Feena bowed her head, though she trembled under his scrutiny. “I treated the wound with herbs as any healer would, my king. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” his voice deepened dangerously. “How can that be with how remarkable Muir healed?”
Feena shrugged. “I don’t know why Muir’s wound healed as it did, my lord. I only know that I possess no remarkable healing touch.”
Elara’s stomach twisted and her heart pounded so hard she thought the king might hear it. Her vision from the night before—the dark figure, the healing touch—rose to the surface of her mind.
Tell him, whispered fear.
Tell him everything, whispered dread.
Say nothing, whispered instinct.
If she spoke of the ethereal figure, of the healing that came from something beyond the mortal world, or perhaps from the forbidden land, what then would the king do?
She pressed her tongue hard to keep it still.
“We will see about that, but right now—” the king turned back to Dar. “The silver-haired woman is yours. You claim her. You bind with her. You control whatever she carries in her heart and mind.” He looked around as he shouted, “Tavish, bring the book of records and two iron bands.”
Elara’s heart felt as if it… shattered.
Control.
Not protect. No mention of cherish, only control and… forever.
The king’s stare pinned her like a spear. “And you, silver-haired one…” His gaze slid slowly over her, taking measure of her fear, her anger, her confusion. “You will be bound to the Hunter. Bound to the throne. Bound by vow and law. Your destiny is no longer your own.”
She lifted her chin despite the trembling in her chest. “I belong to no man’s control.”
A spark of amusement flared in the king’s eyes. “You are your husband’s servant.”
Anger mounted in Elara and the hall felt as if it tightened around her. The air thickened. Even Feena’s breath sounded ragged beside her.
Elara held herself steady though she trembled inside. “I am no one’s servant, not now, not ever.”
Anger knotted the king’s brow. “You defy me?”
Dar tugged at Elara’s hand, forcing her against him. “Nay, my lord, Elara will be a good wife.”
“Obedient,” the king corrected. “She will be an obedient wife.”
Dar actually smiled, to Elara’s dismay.
“Elara knows well about obedience, my king.”
The king turned to Elara and snapped, “Do you, Elara? Do you know how to be obedient to your husband?”
Elara opened her mouth to snap back but feeling a squeeze to her hand was warning enough to give a second thought to her words. Dar never said she was obedient. He said she knew well about obedience and with a smile, which meant he knew full well she would never be an obedient wife, blind to all else but her husband. He also knew the wisdom of not openly defying the king.
“Aye, my lord… though with reluctance,” she quickly added.
“A truthful wife, a rarity for sure,” the king said, staring at her intensely in silence for a moment before turning away.
Elara thought then how difficult it must be for him to trust anyone, everyone wanting to remain in his favor out of fear or sheer greed for what he could give them. It had to be a lonely existence.
Tavish stepped forward with a leather-bound book in hand, its thick pages worn with years of recorded unions, births, and deaths. He set it on one of the tables and opened it, then let two iron bands with the symbol X, that claimed a couple as husband and wife, embedded into it, spill from his hand onto the table. A quill and ink pot were laid by him, and he looked at the king and gave a nod.
“Step forward,” the king commanded.