Page 56 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Several, to be sure.
Though Lyra had always remained sheltered inside the protective walls of her family’s compound to the north, war was the only constant she had known during her eighteen years on this desolate colony planet. While her people had battled the Seryn for dominance of the precious ore mines, she’d lost countrymen and friends, learning from an early age that death by the blade would eventually take everyone she loved.
When the oldest of her six brothers had died fighting at the mines, she’d cried to the gods for peace, and in their perverse way, they’d answered her prayer.
Her father’s army had lost the war.
Weeks ago, the Seryn had accepted surrender in an elaborate treaty ceremony that her entire family had been forced to attend. At first, she’d assumed it was meant as an act of humiliation, but she had quickly learned otherwise. To cement their truce, the two enemy families had agreed to join their bloodlines, forming a unified dynasty. All of a sudden, Lyra had found herself useful to her father—as his only daughter of breeding age.
He’d wasted no time in packing her trunks and shuttling her hundreds of miles to the sultry Southlands to handfast with Kai, the viceroy’s oldest son and heir. Father had barely allowed her enough time to say good-bye to her siblings. The youngest ones, especially two-year-old Elissa, the light of Lyra’s heart, would likely forget her before she returned home to visit.
Assuming she even could.
Lyra had done her duty for her people. She’d recited her vows to Kai with a smile on her face and sorrow in her soul. Even now, tears pressed her eyes, but she forced them back and brightened her grin.
“To my son!” the viceroy shouted, eliciting cheers and the stomping of boots. “May he have many sons of his own!”
Trying not to dwell on the topic of bearing him “many sons,” Lyra raised her cup to Kai while peering around the room for his crimson tunic. Odd that he wasn’t here. This feast was in their honor.
“And to victory!” a general from the other side of the table added, this time in his native tongue.
While the hall echoed his words and erupted in shouts, Lyra brought her goblet of melon wine to her lips. She drained the cup and extended it to the server for another, then drained that one as well. Perhaps the strong drink would help her sleep over the sounds of odd voices, barking dogs, and the deep breathing of the stranger who lay by her side each night.
She stood from her chair, her limbs weighed down by the heaviness of her Seryn nobility robes. Even the clothes on her body seemed alien. The silk panels were laced up her back in such intricate patterns that she required a ladies’ maid to undress. Lyra found the practice extravagant and wasteful.
Leaving the crowded dining room, she strode into the hallway and found her handmaid, a round-faced young woman with the traditional trio of Seryn braids extending down her back. The maid glanced at Lyra’s free-flowing waves and clucked disapprovingly. In the Northlands, women wore their hair loose, and though Lyra had dutifully conformed to her new station, she’d refused to plait her hair. It was her one act of rebellion—a silent protest against her fate.
“Going to bed early again?” the maid asked, clearly amused. “I don’t blame you. If I were handfasted to the viceroy’s heir, I’d do the same.” Fluttering her lashes, she pressed a palm to her breast and sighed. “His eyes are the color of pure hura spice.”
“Yes.” Lyra did nothing to dispel the woman’s assumptions. “They are stunning.”
What her maid didn’t know—what nobody knew—was that she hadn’t touched Kai since they’d joined hands and solemnized their union three days ago. Each evening after supper, she’d retired early and had feigned sleep, curling her body toward the wall in an unmistakable message, her knees pressed together as if to lock out Kai when he’d joined her.
Last night she had sensed him watching. She’d opened her eyes a crack and noticed the shadow of a hand on the wall extending toward her shoulder. But Kai had hesitated before pulling back, and when she’d awoken this morning, he was gone.
“When you’re ready to disrobe,” the maid said, “summon me from your chamber.” She gave a conspiratorial wink and resumed her duties.
Lyra’s palms dampened as she crossed to the opposite wing of the viceroy’s fortress and ascended the staircase to the second floor bedrooms. She couldn’t hide from Kai forever. He had been so patient, and she’d
vowed before the gods to honor him with her body. But he was strange to her—his speech and his mannerisms unfamiliar. She felt flustered simply talking with him.
Then there was the matter of her inexperience . . .
Surrounded by diligent guards and maiden aunts, Lyra had never tasted a single kiss from any of her suitors. The act of love was as foreign to her as this new land. She had witnessed the occasional mating of animals on her compound’s pasture lands, but she didn’t know if the act looked the same between ladies and lords.
What would Kai expect of her, and when?
The uncertainty quickened her footsteps in haste to enter their bedchamber ahead of him. When she reached the door, she flung herself inside, then clicked it shut.
“Lock that behind you, please,” called a familiar male voice from the darkness. “I’m in for the night.”
Gasping, Lyra clapped a hand over her chest and whirled toward the sound.
Kai lit the bedside lantern, illuminating his body in a flickering glow. “I’m sorry to startle you. Are you all right?”
She started to say yes, but at the sight of him, her voice died on her tongue.
Lyra could only stare as he reclined against a stack of cushions, one muscled arm curled lazily behind his head, his braid undone so the hair flowed in dark waves over one shoulder. His chest was bare, the circular tattoo of his family crest visible above his heart. Reflexively, Lyra fingered the sore spot above her left breast, where a freshly inked tattoo matched his.
