrogant fashion, nor with any ambition for self-gain. It was simply from unexpected footing gained on what had seemed like an indelibly slippery slope.
How was this possible?
“Anha…” he breathed, as if her name were an incantation of magic.
Naught else was spoken, but the whole of their language was unnecessary, all parts of speech and vocabulary rendered worthless to offer any mere nuance, much less definition, to what bond was shaping and tethering them one to another.
She finally dropped her eyes. “Would you not care to see more of me?”
The King released a low growling purr. “I would see all of you—and looking would not be the half of it.”
The scent of a male’s arousal rose thick in the air, and incredibly, her own body responded to the call. But then again, that sensual aggression of his was well and truly bound by his singular will: he was not going to take her the now. No, it appeared that he was going to save her virtue until he had paid her the honor and respect of properly mating her.
“The Scribe Virgin answered my prayers in a miraculous way,” she whispered as she blinked through tears. All those years of worry and wait, the anvil poised for three decades to fall upon her head …
The King smiled. “If I had known a female as you could exist, I would have beseeched the mother of the race myself. But I had no fantasies—and that is well enough. I would have done naught but sit and wait for you to cross into my destiny, wasting years.”
With that, he burst up to his feet and went over to a display of robing. The colors of the rainbow were all represented, and she had been taught since an early age to know what each hue meant in the hierarchy of court.
He chose the red for her. The most valued of all, the signal that she would be the favored amongst all his females.
The queen.
And that honor should have been enough. Except as she envisioned the many he would take, pain struck in her chest.
As he came back toward her, he must have sensed her sadness. “What ails you, leelan?”
Anha shook her head, and told herself that sharing him was not something she had any right to mourn. She—
The King shook his head. “No. There shall only be you.”
Anha recoiled. “My lord, that is not tradition—”
“Am I not the ruler of all? Can I not decree life and death o’er my subjects?” When she nodded, a hard cast came upon his face—and made her pity any who would try to deny him. “So I shall determine what is and is not tradition. And there shall only be you for me.”
Tears sprang anew to Anha’s eyes. She wanted to believe him, and yet that seemed impossible—even as he wrapped her still-clad form with the blood-colored silk.
“You honor me,” she said, staring into his face.
“Not enough.” With a quick turn, he stalked across to a table that had been laid with gems.
The largesse of jewels had been the last thing on her mind as he had lifted her hood, but now her eyes widened at the display of wealth. Surely, she did not deserve such things. Not until she gave him an heir.
Which abruptly seemed not a chore, a’tall.
As he returned unto her, she inhaled sharply. Rubies, so many she couldn’t count them—indeed, a whole tray … including the Saturnine ring which she had been told had always graced the hand of the queen.
“Accept these and know my truth,” he said as he once again lowered himself at her feet.
Anha felt her head shake. “No, no, these are for the ceremony—”
“Which we shall have here and the now.” He put out his palm. “Give me your hand.”
Anha’s every bone was shaking as she obeyed him, and she let out a gasp as the Saturnine stone went onto her middle finger on the right. As she looked into the gem, candlelight refracted amongst its facets, flaring with beauty sure as true love lit the heart from within.
“Anha, do you accept me as your King and mate, until the door unto the Fade is offered afore you?”
“Yes,” she heard herself say with surprising strength.
“Then I, Wrath, son of Wrath, do take you as my shellan, to watch over and care for you and any begotten young we may have, sure as I would and will my kingdom, and its citizenry. You shall be mine fore’ermore—your enemies are mine own, your bloodline to mix with mine own, your dusks and your dawns to share only with me. This bond shall ne’er be torn asunder by forces within or without—and”—here he paused—“there shall be one and only one female for all mine days, and you shall be that only queen.”
With that, he brought up his other hand and laced all their fingers together. “None shall part us. Ever.”
Although Anha did not have knowledge of it currently, in future years, as destiny continued to roll forward, transforming this present moment into past history, she would return to this instant over and over again. Later, she would reflect that they had both been lost that night, and the sight of the other had given them the solid ground they had required.
Later, when sleeping close to her mate in their bedding and hearing him gently snore, she would know that what had seemed like a dream was in reality a living, breathing miracle.
Later, on the night that she and her beloved were slaughtered, when her eyes latched onto the crawl space where she had hidden their heir, their future, the only thing that was greater than the two of them … she would have as her last dying thought that it was all meant to be. Whether the tragedy or the luck, all of it had been predetermined, and it had started here, in this instant, as the King’s fingers intertwined with her own and the two of them became locked one into the other, for eternity.
“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.