“She wasn’t trying to hurt me at first. I provoked her,” I admit.
He frowns and smiles at the same time. “You provoked her?” I nod and wipe the sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. He tips his head back and laughs, and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “I love you,” he says, loud and clear, for everyone to hear. “Come and meet my family.” I nod, but wrap my arm around his waist and lean into him because my body is so heavy with fatigue that I am about to fall down. “Are you all right?” he quietly asks.
I shake my head. “I am so tired I can hardly stand,” I admit. “I need to lie down.” A single tear trickles out of the corner of my eye.
Golmarr scoops me up into his arms and cradles me against him. I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his chest. “It looks like I will be carrying you over another threshold,” he says. We slowly walk through the gathered crowd. They peer at me curiously. Some of the children ask why their uncle is carrying me, but they are shushed by their mothers. Golmarr pauses beside his father, and the great man smiles at me as if it is totally normal for his son to carry princesses.
“It is a pleasure to see you alive, Princess Sorrowlynn,” King Marrkul says. He looks to his son, and his forehead creases with worry. He puts his hand on Golmarr’s shoulder and leans in close to him. “Is she all right? What does she need?” He speaks quietly, for only Golmarr and me to hear.
“Can you send Nayadi to my room?” Golmarr asks.
Marrkul looks at me and nods. “Of course, but son, you have got to be careful. If we do anything that so much as hints at impropriety concerning Princess Sorrowlynn, we risk starting a war between our two kingdoms. We need to treat this situation with as much formality as possible.”
“I already know that, Father. I have been as careful as possible, under the circumstances.”
“Now go get her settled. I will send Nayadi to you.”
King Marrkul’s house is made all of golden wood—the floors, the walls, and even the ceiling. Bright, colorful rugs and wall tapestries add color to the wood, and it smells like beef, onions, and potatoes inside.
Golmarr strides through the house and carries me up a wooden staircase. With his toe, he pushes a door open and walks me to a bed, carefully laying me down on top of it. Taking my feet in his lap, he removes my red shoes and sets them down beside the bed. Next, he unstraps my belt and places it on the bedside table. He takes my staff from me and leans it in a corner of the room, and then pulls the bedcovers back and helps me under them. I press my face against the goose-down pillow and inhale. It smells like Golmarr.
The room is clean and organized, with a window to my left, framed by two bookshelves. One wooden bookshelf holds volume after volume of leather-bound books—all about either fighting or dragons. The other bookshelf holds row after row of weapons; knives, daggers, a short sword, arrow tips, throwing stars. “Is this your room?” I ask, turning on my side and pulling the covers up over my shoulder.
Mischief fills Golmarr’s eyes and he nods. “Looks like I got you into my bed before we are married.” Kneeling, he brushes the hair from the side of my face.
“What did your father mean about impropriety starting a war with Faodara?”
One of Golmarr’s black eyebrows lifts ever so slightly. “Don’t you know?”
My cheeks warm as I say, “I have my suspicions.” I look at his lips, and my heart starts pounding.
Golmarr grins and puts his hand over my flushed cheek. “My father meant that if I bed the virgin princess of Faodara before we are wed, I will most likely start a war.” He shrugs. “But I already knew that. Do you want me to bring up some dinner?” My stomach rumbles at the thought of food, and Golmarr laughs. “I take that as a yes. Do you need anything else?”
“I need to get warm.” I burrow deeper under the covers and shiver. Worry tightens the corners of Golmarr’s eyes. He climbs onto the bed, on top of the covers, and presses the front of his body against the back of mine, wrapping an arm around me. Pressing his nose against my neck, he exhales warm breath on my skin. “I’m worried about you,” he whispers.