Queen Sized Page 7

  It doesn’t feel that way, however, as I take one last look at Corbet and leave his tent.

  It feels as if my insides are withering.

  What has this man done to me?

  I’ve always been able to take a hit and keep on going, but my steps feel sluggish and I’m carrying an awful, sharp weight in my middle. There is a pressure in my lungs that has never been there before, moisture refusing to stop blooming behind my eyes.

  “Excuse me, Lady Gwen,” a voice says to my right.

  I stop in my tracks, surprised to find the king of Lavere approaching, a bevy of guards at his sides. Before I can stop myself, I compare him to Corbet, a king who needs no protectors, save himself. Shaking the thought from my head, I drop into a curtsy, only then realizing the king called me by name. How does he know who I am? “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “You are walking in the opposite direction of the auction,” he points out, folding his gloved hands at his waist.

  “So I am,” I respond with a tight smile. “I have decided not to participate.”

  His brows draw together. “That is a terrible shame.” He pauses, studying me closely. “I’d hoped to outbid the others.”

  Surely I didn’t hear him correctly. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty?”

  “I’ve been an observer at the events, and though I didn’t expect to procure a queen in such an archaic manner, I witnessed you behave in a way that befits royalty. In my short time on the throne, I’ve found such qualities as compassion and selflessness very hard to find.” He flicks a glance back in the direction of Corbet’s tent. “Am I too late? Are you spoken for, Lady Gwen?”

  Am I still asleep by Corbet’s side, having a wild dream? Or is the king of Lavere, my own homeland, asking me to be his queen?

  I look around at the Joining and see the world behaving as usual. The wind dances upon my neck. I am definitely awake. The king of Lavere has a good reputation, even if he’s rumored to enjoy his wine a little too much. And I suppose he is handsome, though he is slight of frame and far from a warrior, like Corbet. This man is offering me stability. A title. A future for my sisters. I’ve only just decided to go it alone, to take on more work and find a solution that doesn’t include a man, but will I really turn down this offer to be queen? Who am I to turn up my nose at a position that could see my family flourish, instead of scrape by?

  How can I deny my sisters this opportunity?

  The king waits for my answer to his question. Is he too late?

  In one way, he is. My heart belongs to another.

  My hand does not. But I no longer have my virtue to offer a husband.

  “If you fear yourself ruined, I promise you…” He chuckles. “I’ve done worse.”

  A laugh carries out of me on a breath. And though my heart is wrenching sideways, visions of Corbet circling my mind, I say, “Then, no, Your Majesty. You are not too late.”

  * * *

  Corbet

  When I wake up, my intuition is screaming that something is wrong.

  For one, Gwen is not in my arms and that will never, ever be right.

  But there’s more. There’s a sharp clarity to my thoughts. I’m wide awake and balanced on the edge of a cliff. Or maybe I’ve been there for a very long time, fighting the wind at my back that threatens to knock me off. There are jagged rocks below, waiting to shred my bones when I land. However, I’ve never actually looked down, have I? I’ve just assumed I will meet certain doom below.

  Now, though, I look.

  And it’s nothing but a soft meadow.

  Gwen is there, wrapped in sunshine and waiting for me.

  Her words from earlier come drifting back, muffled as if spoken from a great distance.

  You will be ready to take a chance on love someday. You’ll judge a person based on their actions and you won’t see them through the lens of your past. I promise.

  I see Gwen swapping her pie with the fair-haired woman.

  I see her losing her place in the water carrying race so she can help a friend.

  And it’s never been more obvious that I’ve been a fucking idiot.

  Now that I’ve unburdened myself of my life’s darkest days, there is no lens of ugliness. The scars are still there, but they’re faded. I might be a fighter, I might have littered battlefields with the corpses of my enemies, but I’ve been living life…scared. Scared of being betrayed again. Or left out in the cold.

  But how can I use the lessons of my past to judge my relationship with Gwen?

  One is night and one is day.

  All this time, I thought I was pulling her closer, but there was always going to be a wall between us until I realized…I’m safe with her. My heart is safe in her hands.

  But her heart?

  It wasn’t safe with me.

  I’ve asked this incredible woman to sell herself short.

  I’ve asked her to be my mistress when she is destined to rule.

  Jesus. I should have been begging her to be my wife.

  Now there is a terrible hammering in my head telling me I waited too long. And the foreboding I felt earlier makes sense now.

  She was never agreeing to be my mistress, she was saying goodbye.

  My heart flies up into my mouth and remains there as I get dressed. I bust through the opening of my tent, then realize I don’t know where she will be. The auction is set to begin soon, but will she be part of it now that her innocence is gone? Women have been known to claim their virginity is intact in order to be part of the contest, but Gwen is too honest for that. No, she would have gone to get her sisters.

  I hasten toward the commoners’ tents on the opposite side of the valley, already rehearsing an apology and proposal of marriage in my head. Nothing is going to be good enough. Nothing is going to make up for the pallor I’ve cast over our first days together, but maybe if God is merciful, I’ll be granted a lifetime to make up for it—

  I freeze mid-stride.

  Up ahead, the king of Lavere is taking Gwen’s hand, leaning over to kiss her knuckles.

  The memory of him watching Gwen earlier comes roaring back and my organs seize inside of me. I’ve been an idiot, but this man obviously has not. He’s recognized Gwen’s worth and offered for her hand before I can. It’s obvious. God almighty, I am too late.

  I’m too late to claim to love of my life.

  Determination surges inside me, gripping me by the throat.

  The hell with that.

  “Gwen!” I bellow, my voice carrying through the valley and over the loch.

  My feet carry me toward her, though the ground seems to be trembling beneath them.

  She turns and the pain in her eyes nearly fells me. “Yes?”

  “Please allow a fool to apologize,” I say raggedly. “Please allow him one more chance.”

  “I’ve asked Lady Gwen to be my queen,” says the king of Lavere calmly. “It seems you’ve failed to do so, despite ample opportunity.”

  My hand goes to the hilt of my sword, aching to carve out his fucking tongue, but I really must have left the Fury behind on the battlefield, because I resist, somehow aware that violence isn’t going to solve this particular problem. And being that this is the most important moment of my life, I have to get it right. I have to. So I speak to Gwen and only Gwen.

  “He’s right. I’ve failed. Not offering you a place in my life that is worthy of your grace and beauty and strength is unforgiveable. You’ll never know how sorry I am.” A line works in her throat, but her expression remains unreadable. “I woke up without you, my love, and realized there is no worse fate. And I’ve suffered some terrible ones. Enough to know that losing you would be the worst punishment of all.”

  “I challenge you to a duel for her hand,” inserts the other king.

  Gwen gulps, her eyes shooting wide.

  I don’t realize we’ve attracted quite a large crowd until several people laugh. There is no question I would best this man in any physical contest. I’m almost impressed he had the bal
ls to call me out. But I’ve learned a lot in my short time of knowing and observing the woman I love—and I’m not going to let those lessons be for nothing. “No,” I say, unsheathing my sword and throwing it down. “Her fate is in her hands alone. No one else’s. She does not have to prove her worth with any more contests. Nor will she be treated like a prize to be won. The choice is hers to make.”

  I step closer, close enough to see the sunset reflected in the sheen of her tears.

  My love for her swells so impossibly large, I have to suck in a breath.

  “But when she makes her choice, I ask that she please take into account how much I love her. How my heart tried to tell me all along, but I was looking through the wrong lens. She offered me a new one, though. One of beauty and hope and a brighter future. I see her through that one now and she’s even more extraordinary.” I take the crown off my head and place it on hers, bringing forth a sizeable gasp from the growing crowd, then I take a knee in front of her. “You deserve to wear it more than me, Gwen. If you do me the honor of marrying me and being my queen, I’ll lay my kingdom at your feet. My heart is already there,” I finish, my voice crackling. “Forgive a foolish man. Please. I love you.”

  The longest moments of my life pass as Gwen considers me. “Honestly,” she whispers with a quiver in her voice. “It took you an entire day to realize it?”

  Cautiously, I stand, not daring to take a breath.

  She exhales in a rush. “I love you, too,” she says, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’ll be your queen. And you’ll be my king. Our story starts here.”

  Her words bring me back from the edge of certain death, my lungs beginning to function again with one giant wheeze of air, my heart rapping in my ears. Love and relief and gratitude rocking me to the core, I scoop her up, spinning her in a circle as the hillside erupts in applause.

  When two little girls run over, their faces wreathed in smiles, I lift them into the fold of our arms and our newly formed family holds on to one another, our laughter carrying over the loch…

  Epilogue

  Gwen

  Six years later

  My eyes are on the contest in front of me, but I feel a tingle on the side of my face.

  I glance left and find my husband studying my profile.

  Although he’s been caught staring, he doesn’t bother to look away, and the gravity in his blue-gray eyes causes my breath to stutter. The words I planned to use to tease him over his hopeless infatuation with me die a quick death and now I’m staring back, emotion rising like a tide in my throat. It’s like this between us every day, the poignant ache for each other plain on our faces, never to be hidden again, but our devotion overflows at the Joining every two years. It’s here, in this valley, where we remember the first time we met and it all comes rushing back.

  Corbet is no longer a new king, fresh from the battlefield. He is still fierce with a blade and there isn’t a single soldier in our army that can best him, but he’s settled into his role as a wise and capable ruler, though he will tell anyone who asks that his queen is responsible.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask him now, letting my gaze roam over his chiseled lips and beard. Down his broad chest and thighs, taking my time meeting his eyes again.

  “Based on your straying eye, woman,” he rumbles, “I’d say we’re thinking exactly the same thing.”

  My lips twitch. “We have to observe the competition. After all, it’s your creation.”

  “So it is.” He skims a lookover the lively proceedings. “A much needed improvement.”

  It’s difficult not to feel a little smug watching warriors run up the hillside carrying full buckets of water on their shoulders while the eligible females judge them, deciding who is worthy to take on as a husband. Especially from the comfort of my throne. But smugness doesn’t become a queen, so I settle for sending Corbet a secret smile that says it all.

  “You know,” I muse, reaching over to take his offered hand, my cheeks warming when he brings it to his mouth and bites my knuckles, one by one. “Viola and Sadie will be eligible maidens at the next Joining.”

  Corbet’s smile abruptly disappears and I have to swallow a giggle.

  He’s become fiercely protective of my sisters in the last six years. In the beginning, he was mostly worried about people stepping on them, so he fastened bells to their shoes to alert everyone when they were coming. When they got older, he devoted time to teaching them swordplay and now they strut around the castle like they own the place, swords attached to their hips. It often brings tears to my eyes, seeing how confident they’ve become, now that they not only have my love, but the love of Corbet and his entire kingdom.

  Yes, my husband is many things. A king, a lover, a warrior, an older brother, a friend. He is also incredibly thoughtful. Upon moving us into the castle, he never forgot how much the farm meant to us, so we kept it. My husband hired men to tend the fields and uses the income to pay them handsomely, putting the rest toward my sisters’ dowries, which neither one of us is in a hurry to see bestowed.

  “I have an idea,” I say, biting my lip.

  “Come over here and tell me.” He tugs on my hand, pulling me out of my throne and onto his lap, inhaling deeply of the crook of my neck. “I like you as close as possible, wife.”

  Considering the bulge rising beneath my backside, that’s an understatement. And as usual, there is an answering rush of liquid warmth between my thighs. My body is so attuned to his, I’ve begun to think our hormones communicate through some private language and we have no choice but to obey their commands.

  My husband is inside me as soon as the sun comes up in the mornings, his body blocking the encroaching light, his hoarse calls of my name filling my ears. In the evening, we are often late for supper because he has need of me immediately after his day of training is complete, usually tracking me down somewhere in the castle and rucking my skirt up to my hips, back pressed to the wall. The delay in arriving at supper leads to a lot of cocky smiles from Corbet, flushed apologies from me and eye rolls from my sisters.

  All of it, everything about this life, makes me dizzyingly happy. From the love among the four of us, to the friends I’ve made at court, to the work I’ve taken on. When we moved to Fallstrom, I wanted to check in on my fair-haired friend, Millie, from the wife auction and found her happily married to a kind knight who also happened to be a widower. We became fast friends and now we’ve formed an aid fund for women in need. It’s fulfilling beyond words, though I do miss my farm work on occasion. And when I do, I simply help Millie tend her crops.

  “What is this idea, Gwen?” Corbet asks, his mouth busy on my neck.

  My pulse begins to flounder. “I…idea? Oh, yes. Right.” I shift in his lap and savor his frustrated male groan. “Perhaps at the next Joining, we have a sword fighting competition. Only the men who best my sisters can offer for their hand in marriage.”

  “But no man can beat them.”

  I smile at him over my shoulder. “Precisely.”

  His laughter cracks through the valley. “Oh, you’re good.”

  “Yes,” I sigh, “But I’m only joking. We have to let them live their lives. Fall in love. Make mistakes and learn from them.”

  “Some mistakes can’t be fixed in time,” Corbet rasps, banding his arms around me. So tight I can scarcely draw a breath. “Christ. Every time we come here, I think of almost losing you, Gwen. It brings me right back to the moment on the hill, waiting to see if the love of my life would choose me.”

  “And I did.” I turn and kiss him on the mouth, our lips parting on a hot breath, that slow writhe of our tongues turning our breath shallow. “And there was really no choice to begin with. It was always you.”

  Before I can kiss him again, Corbet stands with me in his arms, cradled to his chest, his boots eating up the distance to our tent. “Tell me again, wife, while I’m planted inside you. And again while the sweat cools. Every morning and every night of our lives.”

&nb
sp; “It was always you,” I breathe into his neck. “It was always, always you.”

  “And you are my always,” he says, emotion shaking his voice.

  THE END

  Want more Jessa?

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  Rex has sworn to guard the young queen, Britta of Downsriver, at all costs. He has also sworn to love her forever…secretly, of course. A relationship between a hulking, lowly palace guard and the queen is impossible. Still, when he hears Britta crying one night, he can’t help but offer his king-sized embrace as comfort. Rex is shocked when Britta is not repelled by him in the least. Miracle of miracles, she is eager for much more than solace. The penalty for putting his filthy hands on the virgin queen is death, but what a way to go...

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