Chapter Thirteen: The Morning After
1116 Words
I was dreaming about brown eyes and velvet voices when a sound made me stir awake.
I surfaced from unconsciousness with the graceless lurch of someone dragged upward before they were ready, and for a few seconds, I was in Brooklyn. My apartment. The thin morning light coming through the gap in my curtains that I’d been meaning to fix since February.
Then, my hands felt the sheets.
Candy floss. The smell of woodsmoke. The low crackling of a dying fire.
My eyes fluttered open slowly, and soon, I was staring up at the elaborate bed canopy, made of deep green velvet material. Luxury.
Right. Strange universe.
I let the previous day settle back over me like a second blanket.
The wedding. The feast. The chamber. The way he’d leaned in until his breath was cool against my lips and his scent was the only thing I could think about —
Are you afraid of me, Sigrùn?
You should be, Princess.
I sat up and pressed both hands over my face.
I am going to enjoy playing with you, Princess.
Okay. Last night was definitely not a wet dream. I’d had an earth-shattering orgasm at the hands of a man whose existence I’d only just learned about approximately twenty-four hours ago.
And then…he’d left.
Now I was fully awake. What the hell?
Like a dark angel, he had watched me come apart in that chair, and then he had simply straightened up, looked at me with that dangerous half-smirk, and walked out of the room. Leaving me alone in the firelit chamber, absolutely incapable of movement or speech or identifying which direction was north.
I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or disappointed.
Both, probably.
Somehow, I had apparently made it to the bed, because here I was — tucked under the deep green silk sheets with absolutely no memory of the journey from the chair to the mattress.
I had slept like a person who had been through something. Which I had. In twenty-three years, I'd managed exactly two kisses that had gone nowhere significant, and somehow my wedding night had still managed to be the most overwhelming experience of my life. Without even technically being a wedding night.
There was a knock on the door, which must have been the sound that had woken me up.
I glanced at the window. The sky outside was stuck at some point between darkness and dawn.
I cleared my throat and called, “Come in.”
Rita entered with Conny and three maids I vaguely recognized from yesterday.
They all curtseyed, greeted me good morning, and promptly began to arrange and pull down stuff at Rita’s directives.
Rita came over to the bed. Rita’s eyes were kind and assessing as she helped me out of it. She looked like she was checking for something on the sheets. I also noticed a couple of the maids whispering and eyeing me curiously as they worked.
Oh. Right. I'd almost forgotten that first marriage consummations were a pretty big deal in medieval times. Kingdoms went to war for that s**t.
Well, ladies, I thought, no consummation happened over here. My groom upped and left after giving me an explosive orgasm, during which, I must add, he barely even touched me.
Rita pasted a smile on her face, but I could see the confusion in her eyes at not finding proof of consummation on the sheets. Thank goodness medieval people were too polite to ask certain kinds of questions.
“Yer Highness," she said, "We need to get ye dressed. There’s quite the journey ahead of ye.”
Great. Another thing to worry about. The journey to my new husband’s kingdom in the North. I smiled to try and hide the fact that I was scared shitless and freaking the f**k out. It had been easy to get through yesterday because a part of me had been clinging to the chance that this was all a dream. Some elaborate, hyper-realistic fever production that my overworked, under-caffeinated brain had cooked up.
But waking up here again proved that this was real. This was my life now.
I submitted to Rita's capable hands as she took off my chemise and let her steer me toward a wooden bathtub that must have been set up while I wasn't paying attention.
"Rita," I said, while she washed my hair. "Are you and Conny coming north with me?"
It came out sounding more vulnerable than I intended. But hell, I was feeling sober and vulnerable. I needed familiar faces around until I at least figured out a way to get back home. Maybe through like, a portal or something. They used those all the time in Harry Potter, right?
Shit. I never thought I'd be comparing my life to a story about wizards and magic.
Rita's hands paused in my hair for just a fraction of a second; I almost missed it. "Well, of course, Yer Highness. We're yer personal maids. We go wherever ye go."
I breathed in relief. "Good."
*
Outside in the courtyard, by the low light of iron torches, the pack was already assembled. Horses and dark figures, breaths rising in the cold predawn air. I was grateful for the thick woollen coat and gloves that Rita had put me into.
It was easy to spot Varul among the rest of the people. He was dressed in all-black attire, already mounted on a large horse whose color was that of midnight. The Alpha king of the darkness.
His expression gave nothing away, but his gaze stayed on mine for exactly one beat longer than necessary before he looked away and said something low to the man beside him, whose attention snapped to me almost immediately.
"Darren is 'is name". I remember that Conny had whispered about the man to me at some point during the wedding yesterday. The Alpha's Beta. I'd read enough of steamy werewolf novels to know that beta in wolf terms meant "second in command."
Both men seemed to be watching me—hell, everyone in the pack was watching me, but I was more aware of one particular pair of eyes. I could feel my cheeks turning hot.
I became aware that I'd stopped breathing and corrected that immediately.
Get it together, I told myself. You have bigger problems. You are about to be put on a horse, and you've never even sat on one in your life!
As if on cue, a young stable hand appeared at my elbow, leading a pale grey mare that was as enormous as it was beautiful.
"Yer Highness's mare," he said, with a small bow. "Shall I help ye mount?"
- Writer
