“I’ve brought several dresses,” the woman told her. “We should find at least one that fits for this evening.”
Without a word, the maid shuffled Norah in front of the mirror and lifted a yellow dress against her form.
The king’s mother looked at it in the mirror’s reflection. “No,” she said, and the maid laid it aside on the bed.
The maid held a green dress, and the woman again shook her head. Norah swallowed. She would have been fine with either of the dresses.
The maid held up a third dress—burgundy with heavy embroidery down the center.
“That will do,” she said.
Despite the woman’s coldness, the marked reminder of Catherine brought emotion to Norah’s eyes. She forced it back.
The maid helped her into the dress. “It fits well,” she said as she moved to Norah’s back and tied the straps. “Your being the same size as the princess makes it easier.”
Norah glanced up at the king’s mother. “You have a daughter?” Her heart leapt at the thought of another young woman in the castle—perhaps someone like her.
The woman glared at the maid, who continued working in silence. “I did,” she said shortly.
Norah’s heart broke for her. The woman had lost a daughter. She didn’t know what to say, or whether to offer her condolences. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
The room was silent. That made it worse.
“What should I call you?” Norah asked her, changing the subject. “Do you have a title here in the Shadowlands?”
The woman looked at her with eyes of black sapphire. For a moment, Norah thought she wouldn’t answer.
“My name is Analil. In Kharavian tongue, as this is Kharav, not the Shadowlands, I am called Salara-Mae, if you wish.”
It wasn’t her intent to so quickly offend her future mother-in-law. She gave a small nod. “Forgive me, Salara-Mae. And thank you for your counsel. Kharav it is.”
After dressing, Norah followed Salara-Mae down the stairs, through the great hall, and into a large dining room, and her eyes widened at the expansive table. The king sat at the end, with the commander seated to his left. The king looked up as she entered, pausing in his conversation, and straightened. Their eyes locked. He’d washed too. His hair was tied back, and his beard trimmed short, almost to the skin. Without his armor, he wore a sleeveless tunic, prominently displaying the ink markings down his arms and just below his neck. Heat flushed across her cheeks. He looked… very nice.
She realized the commander looked different as well. He’d forgone his wrap and was openly showing his head and face. His hair was tied back like the king’s. He wore a tunic similar to Mikael’s, which was better than his normal form of none at all. At first glance, he looked very much like the king, although he was certainly not like the king. And he looked… not nice.
A chilling snarl came from her right, and Norah gasped as two beasts crouched low, ready to attack. Their heads and frames were like enormous wolves, but they weren’t wolves. Their necks and chests were thick and maned in dark fur, but their backs sloped to a smaller, thick-muscled hind, like they were built for fighting.
Salara-Mae glared at Mikael. “Control your dogs,” she snapped angrily.
The king’s eyes drifted to his lord commander, who called over his shoulder, “Cusco. Cavaatsa.” The beasts settled back to lie on the floor.
“Forgive us,” Salara-Mae said to Norah, eyeing the commander sharply. “We’ve had very few guests for some of us to hone our manners. But as you are our guest, please,” and she waved Norah to the end of the table, opposite Mikael.
Norah glanced at him, uncomfortable with his mother’s unawareness of their betrothal, but she gave a nod and sat gracefully. When would he tell her?
A young woman pulled fruit and meat from the platters and filled her plate. Norah watched her, noting her soft brown hair. She was different from the people in Kharav. Catherine had told her Kharav took people as slaves. Was this woman a slave?
“Must he drink that filth in front of me?” Salara-Mae’s voice cut through the air.
Norah glanced around the table to see what had upset her. The king’s brute held a chalice in his hand and was cheekily taking another drink before setting it on the table. She wondered what was inside it. He seemed to hold Salara-Mae’s contempt. She wouldn’t even speak directly to him, which was surprising. And somewhat entertaining.
“Well, we didn’t know you’d be joining us for dinner this evening, Mother,” Mikael answered in his commander’s defense.
Salara-Mae scowled at her son, who took a bite of food and chewed it slowly, unfazed. Then she straightened her shoulders and turned to Norah. “I take my dinner in my chamber, as I prefer an early meal. I’m sure you’ll prefer to do the same during your visit.”
Visit.
Norah held a grape in her fingers. It was the largest grape she’d ever seen, and she popped it in her mouth. Salara-Mae looked at her as though she expected her to respond. Nope. Norah pushed in two more grapes. Then her eyes found Mikael, who was looking back at her.
She stopped mid-chew.
“It’s more than a visit, Mother. The North Queen and I are to be married,” he announced, rather abruptly.
Norah forced herself to swallow her mouthful of half-chewed grapes and frowned. Perhaps he could have waited for just a little better timing and maybe had a softer approach or a bit of a buildup? But there it was—out.
A coldness swept through the room. Norah’s heart raced in her chest.
Salara-Mae carefully put down her glass and smoothed out the cloth on the table in front of her. “If this is your attempt at humor, it’s ill spun.”
Norah shoved another set of grapes into her mouth. She wouldn’t be available to speak for this engagement.
“This isn’t a humorous matter,” he replied. “I will wed the North Queen.”
“You’ll do no such thing!”
Norah pushed in another two grapes without having chewed the others.
“You speak to your salar,” he reminded his mother.
“What would your father say?” she hissed.
His voice was as sharp as steel. “My father’s dead.”
Norah swallowed her grapes and took a deep drink from her chalice. It wasn’t exactly how she’d hoped this conversation would go. She wondered if it would have been different in Mercia. Probably not. She was starting to appreciate that she’d only had to write a letter to Catherine and the council.
“I would speak with you alone,” Salara-Mae said to her son.
Norah would be perfectly fine with them speaking alone.
“No need,” he said stiffly. “My decision’s final.”
Norah thought the lump in her throat might choke her. She focused on controlling the shake in her breath.
Salara-Mae moved her icy gaze to Norah and then to the commander. Surely a fire burned inside him in violent agreement with the king’s mother, regardless of the bitterness that sat between them, but he gave no support to her protest.
The room was ghostly quiet. Mikael took a drink from his chalice. Norah took a bite of the marinated meat. Mikael was right. The food was good here. And it was the only thing helping her get through this conversation.