Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I don't think I have ever been so startled in my life.
She's apologizing to me? For being tall? And older? As if those things are a problem? I decide to take matters into my hands. I move to her side and put my finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at me. She tries to drop her gaze even as she lifts her chin, shy thing that she is. "Look at me," I growl, and she trembles again. "Look at me, Iolanthe."
Those dark, liquid eyes meet mine and I can tell she's startled by my nearness. Then, her gaze travels up and up, to the top of my head. Her lips part. "You…you're very tall," she breathes.
"I am." I run my thumb along the delicate line of her jaw. "I heard your father had a tall, unmarried daughter that ran his keep. It was I that approached him and asked for marriage. I knew you were a strapping woman, and this was a benefit to me. I do not wish to try and kiss some tiny bit of a thing that only comes to my waist."
Those lashes flutter up at me, and her lips part, as if she's surprised. "You…want me to be tall?"
"Aye, it suits me quite well. As for your age, I am five and thirty myself. Were you any younger than you are, I might feel as if I'm robbing a cradle."
She licks her lips, her pink tongue darting out. "I see. Then…I do not need to apologize?" Those gorgeous eyes meet mine again. "Or beg you to marry me?"
"Oh, sweet lady, you can beg me all you like," I purr. "But we are marrying regardless."
"I see," she breathes. "Well, all right, then."
"And you?" I prompt. "Your father did not tell you who I was, did he?"
"He did not tell me you were an orc, no."
"Half-orc. My mother was a Cyclopae warrior.”
Her gaze flies to mine, surprised. "You have Cyclopae blood?" At my nod, she actually looks pleased. "That is…pleasant. Nice. My mother was Yshremi and the queen there recently married a Cyclopae king. My father…" She trails off and then wears a little bright smile. "My father is a brave, strong man, but he is Adassian."
Clever chit will not say anything ill about him. Interesting.
Her lips part and she looks at me and then snaps her mouth shut again.
"Say it," I demand, half expecting her to demur. My mother was a fierce woman who took no shit from anyone. She would just as soon punch my father as she would kiss him. This tender little morsel is of my mother's height, but nothing like her in personality. "Speak what you are thinking."
Her face goes pale, her cheeks two spots of crimson, and she drops her gaze again. "I…merely thought of…the upcoming marriage…"
And when her face turns even redder, I realize what she is refusing to say. She thinks of Cyclopae marriages. Of the three days of ceremony.
Of the revealing of the bride. The tasting of the bride, and the bedding of the bride.
I was not going to insist upon it, but by the gods, I am now.
CHAPTER 4
IOLANTHE
Shock is making my senses slow, I suspect. Shock, and bitter irony.
Did I not pray to Belara to give me a tall husband? A strong husband with a deep voice and for him not to be younger than me? It seems I should have been more specific in my prayers. I should have also asked that he not be an orc.
An orc.
Rather, a half-orc, if what he says is true. And Father did not say one word of this to me. Orcs are raiders, ruffians who obey no laws. They live wild in the mountains like animals, if the Adassian stories are to be believed…and I am to marry one? I feel faint. I've always been a dutiful daughter, but I wonder this time if Father has pushed too far. I think of his words—how he said his keep will surely fall if he does not get my bride-price to fill his coffers again and to pay his knights. I think of the hard-working servants at the keep, the knights who patrol tirelessly, and the stablehands who have always been so very kind to me. I cannot let them lose their home.
It seems I am marrying an orc.
Blinking back tears, I keep my gaze lowered so he does not see my dismay. I cannot give him reason to call off the wedding. Bad enough that I have shown up windblown and not looking my best. I touch my nose, wondering if it is red from the wind. I hunch my shoulders, trying to hide my height just a little more, and I wring my hands. "Are you sure my height won't be an issue, my lord? I want you to be pleased."