Page 8 of Chosen

Chapter Six

Sig

The woman that stood before me was different. Something about her stood out from the others in the room. It wasn’t a bad thing, far from it, the room was full of stuffy, rich islanders. She was pale with black hair and green eyes. Her waist was narrow and her chest full. It was easy to tell what my uncle and father had seen in her.

“Highness, welcome to the Bay of Keys,” she quietly offered.

Her lower lip was full and when she spoke, she all but made love to her words. Despite how well-spoken she was, she had an accent that likely made even the Gods weak. For years, my mother had sworn that she was a short-haired crone with a hideous nose. I found no such thing in the woman before me. She was mature, and definitely older than me, but she wasn’t ancient or ugly. Her hair was long and dark. I wanted to run my fingers through it, but I refrained.

I told myself I could do this and reached for her arm instead. She seemed to have anticipated it, her hand gracefully slid to mine, and our fingers tangled. Hers were slender and warm. Her skin was so soft. I don’t know what I’d expected, perhaps a calloused, overworked paw? She had been a slave after all. Surely, her tasks included more than laying with my every relative. The thought left my brows tensing with irritation.

I led her after my father and despite the look that my mother gave me, I pulled out a chair for Truth right next to mine and waited for her to be seated before claiming my own chair. Mother’s cheeks burned red, and she pointedly avoided my gaze. You’d have thought I brought shame to our family by being polite to my intended.

My father noticed it and snorted in a way that was meant to chastise her. He was calling her silly without uttering a word.

“Countess…” he started, before looking toward her.

It was like he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes swam over Truth’s face, and he turned a bit, giving my mother his shoulder while he leaned forward to seek Truth’s hand. She hesitantly gave it. I couldn’t help but notice a glistening scar that decorated the flesh just above her knuckles. It was a perfect silver line. My father stood, leaned over the table and made a great show of kissing her scar. His eyes were locked on her, even as his lips lingered. She jerked, like she wanted to rip her hand away, but she couldn’t. He was the king.

“Enough,” I growled in a low warning.

His head popped up and he stared at me with the same confused look. It was the first time I had ever spoken up for myself where he was concerned. I never disagreed or raised my voice. He was my father. A god amongst men. Even so, he wouldn’t humiliate me like that. I wouldn’t stand for it.

“Forgive me, son. Your bride is… striking.”

“She isn’t my bride yet,” I reminded him. “Perhaps you’d like to take her as a second?”

His eyes nearly leaped out of his skull and my mother gasped and stood up to leave the table.

“Now, Sig… don’t let your temper get the best of you.” He gave an awkward laugh and shot his hand out like a snake to still my mother.

Aunt Gisla and Uncle Enzo sat beside her, and she soon became lost in conversation with Enzo about the latest church gossip. He was so good at being a peacekeeper. He’d have never survived in the north. I couldn’t help but study him and Gisla. They were such an odd couple.

“You must be exhausted,” Truth interrupted my thoughts. “The journey across the great sea is a vicious one.”

“It really was,” I admitted, before palming my eye. “I lost count of how many days—”

“Eight days if the sea is still and the Gods are smiling,” she cut me off.

“I forgot; you’ve ventured it a few times.” I nodded, recalling how my uncle had once told of her translating skills and how valuable she’d been in those first few raids.

“Once it took three weeks.” She grimaced and swigged from her wine the way a man would mead.

“It only felt like two,” Sven scoffed.

“For the love of the Gods, Sven, that is because you were not the one rowing.” She finally took the bait.

Father sat back with a satisfied smile stretched across his features while my intended looked like she wanted to bury her fork in his thigh. She held out her glass and the servant hurried forth to refill it.

“Queen Ava, if your bowels are distressed, we can always have the kitchen fetch some prune juice,” Truth offered, when my mother continued to gawk with that disgusted look on her face.

My father spat his liquor out and laughed like it was the best joke he’d heard. Ava stood once again, but this time, Sven let her go.

“Never insult my wife again,” he warned, pointing his fork at her.

“Or what? Are you going to cut off my fingers, Majesty?” She held out her hand and glanced at the silvery scar. “Perhaps this time, you’ll go through with it.”

Now it was my turn to gawk. I did so with a slack jaw and a rapid round of blinking. Did she just imply that my father had tried to cut her fingers off?

My father realized that a few of the nobles were looking toward them, so he cleared his throat and clinked his fork against his wine glass.

“Let us hail blessings upon the new couple. May their day always begin with the sun on their cheek and their nights end with tangled feet. May their cups always be full and their coffers fuller. May the Gods grant them children and take away their troubles. But most of all…may they find peace in each other and a future that is fit for a king and queen, because that is what I intend to make them. Bay of Keys, meet your future King and Queen, Sigurd and Truth.”

The room erupted into applause and well wishes were hailed from every corner of the table. It was a good show, but I wasn’t really interested in being entertained by nobles. I wanted to learn everything I could about the woman beside me.

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