The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,14

the wedding night with another woman did not sound like acceptable behavior from a groom.

The King would likely be after his hide for this. Looking about the room, the fact it was decked out like a flower bower was not lost on him, despite his blunted senses. He turned cold. Had he thrown the bride out of her own bedchamber for a more alluring prospect? What if the princess had gone running to the King to lodge a complaint against him?

“Gods,” he uttered in growing panic. “Where is she?”

His companion watched him in consternation. “Where is who?” she inquired, as he flung back the covers and lurched from the bed, peering into the adjoining dressing room and then a recessed cupboard. He even stooped to peer under the bed, until he felt his head reel alarmingly.

“Maybe you should lie down, Sir Armand?” the woman suggested, looking concerned.

He recognized her soothing voice too, from the previous night. “Can’t,” he gasped, raising a hand to his brow. “Got to think.”

“About what, pray?” she asked crossing the room to gently take his arm and steer him back toward the bed. “Just rest now, you’ve done everything you ought.”

“What did I do with her?” he asked in faint desperation. “I can’t remember.”

She bit her lip, a pucker appearing between her brows. “With whom may I ask?”

“The princess, of course!” he muttered in anguished tones.

She blinked at him, looking suddenly concerned. “You mean me?” she asked gently.

“You?” he stared at her. “What?”

“Am I the one you’re looking for?”

“You? But you’re not …”

“I am Una,” she said simply. “Your wife.”

Armand stared at her. “No,” he said uncertainly, then his eye fell on the mattress, where she drew back the covers and his face fell, noticing the telltale smear of blood on the sheets.

His eyes leaped to hers, and she colored faintly. “As I said, you did everything you ought,” she said in that reassuring manner of hers and gave his arm a small pat. “I will just change the sheets and you must get right back into bed. After a few hours, you’ll feel a good deal better. No one will expect us to raise before noon after the excesses of yesterday.”

Before he could respond, she stripped the bed in a very methodical, unhurried fashion. He stood like a useless clod while she redressed it and then pulled the top covers back and patted it invitingly. “Come and take your ease now, Sir Armand.”

His brains felt too addled to do anything but obey her. He hesitated a moment after sliding under the cool silky sheets. “Come and join me,” he said, holding back the covers and moving into the middle of the bed. He watched the surprise flit over her face before she acquiesced. He hoped like hell he had been considerate of her last night, he thought, watching her climb in beside him.

She showed no fear of him, which was something, but he did not trust he had shown the deference or tenderness she would have expected from a bridegroom. Even sober, he knew nothing of bedding virgins, and inebriated, the gods alone knew how he had treated her. He could only wince at the thought of the clumsy coupling she must suffered.

“I did not recognize you,” he said awkwardly as she settled on her back beside him, resting her hands on her stomach. “You look … very different.”

“It must be very confusing,” Una agreed. “But as I am no longer a princess, I don’t have to wear the wig or the costume anymore, you see.”

He looked bewildered. “Wig?”

“Yes.”

His brows puckered. “Costume?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Your Southern royalty does not follow the same practice, but in my family, we were required to don such garb as befitted our station. It showed at a glance, you see, that we were royals. My father wore a wig such as that one his whole life.” He cast an uncertain glance at her, to find her expression was perfectly serious. “I presume somewhere in the beginning we Blechmarshes must have had very distinctive, fair curly hair. It had advantages on the battlefield, I suppose,” she reflected. “Our forces knew to rally round us.”

He shrugged at that, forbearing to point out that the North had suffered ignominious defeat four years ago, and rolled onto his side, slinging an arm around her waist. He felt the impulse to rest his aching head against her bosom but suppressed it. If that was what he had done the previous night, she was probably suffering