Page 153 of North Queen
“Forgive me, Salara,” Vitalia said quickly. “I thought you knew. You saw them at the betrothal celebration.”
Then she realized. The women. What were their names again? Rasha. Myral. Heta.
They weren’t sisters. They weren’t meant to keep her company.
They were his wives.
It hadn’t even occurred to her. Norah stumbled up from the bed, her mind reeling. She shook her head, unable to speak.
“It’s normal for Salar to have many wives,” Vitalia told her.
Normal? “So, I’m just one of many?” she asked, trying to hold back the flood of emotion overwhelming her.
“Only you are salara,” Vitalia explained. “You assume the highest status of them all.”
Norah bristled. “I don’t want to be the highest. I want to be theonly! How is thisnormal?” Her heart felt it would burst from her chest. Shame flooded her.
“Salar’s father had seven wives. His father before, five.”
“How many are there?” she demanded.
“Only three.”
Only three. Norah drew in a shaky breath as an anger grew inside her. She’d foolishly believed the king felt something for her, something he hadn’t felt before. But he had married before, brought a woman to his bed before. Three times before.At least.
Her eyes welled. What she and Mikael had wasn’t special. She bit back the pain. She wouldn’t let herself be another woman to him. She was a queen, and now she was salara.
“Find him,” she said with bitterness thick on her tongue. “Now.”
Norah sat silently on the edge of the bed, waiting. The heat of embarrassment flushed her cheeks.
She hadn’t even realized. How could she not have realized?
Mikael stepped into the chamber, and she rose. When he saw her, he paused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been summoned before,” he said as he draped his cloak on the side chair by the window. While his words came in jest, there was a slight edge to them. He was offended, perhaps.
But she didn’t care.
He let out a long sigh. “I’m told you’re displeased about my wives.”
“That’s an understatement,” she said icily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His head tilted slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I presented them to you.”
“Not as your wives!”
“Who did you think they were?”
True, she could have asked who they were, but it wasn’t a question she’d even considered. Just then, her stomach clenched.We shall be good friends, she’d told them. The embarrassment was unbearable. She wanted to crawl under the quilts of the bed and never come out. But not this bed. Not his bed, not ever again.
“And kings have many wives,” he added. His tone carried an air of dismissal.
“Mercian kings don’t!”
“I’m not a Mercian king.”
“I’m a Mercian queen, and you’re my husband!” she snapped.
He snorted, and she could see his own anger rising. He wasn’t used to being challenged. “Fine,” he said cheekily as he lumbered toward her. “I won’t marry any more.”
