The night passed in a haze of exhaustion and something that felt almost like peace. After Gideon had taken me, marked me, held me – I had been too drained to feel anything but a strange, bone‑deep relief. The bed was enormous, the furs impossibly soft, and I had fallen asleep curled against his chest, his arm around my waist.
Now morning light slanted through the tall windows, pale and watery, catching the dust motes that drifted lazily through the air. I sat in front of the dressing mirror, already dressed, watching my own reflection with eyes that felt too heavy and a body that ached in places I had not known existed.
We were getting ready to leave for Larkin. The word felt strange in my mouth, foreign in a way Valerion had never been, even when Valerion had never felt like home.
I was already dressed in travelling clothes – simpler than the wedding finery, but still finer than anything I had worn before Gideon's people arrived. A dark blue tunic of soft wool, high-collared to hide the mark on my neck. Trousers of thick grey fabric, sturdy boots made to measure. A cloak of deep charcoal grey lined with fur lay across the foot of the bed, waiting.
And yet I sat before the mirror, doing nothing. Just looking. Just waiting.
If I were my brother – the golden omega, the favoured son – there would be boxes stacked to the ceiling. Trunks filled with silks and velvets, chests of jewels and perfumes, crates of books and music. My parents would have overseen every detail, pressed their own heirlooms into his hands with whispered blessings.
I had barely anything.
Two boxes. That was all. Two wooden crates that Caleb had helped me pack in the frantic hours before the ceremony. We had thrown away most of my old clothes because the attendants said they were not befitting of a consort. The clothes that remained were the ones Gideon's people had brought. My books, my few small treasures, the threadbare blanket I had slept with since I was a child. That was all.
Caleb had packed it all with careful hands. He had not said much. Neither of us had.
I stared at my reflection. The face looking back was pale, tired, the remnants of yesterday's makeup scrubbed away. My long red hair hung loose around my shoulders. My mismatched eyes – one green, one blue – looked back at me, still shadowed with exhaustion.
Gideon was not bad. From what I had seen, from the way he had held me, marked me, whispered my name in the dark – he was not what I had expected. But it was too early to judge. Too early to trust. Kindness could be a weapon. Soft words could precede hard hands.
And then there was Larkin itself. Just as the people of Valerion looked down on the northern kingdom – calling its people barbarians, savages, barely civilised – I knew his people would not welcome me with open arms. I was Valerion's son, and Valerion had bled Larkin's borders for decades. I carried the blood of their enemy. I wore the face of the kingdom that had killed their fathers, their sons, their mates.
Behind me, I heard footsteps. Gideon appeared in the mirror, already dressed for travel.
"We should talk about the journey," Gideon said. "Larkin is several days north of here. We shall take the mountain pass through the Greyfang Range. The roads are rough – rocky, narrow in places."
I turned on the bench to face him, the comb still in my hand. "Rough how?"
"The carriage will bounce. You will want to brace yourself." He glanced at me. "And the weather can turn quickly. Snow, even this late in spring."
"Snow?" I had never seen snow. Valerion was warm, even in winter.
"It is cold in Larkin. Colder than you are used to." He stood, testing his boots. "Especially in Grimshaw."
"Grimshaw?" I asked.
"Yes. That is my dukedom, and where we shall be staying," he replied.
"All right." I nodded, trying to imagine it. A frozen kingdom. Grimshaw? I wondered what that looked like.
"We shall stop at waystations along the route," he continued. "Small inns. Nothing grand, but they are safe. My men know the road well."
"And when we arrive?" I asked. "What is in Larkin?"
Gideon picked up his heavy cloak from the back of a chair. "You shall see when we get there."