Page 31 of WarBride

Taar moves.

I try not to flinch. He merely extends his hand a little, after all. He stops, his fingers hovering inches from mine, not yet touching me. I stare down at them, noting all the little details. Innumerable white scars across the knuckles. Calluses from riding and wielding weapons. A big hand, strong and unexpectedly graceful, with deep nailbeds, pale against his sun-darkened skin. His forearm is corded with sinewy muscle, the kind of muscle developed from long hours of combat training. How easily could he snap my neck?

“Zylnala.”

I catch my breath and force my gaze up to his. Those black eyes, like windows to the night sky, seem to take up the whole scope of my vision.

“Zylnala.” The word falls from his lips so gently, I scarcely believe that voice can belong to this great, solid, stone-carved man. “I will not harm you. Not now. Not ever. Will you let me take your hand?”

What is this? I frown. Didn’t I just give him permission to plunder my body for the sake of satisfying some fae law? Now he’s going toaskto hold my hand? Still, it’s not as though I can tell himno.Mouth dry, I nod my head. Once. Short.

He reaches a little farther. His large fingers dwarf mine as they close around them. His skin is hot, while mine is like ice, despite the near fire. He stands for a moment, pressing my fingers firmly but without pain. Then he draws my hand toward him. I tense, uncertain and suddenly afraid. Is he going to . . . toplacemy hand somewhere? Fyndra told me about this, about how a woman can please her man. Of where to grasp, where to tug, how to apply just enough teasing pressure. I’ve never doneanything like it. What if I can’t manage correctly? What if I fail to satisfy him? He might refuse to consummate our strange marriage and toss me out into the night, into the grasping arms of all those waiting, hungry monsters.

But Taar simply places his other hand atop mine. “Look at me,” he says.

I swallow hard. Then I glance up as commanded.

“Have you had any experience with a man?”

Heat floods my cheeks. Which makes me angry . . . angry that I should suddenly feel so vulnerable, so foolish. But I won’t let him get the better of me. Holding his gaze, I nod again firmly.

He tilts his chin, studying me closely. “It would be best, under the circumstances, if we were entirely honest with one another. If you prefer not to tell me, that is your choice. I ask only that you do not lie.”

My throat feels tight, my mouth dry. I draw a short breath and will my voice not to tremble. “I’ve had . . . some. Experience, that is.”

He nods solemnly. “And was it pleasant for you?”

Unable to hold his gaze, I turn to stare at the dancing fire. Then, because I cannot see how withholding the truth will help in this instance, I shake my head.

“I see.” Taar is silent for a long moment. His thumb rubs gently across the top of my hand, a lazy back and forth. I’m keenly aware of that touch, that pressure. I scarcely focus on anything else. “And are you yet a maiden?” he asks at last.

I flash him a quick, sidelong glance. Then nod again.

“I thought as much. You are able to see the licorneir—I noticed the way you looked at Nyathri back at the encampment. Ordinarily humans cannot see the licorneir when they are not burning. Only those who are yet innocent.”

“Innocent?” The word bites through my teeth. “I am notinnocent.”Would an innocent girl be caught in bed with aman six years her senior? Would she send him to the pillory because she could not stifle her screams? Would she write to that same man years later, somehow still believing the fantasy she’d invented of a hero on a white horse and, in so doing, bring death upon both her own entourage and the priests who had offered her hospitality?

I am not innocent. Not by a long shot.

Taar does not answer at once. When he does at last, it is merely to whisper, “I see.”

“Oh, do you?” I snap. His black eyes study my face intently. I don’t like it. I want to snatch my hand from his grasp and wrap my arms around myself again. But I’m committed to this course, aren’t I? I’m not going to show cowardice at the moment of crisis. “Well, spare me any further study of my character or virtue. Why don’t you simply get on with it? Rip off this gown, spread my legs. Have your way with me. I told you to do it, didn’t I?”

I’m shivering now with rage as much as anticipated pain. No doubt I seem pathetic to a creature like him—like a fluffy lapdog yapping at the heels of a wolf.

His expression is neither disgusted nor amused, however. Merely thoughtful. He waits until I’ve finished speaking, until I’m standing with my breath coming in short gasps, my chest heaving under these flimsy folds of nothing that make up my gown. Then he speaks again in a low rumble that stirs heat in my gut: “Tell me,zylnala,do you know how I may best please you?”

“What?” I’m not sure if he could have asked anything more unexpected. To my knowledge, the couplings of men and women have never been about what she wants, what pleases her. I remember too vividly how my father would publicly grope and paw at my mother and, when she fended him off, would turn those same attentions on his mistress. All done in the presence of witnesses on purpose to demonstrate his ownership.Though Fyndra laughed and my mother sneered, both subtly communicated their helplessness against my father’s lusts. What did their pleasure or comfort matter?

Mine certainly hadn’t mattered to Artoris when he pushed me onto that bed. He simply took what he wanted, his mouth rough and hot, his hands hard and grasping. “You love this, you dirty little minx,” he breathed into my ear, and I told myself that he must be right. How would I know any different?

“A woman’s pleasure in the bedroom,”Fyndra told me at the end of her instruction,“has everything to do with the power she may derive from pleasing her man. If a powerful man likes you—if he needs you, if he craves you—you will always have security in this dangerous world.”

I stare at Taar. This husband whom I do not intend to keep. How could he ever please me? The idea is simply unfathomable.

“I . . .” I shake my head, hating the way my voice trembles despite my best efforts to keep it low and measured. “I’m not sure I . . . am capable of . . . pleasure. Under the circumstances.”

The warlord nods and looks down at my hand once more. He draws a long breath and exhales it slowly. “We will try,” he says at last. “We will go slowly.” With that he lifts my hand to his mouth. His breath is warm against my frigid skin. His lips hover for a moment, and he looks down at me, his eyes deep and knowing and terrifying. “This will be a night of discovery,” he says softly. “For both of us.”

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