Alexander followed. Caspian walked in front of him, Titus at his side. It wasn’t their proper places, but it was their necessary places.
He sat at the table reserved for the Northmen—a table of honor that had been positioned close to Norah and the king. It wasn’t close enough. He barely noticed Caspian waving off servants who offered wine and ale as he kept his eyes focused on Norah. She avoided meeting his gaze, but she knew he was there.
Well-wishers lined up to congratulate them, and with each conversation, Norah’s forced smile staled even more. She rolled the edges of the tablecloth between her fingertips, keeping her hands busy as she often did when she was anxious… and when she was afraid and trying not to show it. Was she afraid now?
Alexander was afraid. For her. And for tonight. As of earlier that morning, the Mercian priest hadn’t yet heard when the Witness would be held. But it wasn’t uncommon to wait a day or two after the ceremony. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that he didn’t know when. Regardless, it consumed him.
The line of well-wishers was too long and too short. When they were finished, and the Shadow King stood and pulled Norah up with him to leave, Alexander would have given anything for more time. The hall rose to their feet, and Alexander rose with them.
Norah’s eyes stared down in front of her. He silently begged her to look at him, to let him know she was all right. She’d avoided his gaze for the whole celebration. If she would just look at him…
And then she did.
Eyes, the deepest blue. Eyes, afraid.
The Shadow King pulled her hand, but she didn’t move as their stares remained locked. Her lip trembled, and pain—a ripping, clawing, burning—cracked through his chest. He couldn’t let her go. Alexander stepped forward, but firm hands held him.
She turned and let the Shadow King take her away.
All too soon, the celebration ended, and Norah found herself being led back to Mikael’s chamber. Alexander’s eyes haunted her mind, and her heart. She’d tried not to look at him. She’d made her decision, and more than anything, she hoped it was the right one, but she couldn’t escape the fear seeding inside her that maybe this wasn’t right at all.
Except… walking now, with her arm looped through Mikael’s, it didn’t feel entirely wrong.
Then her mind shifted to what was to come, and the fear came rushing back.
The room was dimly lit, and Norah forced back the nervous sickness in her stomach as she stepped inside. He followed, closing the doors behind them without taking his eyes from her. The pulsing of her heartbeat in her ears was deafening.
But the room was empty.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Mikael glanced around the room. His brows drew together. “Why would anyone be here?”
“For the Witness.”
“The witness of what?”
Was he really going to make her say it? “Of our union, to ensure it’s consummated. To complete the contract.”
His mouth moved to speak, but no words came. He tilted his head. “But you’re here. You’ll know what has been done.”
“It’s not for us. It’s so our kingdoms can be assured.” She couldn’t believe she was defending the Witness. Not defending, she told herself—explaining.
“Is your word not enough?” Mikael gave a small snort of amusement. “What a strange place the North is. That is normal?”
As she said it out loud, it didn’t seem normal at all. “I think so? It was expected when I was to marry in Aleon. The council will require confirmation. I think.”
He drew closer. “Tell your old men if they question our contract, they can come discuss it with me personally.”
Norah couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over her. Perhaps the evening might be almost bearable now, but a deep reservation still brewed in her stomach.
The darks of his eyes held a reservation of his own. The line on his jaw tightened and smoothed again. “I don’t expect you to love me, Salara. In fact, I fear the opposite. But I do believe you can have a comfortable life here, and after we have an heir, I won’t… require anything from you, if it’s not what you want.”
An heir. Her stomach turned again. She hadn’t thought of a child, and now she felt extremely foolish. Of course he’d expect an heir, but if she dwelled on that, her courage would leave her.
She turned her attention to the room, trying to redirect her mind from the panic creeping in. It was an expansive space with few furnishings. Centered on the back wall was the largest bed she’d ever seen. Beside it sat a chair and a side table, with a standing mirror nestled in the opposite corner. Despite its size, the room seemed minimal. There were no paintings on the walls, no draperies, no personal oddities or tokens.
All right, then. The sooner they started, the sooner this could all be over. She stepped closer to the ornately carved bed and drew her hand across the black silk cascading over its edge. Must everything be made of shadows? Dark and ominous, the bed threatened to swallow her, drown her in its depths. Her heart raced. She glanced back at Mikael, and he watched her with a hesitation of his own.
He approached her slowly, stiff with restraint, but with a wanton look in his eye. Her breath quickened as she pressed back against the corner column of the bed.
“I won’t take you against your will,” he said.
“Well, I suppose that’s a good start to any marriage,” she replied dryly.
He stepped closer. “Will you allow me, Salara?”
She reminded herself why she was here. This marriage was for Mercia, for her people. She swallowed and gave a reluctant nod.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
Her heart pounded in her chest. “You first,” she countered. Not that there was much—he would pull off the garb around his waist and then watch her strip multiple layers of dress. Still, it made her feel slightly better.
Surprise flashed across his face. He didn’t move. Their eyes locked, unblinking, each waiting for the other to break.
Finally, Mikael relaxed his shoulders, submitting. He reached down and loosened the embroidered belt from around his waist and dropped it to the floor. Slowly he untied his trousers, and she was surprised to see him pull it off as a singular wrap of cloth.
He stood only in short braies now, and she let her eyes roll over his body. Again, she noted the scar across his chest, a stark contrast against the smoothness of his skin.
She stepped closer, close enough to touch him.
He only waited.
Feeling bolder, she reached up and brushed her fingertips over the raised line of the scar. “They say you cut your heart from your chest to make a pact with Darkness.”
The corners of his mouth curved up ever so slightly, watching her. “I haven’t heard that story.”
She raised her eyes back to his. “This pact gave you a demon commander to do your bidding. They say he collects the souls of the fallen.”
“That part is probably true,” he said in rare jest, and she found herself smiling. “Did you believe I was a man without a heart?” he asked. “Before I told you my story?”
“No,” she whispered. She flattened her palm against the scar. “I felt your heart beat in Bahoul.”