Page 21 of The Dark Prince
The older woman came back, gave me a quick glance, then barked out orders. Before I make a squeak of protest, the two younger women held a large blanket in front of me, shielding me from view.
Then the older woman tore my dress off.
I made a pitiful noise of embarrassment, but seconds later, the dress was gone and so were my ruined slippers. My legs were being shoved into thick woolen socks that went up my thighs. They placed a long-sleeved white shift over my head and shimmied it down my hips. A bright-blue dress with two thick shoulder straps went over the top, then a wool cloak trimmed in white fur went over my shoulders. A girl with hair so blonde it was almost white handed me a pair of matching blue gloves. I smiled at her and went to put them on, but the older woman slapped at my hands and scowled. I dropped the gloves. Perhaps they weren’t for me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them taking away Tyr’s wet cloak.
“Wait!” I called out. “My wedding cords are in the pocket!”
The old woman tutted but snatched back the cloak, digging around in the pocket and setting the blue and white cords in my hand. I held them to my chest, suddenly teary at the thought of almost losing them.
Seeing I had what I wanted, they took the cloak away. They put black leather boots on my feet, big enough to accommodate the wool socks. A girl my age with bright red hair in intricate braids opened a tin of salve, and offered it to the older woman. She dug her fingers into the paste, and with no warning smeared it on my face.
I made an initial sound of protest, then the ointment sank into my burning, chapped face.
Oh … sweet relief.
I groaned in appreciation, and the surrounding women giggled. I smiled gratefully. I pointed to myself as the older woman continued to work on my face, ensuring that every part of me that was touched by the wind had treatment. Including my hands. Now the glove thing made sense.
“Isadora.”
I looked at them expectantly.
The girl with the tin smiled back widely. “Asha.”
I nodded my head and pointed at the elderly woman. Asha giggled. “Grisha.”
Grisha harrumphed, then seized my hands to slather them in the goop. It sank into my hands and face, and Grisha dutifully applied more.
Feeling worlds better, my stomach grumbled for all to hear. They giggled again, and I blushed, but Grisha patted my shoulder reassuringly. With a flourish, they brought down the blanket, unveiling me to the rest of the longhouse. The men turned to look and cheered, raised their drinking horns and tankards with a loud huzzah at my appearance. I only had eyes for Tyr.
He was openly staring. I blushed deeply.
Never in my life had I felt so cared for or beloved. Not since my mother died. Not since before Perron had stormed into my life.
A large group of men took terms slapping Tyr on the back and yanked him away to arm wrestle each of them. When I looked over at him, he seemed to sense my gaze and met my eyes. A strong emotion flashed within them, and he stood and pushed off the surrounding men, grabbing someone else’s bowl of soup on his way. He walked straight over to me and the women scattered, Grisha shaking a finger at him once before taking her leave. Tyr sat down next to me on the bench, set down the soup on the table, and gently took my hands in his.
“You look wonderful,” he murmured, putting my healing fingers to his mouth. I shivered as his warm lips touched the raw, sensitive flesh of my hand. Guilt flashed across his eyes. “I am sorry,” he offered, closing his eyes and tucking my hand to his chest. “I’ve put you in danger and made you suffer.”
I shot him a look. “The last time I checked, I wasn’t the one who took an arrow to the shoulder. How is your wound?” I raised my hand as if to check, then realized that would be foolish. I lowered it awkwardly to my lap.
“I don’t matter. You do.” He glanced around. “They all adore you. I knew they would.”
Laughing, I said, “They love me because they love you. The men and their sons follow you around like lost puppies. It’s most endearing.” I smiled as I tilted my face up to his. In this moment, I felt warm and fuzzy, safe and protected. I spun around on the table to face the wall, grabbing the soup bowl and peering inside. The broth was brown and hearty-looking, thick and packed with potatoes and other vegetables.
I attacked it with gusto.
Tyr winced. “I did not … plan to take a wife. I am woefully unprepared.”
This man was an enigma wrapped in a fog of secrecy. Admitting he was unprepared was the first he’d said to me that was unprompted, or wasn’t an answer to a direct question I had.
Tyr had just exposed a tiny sliver of vulnerability. The Dark Prince or not, he didn’t match the terrifying assassin that all the stories painted him to be.
Pushing on his shoulders, I pushed up and left a kiss on the cold surface of his masked cheek. “Well, if a little cold is my only complaint, I’d say you’re doing alright.”
Going a step further, I settled into his lap, feeling oddly bold with a full stomach and warm clothes. “Are you sure your shoulder is alright? It looked awful when they pulled the arrow out.” I snatched my bowl of soup from the table and ate it right there in his lap, cheerfully chattering away about everything I saw and the new things I’d learned.
He was stiff behind me, but gradually his muscles relaxed, one by one. His hand came around to grasp my waist, holding me more securely against him so I wouldn’t tumble off. I wished he’d relax and take the massive ax from his back so he could rest, but everything would come one step at a time, I suppose.
