Now I thought he hadn’t and wondered just how our first bedding would go. Better than Anure, I reminded myself, no matter how clumsy Con might be. He certainly had physical vitality to spare. Power and enthusiasm went a long way toward compensating for lack of actual skill, from what I’d heard.
“After that?” he asked, and for a moment I thought he meant after the bedding. I needed to keep my thoughts on the moment, not speculating about what this very large and rough man would be like in bed. Would he be able to temper his strength? Or would he be brutal in his obvious lust? The heat shivered through me, a needy wanting I hadn’t known lay inside me. I liked his size and strength and the thought of him—
And there I went again.
“Then we lead the first dance,” I replied, happy that I sounded poised and not as if I’d been speculating about his sexual prowess. “Percy showed you the steps?”
“Yes.”
I thought that was all he’d say on the subject; then he glanced at me with that whiff of humor again. “He said I wasn’t putting my hands in the right places. I said he had the wrong curves for it.”
I laughed, embellishing on the exchange in my mind. “Oh, I can just imagine.” We came to the closed doors, the guards poised there to open them at my signal. “Ready?”
“As ever,” he muttered.
I nodded and they flung the doors open. As one, Con and I stepped through, stopping on the landing before descending the great curving stairs to the grand ballroom below. I took a moment while the trumpets played to scan the room, letting them absorb my transformed appearance and—for those who hadn’t seen him yet—have a good look at the terrible and mighty Slave King. His reputation would have to go to work for us now.
Truly Calla and Zariah had outdone themselves. The ballroom sits on a raised bit of land, surrounded by lily ponds and formal gardens. All the glass-paned doors had been retracted on their rollers to stand open to the golden evening. Candles floated on small glass saucers on the mirror-still ponds, so the light reflected up. Other candles filled every niche of the ballroom, making everything glow with rich warmth. Spires of orchids in every color wreathed around the pillars, spilled from containers of all kinds, mostly glass, and cascaded from arches. Accenting all the golden shimmer, black silk covered the tables bearing food and drink, and trailing ribbons in shining ebony tied back the garlands of orchids.
Every gaze fixed upon us, many people busily taking notes for the letters they’d send to their correspondents. Perfect. Lady Delilah, daringly dressed in a gown made of leather cords, chains, and buckles that showed even more of her lush figure than I displayed, stared at me intently. When she caught me looking, she acknowledged it with a slight nod and approving smile. Then she transferred her gaze to Con. And licked her lips.
The sudden surge of possessiveness surprised me. I didn’t much like the thought of Con exploring Delilah’s favorite fetishes. I’d have to get over that, as I wasn’t so foolish as to expect to control a man like him. Or rather, I’d have to focus my efforts on more important things than who my husband had sex with.
The trumpeters finished and the crowd quieted in anticipation. Servants circulated, passing around glasses of champagne to latecomers—or those who’d skirted the edges of civility by quaffing the excellent vintage before the official toast.
“Good evening, people of Calanthe!”
The crowd roared genteel approval of my greeting, calling warm wishes back, hailing me as queen and calling for long life and good health. I waited for them to settle again.
“We are delighted to share this very special celebration with all of you,” I continued. “At long last, I have taken a husband. My extended and lonely vigil has been rewarded. Ejarat and Sawehl have sent Me the best of men. A warrior feared throughout the empire! A leader of armies and defender of freedom. A prince in his own right, son of the greatly mourned lost king and queen of vanquished Oriel, I give you My husband, Conrí!”
The crowd went wild. So much juicy gossip at once, they could hardly contain themselves. The muscle of Con’s arm bulged under my hand, his anger palpable. I looked up at him with a suitably besotted smile and he leaned down to speak in my ear.
“Why not just stab me in the back with an actual blade?” His voice grated low and mean.
I turned my face to beam at him, as if he’d offered me a lovely compliment. “They needed to know.” With my heels, I needed only rise up on my toes a bit more to give him a kiss.
The crowd loved it, even if Con glared at me. At least he didn’t wipe off his mouth. Lord Dearsley climbed the steps, his expression set in a joyful courtier’s smile that covered his true feelings, whatever they might be. Halfway up, he turned and raised the glass he carried.
“A toast!” he proclaimed. “To the bride and groom! To the queen of Calanthe and Her consort, Conrí.”
The room exploded with the excited exclamations repeating the toast. Calla appeared at my elbow and Zariah at Con’s side, each carrying exquisite glasses painted with orchids entwined with broken chains, and filled with sparkling champagne. I took mine from Calla, raising a brow at her. She gave me a smile and a slight shrug, acknowledging the risk and that she’d done her best. An impressive feat for the short amount of time. She and Zariah had changed clothes, too, also wearing black and gold.
My ladies had clearly all conspired—and done a beautiful job. When I turned back to Con with my glass, I felt unexpectedly misty at the way they’d all taken care of me on this difficult day. He’d accepted the glass from Zariah and was studying it—then looked at me with that grim humor of his. I smiled brilliantly and gave a little shrug to convey I’d had nothing to do with it. At least that drew his gaze to my breasts.
And when he lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes burned hot with more hunger than anger. Furious lust and a promise of retribution. The look sent that answering bolt of heat through me. It would be an interesting night following a tumultuous day. We could both work off the tension.
He clinked his glass to mine. Sipped when I did.
Then gave me a smile full of wicked mischief and turned to the assembly, holding up his glass. They all fell silent in rapt expectation of what the terrible Slave King might say. I held my breath, too, bracing for his retaliation.
“To my wife, Euthalia, queen of Calanthe,” he declared, his harsh voice raised in a shout. “Our marriage marks a new alliance. One that will destroy the upstart emperor and dissolve his false empire forever!”
Internally, I groaned, keeping my smile fixed. I could kill him, I really could. Con held his glass expectantly toward me, fierce challenge in his eyes, smiling at my cold glare. If I refused to toast, I’d imply disagreement with my husband and undermine everything we’d spent the last hours painstakingly creating. If I accepted the toast, I declared myself a traitor to the empire.
The room itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for my response.
“You will be the death of Me,” I said through teeth clenched in a brilliant smile.
“Or your liberation from the yoke of a tyrant,” he said back.
“Or both.”
“Probably both,” he agreed. “Will you die a traitor or a coward, Lia?”
Ah well, he had a point.