I dressed slowly and reluctantly. My wedding attire was Courcel blue, this time adorned with gold embroidery. I'd thought it foolish to have new clothing commissioned when I already had a suit much like it, but Ysandre had insisted. The brocade doublet fit close through the waist, with a high collar that closed at the throat with golden frogs. It was going to be hotter than hell, and I was already stifling.

"Imri?" Phedre knocked lightly at the door and I admitted her. She regarded me with a complex mix of emotions. "Ah, love! You look splendid."

"Feels like I'm choking," I informed her.

She reached up to fuss with my collar, her fingers cool against my skin. Whatever she did, it felt better afterward. I caught her hands and kissed them. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

There are never any words to suffice when one wants them. We stood there for a moment, hands joined. After a while, Phedre sighed.

"Time to go?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so." She touched my cheek. "Imriel, be kind to the girl. I know what you're feeling, but remember, none of it is her fault. And don't...don't expect her to share all of your desires."

"I won't," I said. Once, it would have made me appalled and uncomfortably aroused to contemplate such a thing, to hear Phedre give voice to it. Now I merely smiled sadly, remembering the shocked thrill of delight that had run through me at Sidonie's unexpected words, and ah, Elua! the sight of her in bonds, naked and writhing. "Still, I suppose one never knows."

"I do," Phedre said quietly.

"Always?" I asked.

"Always." She returned my smile, filled with fond sorrow. "Oh, Imri! All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. And happiness isn't always where you think you'll find it. Promise me you'll at least try?"

"I will," I said. "I promise."

Downstairs, Joscelin was waiting. I watched them exchange a wordless glance that racked me with a helpless blend of love and envy. I couldn't begrudge them what they had together; not now, not ever. But oh, I could envy them!

The hours that followed passed in a waking daze. We travelled by carriage to the Palace, and the streets were lined with people, cheering and throwing flower petals, for Ysandre had decreed a day of license in the City. Hugues and Ti-Philippe served as our outriders, acknowledging the shouts and bawdy jests with cheerful waves.

I slumped in my seat and stared at the roof of the carriage, tugging at my collar, sweltering in my finery.

"Imri!" Joscelin said sharply. "Name of Elua! Stop moping."

A thousand angry retorts were born and died on my tongue. Phedre had walked into a living hell of her own volition to rescue me, and Joscelin had gone with her. When all was said and done, his role may have been the hardest of all. I was acting like an idiot and it reflected badly on all of us. I sat up straight and did my best to make them proud of me. After all, it was only a year; and no one need die for it.

I married Dorelei.

It was hot in the Palace gardens, hotter than anyone had expected it to be that day. Dorelei and I stood side by side, our damp fingers entwined, before Elua's priest, barefoot in his blue robes. I was sweating in my doublet and there was a sheen of perspiration along her hairline, beneath the wreath of flowers that adorned her black hair. The priest touched the greensward, lifted his palms to the sky, and invoked Elua's blessing on us. He anointed our brows with oil. He gave us vows to recite, and we recited them. Dorelei spoke hers with a soft, lilting accent. I was surprised by the sound of my own voice, strong and firm. The priest spread his arms in blessing and bade us seal our union with a kiss.

Several hundred people I couldn't have cared less about cheered. Dorelei mab Breidaia, now my wife, raised her face to mine. Dark eyes, Cruithne eyes.

Wrong, all wrong.

Not the ones I loved.

Still, I closed my eyes and kissed her. A chaste kiss, by D'Angeline standards. I didn't love her. I didn't want her. I would do my best to be kind to her. Cheers, erupting. Another pelting of petals. Ysandre's face was happy, Drustan's woad-masked face was happy. Elua, I was sweltering! Overhead, the sun blazed. I tugged at my collar.

It was done.

I looked at Sidonie. Although it bore no markings, her delicate face was a mask, too; smooth and perfect and unreadable. She reached into a basket Amarante held for her and grasped a handful of rose petals, tossing them high in the air. They fell all around us in a gentle shower, settling in our hair. Dorelei laughed with delight, unaware of the silent message I read in the gesture. I closed my eyes again, briefly, hearing Sidonie's voice in a sunlit room.

The lover showers kisses on the face of the beloved...

Elua, but it hurt.

The Queen clapped her hands together. "Let us celebrate!"

More than anything, I wished that day that there were no festivities following the wedding rites. I wished we could have departed immediately afterward; for Alba, for Montreve, for Jebe-Barkal. Anywhere but here. But this was Terre d'Ange and because the Queen had decreed it, there must be a fete, lavish and interminable. The silk pavilions must be erected, this time filled with long tables lined with chairs, laid with white linen and set with gleaming dishes.

Servants circulated with flagons of cool white wine. The sun crept across the sky with infinitesimal slowness. I stood sweating and drinking wine, receiving the well-wishes of those guests not deemed sufficiently important to attend the dinner. Dorelei stayed at my side, overwhelmed by the unrelenting attention.

At last the lower rim of the sun's disk slipped below the edge the western horizon and the worst of the day's heat began to dissipate. Palace servants began lighting the lamps and bringing forth an endless stream of platters.

I remember very little of that meal, save for the tremendous effort it took to remain courteous; though in response to what, I couldn't have said. I heard words that held no meaning for me and felt my lips move in reply, uttering equally meaningless pleasantries. I laughed politely at jests and clapped politely at toasts. The food I ate had no taste; the wine I drank had no effect. Inside, I felt empty.

Afterward, there was music and dancing. I danced with my new bride. My wife. Her fingers trembled in mine and her wide-set gaze searched my face, filled with uncertainty. I smiled reassuringly at her.

I danced with Alais, who had little to say to me.

I danced with Phedre, who said quietly, "I'm proud of you."

I danced with Amarante, and as I did, I caught a glimpse of Maslin in his lieutenant's attire offering Sidonie a glass of cordial, the lamplight catching his fair hair. For the first time that night, I felt a spark of anger in my breast. "How long do you think before she takes him into her bed?" I asked in a low voice.

Amarante followed my gaze. "Longer than you think, my lord," she murmured. "And not as long as I'd like."

"Jealous?" I asked grimly.

"No." She gave me a long, level look. "I think she's going to hurt him quite badly."

"He's a grown man, let him take his chances." For some reason, her calm, reasonable words fanned my anger. "Name of Elua, Amarante! What about you? Do you care so little for her that you don't even fear getting hurt?"

Her green eyes flashed with rare emotion. "I care a great deal, actually. Love's not always a raging tempest, Imriel. It can be a safe harbor, too. I value Sidonie's friendship and trust above all else. I take neither lightly and I do not expect to lose them."

I sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just-"

"I know," Amarante said.

"A safe harbor," I mused. "Surely even your waters must get ruffled at times."

"Oh, well." A smile touched her generous lips. "If Sidonie has her way, you may find out someday. She can be persuasive when she chooses, and she does have a very large bed."

It made me laugh, and it very nearly made me cry. It was a good deal easier feeling empty inside. The song ended and I released Amarante. "Take care of her?" I whispered. "Please?"

She nodded. "I'll try."

And then, because it would have been rude not to, I danced with Sidonie on my wedding night. There was no awkwardness as there had been on her birthday. We had gone too far beyond it. I bowed and extended my hand, and she took it without a word.

It didn't need words.

I remembered them all, all the words we'd spoken. The first time, that terrifying rush of intimacy upon entering her, crossing the forbidden threshold together. Her voice, wondering and bemused in the aftermath, legs clamped around my hips. Why do we fit so well together?

I hadn't known then and I didn't know now.

I knew only that we did.

We danced without speaking, without exchanging a glance. And when the musicians swung into a new tune, we stood for the merest space of time, no more than a heartbeat, heads bowed against one another. Then Sidonie pulled away from me and I escorted her back to the pavilion.

Maslin of Lombelon was there, waiting. He was playing the faithful guard and companion, but his body was taut and his nostrils flared like a dog's catching a strange scent. He took a step toward me, bristling.

I stood my ground. "Maslin, don't."

Another time, any other time, I'd have welcomed it. I wasn't the fear-haunted boy he'd met in an orchard years ago, threatened at the point of a pruning hook. I'd stood before the onslaught of a Caerdicci mercenary army and I'd seen men die by my own hand. I had a whole new set of nightmares to haunt my sleep.

"Traitor's son!" Maslin spat under his breath. "Can you not leave her be on your own wedding night?"

"It was only a courtesy," I said wearily. It was a piece of irony that he, of all people, could throw that epithet at me. But then, his father had died a hero in the end. Beyond him, I could see Amarante murmuring somewhat with a questioning expression, and Sidonie shaking her head and turning away from the scene. "And I'm only a bridegroom. Let it be, Maslin."

He looked uncertain. I didn't care. It was late. Drustan's men and the Cruithne honor guard had broken out the uisghe and were beginning to sing a complex harmony, urged on by the D'Angelines. Dorelei-my wife-appeared lonely and at a loss amidst the gathering. The Daughter of the Grove had long since retired. None of the women of her family were in attendance, having chosen to wait for the Alban rites.

Be kind to her, Phedre had said.

I walked past Maslin, past everyone, to my wife's side. Dorelei looked at me with gratitude. "Shall we have a last dance?" I asked softly. "Or shall we retire?"

"I don't want to stay here any longer," she whispered back.

I took her hand. "Then we won't."

A group of revelers followed us into the Palace, tossing the last of the flower petals, shouting out good wishes and more bawdy jests. I led Dorelei through the halls to my newly appointed chambers and closed the door in their faces, bolting it firmly.

We were alone.

Husband and wife.

Our rooms had been strewn about with flowers and all the lamps were lit. The Serenissiman vase stood on a sideboard, filled with roses. I remembered Sidonie and Amarante with their arms full of irises and swallowed hard. "Are you tired?" I asked Dorelei. "We needn't..."

"No." Her face was set and determined. "I want to do this."

"All right." I smiled at her. "Come here, then." I led her into the bedchamber and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hands. " 'Tis awkward, is it not?" I said gently. "The whirlwind of courtship, the two of us knowing so little of one another. Tell me what pleases you."

Her cheeks flushed. "I don't... I don't know."

It startled me. "You're a virgin?"

Dorelei nodded, her flush deepening. "It seemed wiser to wait. I couldn't risk getting with child, not with Alba's succession at stake and Terre d'Ange's interest in it. We're not like you, you know."

"No, I know," I murmured.

"They took me to Eisheth's temple today," she mused. "So strange! I lit a candle to her and said the prayer they taught me. Do you think our children will share her gift?"

"I imagine so," I said. "Alais and ...Sidonie do. The gifts of Blessed Elua and his Companions run strong in the Great Houses."

"Like beauty?" Dorelei asked gravely, and I nodded. She plucked an errant flower petal from my hair. "You know, you frighten me a little. Here, it seems even beauty can be a weapon."

"I won't hurt you," I said. "I promise."

Her gaze above the dots of blue woad was dark and deep, and I wondered what she saw with it. They dreamed true dreams, the daughters of Necthana's line. But Dorelei only shook her head, her hair black and shining beneath the wreath of wilting stephanotis flowers that adorned it, held in place by pearl-headed pins. "I'm not ignorant, if that's what you're thinking. I've read your ...sacred texts." Her flush returned. "I do read, you know. But when you ask me what pleases me, the truth is, I do not know."

I reached up to undo the pins, lifting the wreath from her head. "Then let us find out, shall we?"

"I would like that," Dorelei whispered.

I made love to her, slowly and gently. Kindly. I kissed her until her body softened, trusting, and she returned my kisses with ardor. I removed her clothing piece by piece, tasting her brown skin. I removed my own clothing and held myself very still, letting her tentative hands and lips and tongue explore my body. She was eager in some ways, shy in others. Her fingers trembled, wrapped around the shaft of my phallus.

"Will it fit inside me?" she asked in wonderment. "Truly?"

Why do we fit so well together?

"Truly," I assured her. I spread her thighs and performed the languisement on her, concentrating on Naamah's Pearl until Dorelei gasped with surprise and clutched at my hair. And then I eased my way up her body. Patience. I fitted the head of my phallus inside her and heard her gasp again. I thrust my hips forward, slow and gentle.

There was an obstruction.

And then there wasn't.

"Oh, slowly, slowly, please!" she gasped.

I didn't want slowly. I wanted to bury myself in her, deeper and deeper, I wanted to feel her loins rocking against mine. I wanted her arms stretched tight above her head, or at least her fingernails buried in my buttocks, urging me onward. I wanted to feel her heels drumming against the backs of my thighs, I wanted her uttering sweet, urgent obscenities in my ear.

I wanted Sidonie.

Patience, Phedre had said.

I propped myself on my arms. I made slow, patient love to my wife.

I felt Dorelei give a little shudder inside, her inner walls rippling. She made a noise deep in her throat, half pain, half pleasure. The sound made my testes contract. I hissed through my teeth and spent myself in her. She had lit a candle to Eisheth. I flooded her womb with my seed, wondering whether it would take root, praying in my guilty heart that it didn't.

Afterward, I held her and stroked her hair until she fell asleep, her head pillowed on my shoulder, her breathing slow and even. It should have been a comforting sound.

It wasn't.

Chapter Fourteen.

Thus began my new life as the husband of Dorelei mab Breidaia and a Prince of Alba.I detested it.