Page 130 of North Queen
Did he have to remind her? Norah noticed the king’s mother was absent from the festivities. She wondered how long she’d have to endure before she could excuse herself. Could she excuse herself from her own wedding celebration? She glanced around—was there at least some food?
Three women approached. They lined up before the king and gave a low bow. They were beautiful, with dark honeyed skin, hair like black silk, and large brown eyes. Sisters, maybe? Her gaze moved over the ornate embroidery of their dresses, the gold around their wrists, and the adornments in their hair. Women of status.
“Salara,” Mikael told them, introducing her.
The women smiled politely at her, giving another low bow.
“Myral, Rasha, and Heta,” he said to Norah. “They’ll be with you in the villa, where you’ll stay once we’re wed.”
Royals maintaining separate spaces wasn’t surprising; it was customary in Mercia as well. Forced friends—odd—but Norah liked the idea of not being entirely alone. “We’ll be good friends, then,” she told them, giving a polite smile.
The women bowed again and then left as gracefully as they had come.
A string of music caught her ear, and she glanced up to see a dancer in the center of the hall. Norah took in a breath of astonishment at her clothing, or rather, her lack of clothing. The woman wore only braided weaves of richly patterned cloth around her hips and small bells that jingled with each movement. Beaded bracelets wrapped her wrists, and she shook them in unison to the rhythm of the music. Heavily beaded adornments covered her neck, with intricately woven strands cascading over her chest. The nipples of her bare breasts were pierced with small golden rings.
Norah’s eyes widened as the woman moved her hips to the fluted song. She’d never seen anything so brazen. Such entertainment in Mercia would be the ruin of a good name. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn’t look away. The dancer had lighter hair, blonde, like her Northmen. Norah wondered where she was from.
“She’s beautiful, yes?” Mikael said as he watched the dancer.
“Um…” She swallowed, unsure how to answer. Despite her discomfort, she was mesmerized. The dancer flowed with the music, her body rolling like the waves of the sea. She was light on her feet, as if she weren’t held by the pull of the earth. Her eyes locked with Norah’s. She was close enough for Norah to see their emerald depths. The woman smiled.
The dancer spun, and Norah finally broke from her hold. She glanced at Mikael, only to find him watching her.
“You like her?” he asked. His eyes flashed with amusement.
Norah’s cheeks flushed, like she’d been caught. She swallowed back her embarrassment. “I’ve just never seen anything like her.”
“She’s all the way from Elam, given as a gift to Japheth’s King Gregor, but I won her from him in a bet.” He smiled, smugly pleased with himself.
Disgust knotted in her stomach. She found nothing pleasing about gifting or betting human beings. Bitterness rippled across her tongue. “Do people’s lives mean nothing to you?” she said before she could stop herself.
His smile faded. “She’s a slave.”
“She’s a person,” Norah snapped.
Anger flashed across his face at her rebuke; he was clearly unaccustomed to being chastised, but he didn’t respond. He only sat for a moment, then gave a small wave of his hand. The music died. He called out in the Shadow tongue, and the dancer stopped. She looked at Norah with a troubled face.
“What are you doing?” Norah asked him.
The dancer bowed low and quickly left the hall.
“What’s going to happen to her?” she asked, her alarm growing.
“Whatever you decide. She’s yours now.”
She sat back in her chair. “What?” Was he serious?No—he couldn’t be. Was he? “I don’t want her.”
“Then you’ll have to figure out what to do with her.”
Gods, he was serious. Norah scoffed in frustration as she looked back out across the hall. She knew she’d offended him, but she didn’t really care. He was offensive. The Shadowlands were offensive, with their slaves and their bloodlust. This was a mistake; she couldn’t marry this man. She had to get out of here. She had to… escape… somehow. Get back to Mercia…
And prepare for war. Because that’s what she would cause:war.
Norah sighed. She couldn’t leave. She had to make this work. But she vowed to herself that she would change things.
The celebration wore on through an endless evening. Mikael settled. She felt his eyes on her, often, but didn’t look at him. Finally, she bid her parting and, thankfully, slipped away. As she walked to her chamber, her mind spun around her. She had to find a way to live here, despite her abhorrence of the idea. She had to learn how to live as queen of the Shadowlands.
Norah opened her chamber door and jumped at the figure inside. “Hammel’s hell,” she breathed as she recognized the woman—the green-eyed dancer.
