Page 11 of The Dark Prince
Tyr kicked the door open to the chapel, sending the monk huffing and puffing about propriety and showing the respect due to the one true God. Musty air greeted me as well as the scent of stale incense. A few small rows of wooden benches sat in front of us, all facing a small altar. The monk flitted around in the dark, lighting candles as fast as he could, but the scent of rot still clung to the air.
“Are you sure you wish to do it here, my lord? I know you don’t follow the king’s new ways,” the monk fretted nervously, returning the candle lighter to its place on the wall, and firmly pressing it down until it latched.
“Damn your god! The king will recognize this marriage as legal and binding. I will marry her in the old ways when it pleases me.”
My grip around him tightened at his vehemence, and he flinched as if suddenly remembering I was there. Tyr set me down on my feet much more gently than I thought possible.
My foot still throbbed, but I kept most of my weight on my left leg. He put an arm around my shoulder and tucked me into his side. It was a clear invitation to lean on him. I took it, telling myself it was because he was warm. It certainly wasn’t because of the clean, spiced scent he had, or the feeling of absolute security with his large frame wrapped around me.
The monk was breathing hard as he grabbed a set of bright white robes from a cabinet and pulled them over his head, red-faced and sweating. The robes made him look like an encased sausage.
He stood before us, coughed, and began. “Does Lord Black enter this marriage of his own will and vitality?”
Tyr grit his teeth. “Yes.”
Not terribly convincing, I admitted with irritation. He’d chosen me, after all, not the other way around. The least he could do was refrain from acting as though marriage to me was akin to walking the gallows.
The monk cleared his throat nervously, then continued. “And do you, er …” He glanced helplessly at Tyr and then me.
“The Lady Isadora of Breakwater,” Tyr rumbled out darkly.
A strange feeling grew in my chest at hearing him say my full name like that, like I was someone important, someone he wanted. I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in the fantasy for a moment. My mind saw Tyr barging into my manor and stealing me because he was madly in love with me, and he was taking me to his castle for my happily-ever-after. He’d heard how cruel my step-family was and rode for days without stopping to rescue me.
“Does the Lady Isadora of Breakwater enter this marriage of her own will and vitality?”
My eyes snapped open as Tyr’s grip on my hand tightened. I glanced up, his masked face expressionless while his whole body practically vibrated with tension.
“Yes, I do,” I said clearly, looking straight into those golden eyes. Anywhere was better than the manor.
Tyr glanced away, down at the ground.
The monk sniffed as if unsure why any woman would willingly want to bind herself to the Dark Prince. I narrowed my eyes at him as he clumsily tied silver and blue cords around our hands, then laid his meaty palm on top of it.
“By the great one god of all, who is both heaven and earth, I proclaim you legally man and wife.”
I held my breath, expecting something to happen.
Tyr grunted. “Is it done then?”
The monk scoffed. “Yes, for all the good it will do you.”
Tyr shot him a nasty look and pulled his hand away from mine. Our wedding cords tangled and fell to the dirty floor.It seemed wrong to leave them trampled on the ground, so I bent down and picked them up, shoving them into my dress’s pocket. They were our wedding cords, after all.
“You may stay in my room,” the monk offered. “This isn’t an inn after all, but seeing as it’s your wedding night—” He shut up at Tyr’s glare.
Fear and self-consciousness bloomed in my belly, dark and fierce. Was Tyr angry with me? Did he not want to marry me?
Tyr grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the small cottage. A spark of anger flared into outrage. I ripped my hand from his.
“I am your wife. Stop dragging me around like a rag doll. I can walk.”
I put my chin in the air and went ahead down the path, trying not to limp as I opened the door of the cottage and stalked inside. Or tried to. My foot hurt more than I bargained for.
Tyr merely grunted, then picked me up again in his arms like I was a child. He nudged the door open with his foot, then kicked it open and carried me across the threshold. This was becoming a pattern with him. Not that I minded.
The cottage was a simple place with a straw floor and stone walls, but it was warm, and the scent of the soup cooking in the hearth already had my stomach rumbling. My eyes darted to the large bed in the loft.
“I’ll bed in the barn with the lads then,” the monk said loudly, coming in behind us. He grabbed down a bunch of bowls and spoons and ladled out two servings. He tore two hunks from the large loaf of bread sitting on his table. “There you are.” The monk gestured. “I’ll take the rest to the lads. They’ll eat well.”
