Then again, I'd probably like it if she wore something with her tits spilling free to her navel, too. I'm a simple sort.
She leans over as I sit down next to her. "Is the tasting…before or after dinner?"
"After." I hope I finish sweating by then.
"Of course." Iolanthe bites her lip. "Not that I'm eager. I was simply curious—"
"I'd prefer you eager," I tell her, and when she blushes, smiling, it makes my cock hard. By all the gods, I'd rather just toss her over my shoulder and head to my bedroom and forget this Cyclopae wedding tradition. Truly, I'm an idiot. I grab my wine goblet and down a mouthful, or else I'm going to be a sweaty disaster before the meal is over. Just Iolanthe's nearness is enough to make me hunger for her.
I eat a few bites of everything, but I'm distracted. I can't drink vast quantities of wine because I want my senses to be alert for the upcoming tasting. I notice absently that the food is good—delicious, even—but I am paying far more attention to the woman at my side. I notice Iolanthe toys with the food on her plate and eats almost nothing. She drinks a great deal of wine, her hands shaking, and answers me with brief responses. She's nervous.
This feast feels like a farce. We're not eating. Why are we doing this when I could be between her legs already? Then again, I don't want to seem like an eager pup, out of control. I don't want to embarrass her. So I sit in my chair and try to concentrate on the fact that my men are enjoying the feast. If nothing else, they seem pleased at the largesse of the ceremony, and a contented soldier is a loyal soldier. It doesn't matter that my men are mercenaries or were once bandits or outcasts. I want them to know they have a place with me. That they can build a life here at my keep.
Just like I'm building a life with a new bride.
With that thought in mind, I get to my feet.
A cheer goes up from the crowd in the hall, ribald jokes filling the air. "Tasting," Tindal cries, making the two syllables a chant that's quickly picked up by the others until the entire keep seems to be shaking with shouts of "Tasting! Tasting!"
I hold my hands up, waiting for silence. I want to look over at Iolanthe, but I'm afraid if I do it'll just make things worse, so I keep my gaze focused ahead. When the crowd settles down, I speak out. "You all know the second part of the Cyclopae wedding traditions—the Tasting of the Bride." My men roar encouragement again, and I have to wait once more for them to quiet. "This ceremony will be performed in private. Where is my bride's chaperone?"
"I'll chaperone," calls out one of the mercenaries, leering.
I point at him. "You'll sit down and be quiet if you know what's good for you."
This brings another round of laughter. I cross my arms over my chest and give them my sternest look, and eventually the laughter dies down again. "Where is my bride's chaperone?" I ask again.
A loud, nasty belch echoes in the hall, and the old, withered woman—Turnip—steps forward. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve and gestures at me. "Let's get this shit over with."
In this moment, I truly, truly regret my choice of chaperones. How is it that no other woman will come to my keep? I watch as the laundress staggers out of the room, and nervous laughter erupts. I turn to my bride, finally, and I'm not surprised to see her face is pale. She gets to her feet and smooths her skirts, and then smooths them again.
And again.
I move to her side and take her hand before she can rub a hole into the cloth. Someone makes a lewd cheer and I pull her closer, ignoring them. "Do you need me to get you a better chaperone?" I ask. "Say the word and we will delay this for as long as you need."
My bride shakes her head and gives me a bright, brave smile. "I'm ready."
CHAPTER 10
IOLANTHE
Oh, goddess, am I ready for this?
My breath rasps quick and panicky in my lungs. I try to look calm, placing my hand on the arm he holds out for me. He leads me through the hall, shooting a sharp look at anyone that catcalls in our direction. I'm positive I'm shaking like a leaf, but I'm not entirely sure why. I'm not scared of Agakor. He's proven that he's kind, and tender. If this will hurt, I know he'll be gentle. Perhaps it's something else inside me that makes me shake. My belly quivers as we head down the hall and up the stairs. Two of his guards move behind us, and Turnip leads the way, a jug of cheap wine in her hands. It's like she refuses to leave the party behind, even now, and I'm not sure if I want to laugh or cry.