Page 52 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“IT’S GETTING LATE. Shall we retire?”
Panic surged up Lara’s throat. She’d been dreading this moment all day—and finally, it had arrived. Her mind scrambled as she desperately tried to think of an excuse, one that would delay her performing her wifely duties.
But her mind went blank.
There was no getting out of this.
Swallowing the hard lump that had just lodged like gristle in her throat, she managed a tight nod.
A moment later, Alar smoothly rose to his feet and held out his hand. Dizziness washed over her as she took it—fearing her own was clammy—and stood up.
The dancing had ended, and everyone now sat at the long tables once more, lingering over wine, mead, and ale. Meanwhile, the musicians played a gentle, beguiling melody. The music was likely meant to be seductive, but instead, it only served to remind her of the humiliation that lay ahead.
You’re doing this for Albia, she reminded herself doggedly.Keep that in mind when he ruts you.
Her pulse went wild then. That didn’t help.
As they stepped down from the high seat, Lara’s gaze flicked to where Bree and Cailean were sitting together now at the farend of the table. Skaal sprawled by the fire behind them, her large paws holding down an ox bone she gnawed upon. The chief-enforcer had slung his arm around his wife’s shoulders, and Bree was leaning into him. They looked so right together, and Lara’s heart squeezed.
Once, she’d dreamed of finding an epic love like they had, but that wasn’t to be her destiny.
Cailean scowled at the prince consort, while Bree ignored Alar completely, focusing instead on Lara.
Her friend knew enough of Lara’s history to understand what tonight was costing her.
Lara attempted a shaky smile yet failed.
Leaving the hall, the newly handfasted couple climbed the narrow, winding steps of the broch to the topmost level, where the High Queen’s extensive quarters lay.
When they entered her alcove, Alar surveyed his surroundings with interest. “Nice,” he murmured. “Although less adorned than I expected.”
Surprised by his reaction, Lara looked at her alcove with fresh eyes. Sheepskins covered the floors, and colorful hangings and tapestries hung from the stacked-stone walls. This space had once belonged to her parents, but after she’d moved in, she made it her own. It felt wrong to live with her mother and father’s belongings around her, as if their shades lingered.
The large alcove had a sleeping nook in one corner and two additional alcoves leading off it. One was a space where she or her husband could bathe in a large iron tub, and the other was a study or private meeting space.
It was her sanctuary, the place she could retreat to for a short while to escape the weight of attention that usually rested upon her shoulders.
But it wouldn’t be hers alone any longer.
“I prefer simplicity,” she replied, wishing her heart wasn’t slamming against her ribs like a trow with a pick, digging itself a fresh knowe.
His gaze settled upon her. “Nervous?”
“A little.” Gods, her voice sounded like a sheep’s bleat.
“Shall I pour us some wine?”
“No, I’ll do it.” She moved over to where Florie had brought up a clay jug of her favorite plum wine. She then poured them both large cups. They’d both drunk sparingly over the evening. Earlier, she’d told herself that it was best to stay sharp—but now, she wanted something, anything, to help calm her.
Panic lay just beneath the surface, like a lurking aughisky—waiting.
Handing Alar his wine, she then raised her cup to her lips and took a long draft.
He then drank from his before blinking. “Mother, this is strong enough to fell a troll.”
Lara took another gulp.Not strong enough.
He gestured to the two high-backed wooden chairs that flanked the flickering hearth. “Do you want to sit?”
