“I have no reason not to.”
He pulled up his horse and looked at her with a steely gaze. “Don’t.”
Her brow creased in confusion. “Don’t believe her?”
“Don’t mistake me for a good man, North Queen,” he warned. “You’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Norah’s chest tightened, surprised at his sharpness, and they continued on in silence. The terraced mountains gave way again to the black rock of the Shadowlands. Her pulse quickened as an enormous castle loomed in the distance against the skyline. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. “Even your castle is black,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“It’s made from the black mortite under our earth,” he told her. “It’s also why the canyons are so dark. It would have been a greater feat to build a castle any color other than black.”
As they neared the castle, it was even larger than she’d originally thought, larger than Mercia’s castle and with an even larger city sprawling out from its walls. The gates, adorned with gold scripts, were as ornate as they were strong, and she marveled at them as they passed through. The expansive courtyard was packed with people craning to see the king and the strange woman he’d brought back with him. They brought their horses to a stop, and Mikael dismounted.
She slid off her mare, and murmurs rumbled through the crowds as they recognized her. She immediately became self-conscious remembering the beating to her face and pulled the hood of her cloak over her. The throngs of people parted as Mikael led the way, and they cheered their king as he passed.
They reached the polished stairs and intricately sculpted doors, and Mikael led the procession inside. As the great doors closed behind him, he turned and called back to her, “Come.”
Then he and the commander started through the castle. Did he think she was a dog? Norah rolled her eyes but reluctantly followed. They turned down a large hall, larger than the great hall in Mercia but just as beautiful. Dark, polished tile patterned the floor and sprang up the walls to the arched ceilings overhead. Symmetrical geometries created intricate designs, weaving complex patterns that drew the eye to every corner of the room.
At the end of the hall, a woman stood, regal and majestic. Silver kissed the long hair that had once been a brilliant black. She looked at Mikael with warmth and affection as he walked toward her.
“Mother,” he greeted her, kissing her cheek and bringing her hands to his lips.
Norah immediately felt a wave of anxiousness in anticipation of being presented to the king’s mother. It would have been nice to have cleaned up first.
The woman’s brow dipped as she grazed his beard with her fingertips. “What happened to your face, and your hand?” she asked as she reached out and touched his arm in horror. She turned to the commander with a scowl, clearly annoyed at his poor keeping of the king, but her eyes widened in seeing his wounds and accompanying limp. “From the Northmen?” she asked.
“Not the Northmen,” Mikael said, stepping back and turning to Norah. “The North Queen.”
It was not the introduction Norah had been hoping for.
The king’s mother looked at her incredulously, her eyes darting from Norah to the lord commander and then back to Mikael again. She drew closer and looked over Norah in astonishment.
“Your Majesty,” she said to Norah, with a cold steel in her voice. While her eyes were rimmed in loathing, she held her etiquette, much as Norah expected Catherine might do. The woman looked at her son, searching for direction, but he gave none.
Apparently, Norah’s arrival was as unexpected to his mother as it was to her.
The king’s mother turned back to Norah. “We’ll see you comfortable during your stay here,” she said stiffly. “I’ll take you to your chamber.” She looked back at Mikael with displeasure and then turned toward a side hall. “Come,” she called to Norah.
Norah pursed her lips. She was beginning to see the resemblance.
The woman led her down the hall to a large staircase. At the top of the stairs and at the end of another hall, they came to an open chamber.
“You’re surprised I’m here,” Norah said, breaking the silence.
“I’m surprised you’re alive,” the king’s mother said bluntly. “And yes, that you’re here.” The woman turned and looked at Norah more closely, disappointment brimming in her eyes. “But I am sorry for your condition. It doesn’t please me you’ve been handled in this manner. It’s not right for a queen.”
Norah realized she was referring to the bruising and cut on her face. “This wasn’t your son’s fault.” The woman seemed as surprised at Norah’s defense of him as she was herself. “I mean, most things are,” she added, “but not my appearance.”
The king’s mother was quiet. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Maids filled a tub with steaming water and draped a linen gown over a side chair.
“We’ll find you an appropriate gown for the evening,” the woman said stiffly. She gave Norah a small nod. “Your Majesty,” she said, and left her to the bath.
Norah waited as they all made their way out and closed the doors behind them. She looked around the room. It was ornately decorated with dark, heavy furnishings and tapestries of black and gold. The windows in the room were tall tri-sets of thin glass panels, separated by iron staves like a beautiful cage. Even if she was no longer a prisoner, she still felt like one.
Norah sighed and peeled off her soiled clothing. She welcomed the chance to feel clean again. The water burned her skin as she stepped into the bath, but she didn’t care. She wanted to burn off everything that had happened since she’d left Mercia. If only she could wash away this situation. She closed her eyes and sank underneath the surface, relishing the sting of the water over her body and face. When she could hold her breath no longer, she pushed herself up, gasping for air.
Norah worked the soap into a rich lather and rubbed it into her skin. It smelled like springtime. She hated that she liked it. The water changed color as the soil came off, and she was surprised at how dirty she’d been.
She wanted to stay in the bath, soaking in its warmth, but she didn’t want the king’s mother to return with her unready. Quickly, she finished washing and climbed out, drying off and slipping into the linen gown. She shivered. Castles were cold. Especially enemy castles.
Chapter thirty-seven
The sun set on her first day in the Shadowlands, and Norah fought to keep control of her emotions. Her duty had been to free Mercia from the darkness of the Shadow King, but here she was, marrying him and joining their kingdoms together. Her stomach turned at the thought of her grandmother receiving her letter. She’d understand. She’d see this was what was best for Mercia and her people. Wouldn’t she?
But Norah couldn’t escape the nagging fear that wasn’t how her marriage would be seen, and she would be doing all this for nothing. The thought threatened to break her. She forced her mind to focus on one task at a time. Bathe. Dress. Breathe.
There was a knock on her chamber door and the king’s mother swept into the room before she could answer, with a maid close behind. Very Catherinesque. A pang of homesickness struck her. What she wouldn’t give to see her grandmother right now.