I keep thinking about that hitch of breath even as he leads me out of the private study and back into the main hall…which seems to be rather empty. I glance around, but I do not see my father or his men. Agakor strides past me, a frown on his face as he notices the same. "Where is Lord Purnav? Where are his men?"
"Gone," says one of the men wearing an eyepatch. "They left with the bride-price and have already set off." His gaze flicks to me. "Said that if you'd compromised his daughter, she was yours now and he wouldn't take her back."
Compromised. Because I spent a short time alone with a half-orc man. I hate that he's right—no respectable lord would look upon me as a good candidate for a bride now. And…I did touch Agakor's privates. I'm ashamed of myself and humiliated at my situation. What if Agakor changes his mind? He doesn't have to marry me now, after all. He could refuse and send me back to my father…who wouldn't take me. I swallow hard, staring at the floor.
Agakor swears under his breath. "Selfish prick." Boots thud on the stone floor of the keep, and then Agakor touches under my chin with one finger. I glance up at him, trying to mask my hurt and probably failing miserably. His expression is soft as he gazes at me, his eyes kind. "Nothing has changed, Lady Iolanthe," he says, soft enough only for my ears. Louder, he continues, "I will be sleeping in the main hall tonight, and Lady Iolanthe shall take my chambers. Find her a chaperone, and tomorrow the first day of the wedding shall begin."
"Of course, Agakor," one of the men says, and heads out the door. The rest of the room stares at us, and I can feel the hot prickle of their eyes. I'm humiliated once more, the old, too-strapping daughter of a minor, poor lord. I'm not wanted. My father didn't even wait to count his gold, just raced back to his keep as if I'm a toothless nag he's glad to be getting rid of. Hot tears prick my eyes and I fight the feeling of worthlessness. All is not lost, I remind myself. Here, I will have a chance to be the wife of a lord, no matter how questionable. I might have children. I might—
Agakor moves in front of me, his ugly face troubled. He studies me for a quick moment and then takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles, loudly and obnoxiously. "My lady, he is a fool. He might have a wagon full of gold, but I have the true treasure."
Everyone stares. I confess, I do, too. Not only because Agakor is clearly uncomfortable at playing the courtier, but…he's trying. Something tells me my hand is the only one he's ever kissed, and my heart melts a little. He wants me to feel welcome and lovely. He wants me to feel like he's being honored with marrying me, not that I'm a joke.
So I give him the world's smallest curtsy of acknowledgement and manage a smile.
For him.
The chaperone found for me is a wizened old woman named Turnip.
"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?" I ask politely as she's introduced.
She scratches the white cap atop her stringy gray hair. "M'called Turnip." Her chin lifts. "You need fresh clothes or somthin'?"
Agakor looks embarrassed as he ushers her towards me. I've been sitting at the table in the center of the great hall, picking at an overcooked dinner as the night wore on and we waited for someone to bring back a chaperone. "She's a washerwoman from the village," my husband-to-be explains. "I'm sorry. It was the best we could do under short notice." He rakes a hand through his thick hair, clearly agitated. "No one will come. I didn't think—"
"It's quite all right," I say, pasting a smile to my face. Turnip looks like she's led a hard life, her cheeks weathered and her mouth surrounded by lines. Perhaps she'll view her time with me as a vacation. "If Turnip is fine with being my companion for a few days, I'd love her company."
Turnip screws up her face at the sight of me. "Companion?"
"To a lady," Agakor says. "Just until we are married."
"She's the lady?" Turnip asks, scowling in my direction and displaying the two teeth she has left. "She ain't very dainty. Ladies are dainty."
I dig my fingers into my skirts. "My name is Lady Iolanthe of Purnav, Turnip. Pleased to meet you." I offer her my hand. "I am here to marry Lord Agakor."
"This 'un?" She thumbs a gesture at Agakor and then shakes her head at me. "Fool. Ain't you got eyes? He's a half-orc."
"Nevertheless," I say in my politest tone. "He is the lord of this keep and I am to be his wife, and so he is owed our respect."