The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,30

my shoulder.

I really wanted to look upon the woman with the lush exotic features, eyes that shown like topaz, and such finery on her body (but it was so strange, I couldn’t believe).

The woman destined for my dear cousin.

The woman sitting on a pile of cushions at the king’s side farthest from me.

But since entering the throne room of the Catrame Palace ten minutes before, a part of my uncle’s somewhat large entourage (considering we were greeted solely by the Firenz King and True’s intended), I could barely take my eyes off the brute sitting his throne.

Red, collarless, long-sleeved shirt, a black jacket that I would suspect, if he rose from his ruby embedded gold throne (something he did not do when we entered), would fall to his ankles, and it had no sleeves. Loose black trousers.

And bare feet.

This was interesting, as these were not the clothes of the males of my country (and no one in Wodell went in bare feet—and what feet! By the gods, who in all the lands had attractive feet? I’ll tell you who—King Mars of Firenze!).

But truly, it was the rest of him.

The hair (so much hair).

The beard (such a full beard, and it came down to a point).

The eyes (so very black—pitch…or tar).

The piercings (everywhere!).

The slim scar the ran from his right cheekbone over the bridge of his nose.

The other one that ran under the swell of his left cheekbone.

And the sheer volume of his gargantuan frame, all of it made up of muscle.

He was the single most extraordinary being I’d ever seen in…my…life.

I could…

Well, I could gaze on him for centuries.

Sadly, it would seem, he could not do the same with me.

For when we arrived, and I was presented to my intended, he barely looked me top to toe before he turned his attention to my uncle. Though as was my way, I knew, even if his gaze rested on King Wilmer, his mind was attuned to True.

This would, of course, be smart.

Although my uncle had a guard in this very room that equaled sixteen in number, and another fifty stood outside the palace, I still would guess the only real threat was True (who I knew, because I heard, but I’d also seen him perform in the games, that he was a very good soldier, and he was renown as the best horseman in all of Wodell).

The King of Firenze was unarmed.

But there was a large, ceremonial broadsword hanging behind him studded with enormous Firenz rubies, even larger Sjofn ice diamonds, sparkling emeralds and beautifully-cut amethysts, which I knew were also mined in Firenze.

I further knew, from the stories I had heard as well as gazing upon him now, this king could have his hand around the handle of that sword in the blink of an eye and not give a thought to its pricelessness as he cut down my uncle’s guard in a thrice and then turned to True.

King Wilmer should not have made True keep his personal lieutenants outside. They were like True. And I’d heard tell they’d die for him.

This thought made me get even closer to my cousin and rub my knuckles against his.

True took my hand.

The instant he did, the king’s head turned, his face grew hard, and his eyes narrowed on our hands.

My heart skipped several beats.

Oh yes, he was attuned to True.

And perhaps even…me.

And right then, he was terrifying.

“You’re aware,” he said to our hands, “that no man, not her own, touches a Firenz bride unless given leave by the man who is her own.”

“With respect, Your Grace, she’s my cousin and not Firenz. I’ve known her since she was wee,” True returned. “And I suspect this is a fretful occasion for her.”

The king’s gaze lifted to True’s as he spoke again.

“You are aware,” he said, much more slowly this time, and his deep voice seemed impossibly deeper, “that another man…does not touch…a Firenz bride…unless given leave.”

“I’m fine, True,” I whispered, tugging my hand away.

I tore my eyes from the king to look up and see my cousin’s jaw dancing as he scowled at the dark king.

True then looked down at me and he’d forced his expression to gentle. “You’re certain?”

I swallowed.

True watched.

Then I nodded.

That muscle danced in his cheek again and he turned back to the Firenz king.

Doing perhaps the only wise thing he’d done in his life, my uncle interrupted this conversation.

“We’ve come bearing five hundred bushels of Dellish wool. Two hundred head of Dellish sheep. One thousand bags of milled Dellish