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The doors to the banquet hall are opened and I'm surprised to see that everyone jumps to their feet, gazing in our direction. Everyone except Aron, of course. He remains seated in his throne on the dais, his cool eyes watching everything. Lord Secuban rises, and if I thought Lady Gerline was excited, her husband looks as if he's about to lose control with eagerness. He looks at his wife proudly, and then his gaze moves to me with approval before he turns to Aron and puts his hand over his heart. He's brimming with enthusiasm and as I look around the room, it's full of men who seem just as eager.
Wow, these people must really love a feast.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I, too, love a feast, and some of my nervousness slides away. I ease a hand from the bodice of my dress, and when no boobs come flying out, I let it go so I can walk properly. I notice Aron is watching me, and my shoulders straighten a little. I can feel the heat of his gaze—his and a hundred other men in the room—as I walk next to Lady Gerline. She takes my hand in hers and leads me toward the dais, where Lord Secuban and Aron are waiting for us, and as we swan through the room, delicious smells hit. There are roasted meats and something cheesy cooking, and I smell fruit and something sweet. My mouth waters, and I decide tonight is going to be amazing. If these people throw half as good of a feast as they do a welcome, we're in for a treat.
The closer we get to the dais, the more Lady Gerline begins to tremble. Her hand is sweaty in mine, and when I look over at her, she's blinking rapidly, a fine sheen of perspiration on her face. Wow, she really is nervous, though she's still smiling with pleasure and it seems genuine. Even so, I start to get a sense of unease. I glance around the room, looking at the people gathered. I don't see weapons anywhere, or armor…but there's definitely a lot of men in the room and they're all staring at us as if we're the buffet.
Granted, we do have boobs for miles, so that might be it, but it's still unsettling. I'm not sure what to think, and I don't blame Yule
She bows, and so I do too, though mine is more of a curtsy so my dress doesn't spill open. When we straighten, she looks at her husband with bright, shining eyes, and then to me. All right. I turn to Aron, smile, and take a step forward.
Lord Secuban frowns, putting a hand out. "Did my wife not speak to you of our customs?"
I turn to look at Lady Gerline, who has an equally puzzled look on her face. "She said you guys share everything?" This seems like a weird place to talk about clothing, but maybe I'm supposed to thank them for the swap? "The clothes are nice. Thank you."
He smiles, and then it turns into full-fledged laughter. He glances over at Aron, amused. "Your concubine has amazing wit."
"She does," Aron says. That's all he says, his expression impossible to read. He hasn't moved from the throne, and he looks for a moment as remote and ominous as the first night I met him. A little shiver creeps up my spine.
"It is tradition in Novoro to honor guests by sharing all that we have with them," Lord Secuban agrees, inclining his head slightly. "We will give you and your party all that you ask for. New clothes, fresh food, weapons, anything you need, it shall be yours. We only ask that you share your blessings in return."
Aron's eyes narrow, his gaze focused on Novoro's lord.
I'm still not following his meaning. "I…okay?" I gesture at Aron. "Should I not sit with him at di
"We share our bounty with the gods, and we hope that the gods share their bounties with us," Lady Gerline whispers, her words pointed. She licks her lips, smooths her hands down the front of her dress—Yule
Er.
I blink. I'm starting to get an idea of what they mean by sharing, and surely…surely I'm wrong. I look at Aron, and his eyes are tight, his mouth a thin line of disapproval as Lady Gerline lifts her head and then crawls over to his leg and touches it with her hand, practically fawning over him.
Lord Secuban waits, watching me.
They…have to be joking.
Share me? I look around the room with horror, at the lascivious, leering faces of the men in the hall. Their gross, leering stares suddenly make sense, and I clutch at the deep neck of the gown. No fucking way. Secuban thinks he gets me…does everyone else, too? Is that why're they're all piled in to the feast hall so eagerly? It's not for the food?
Yule
Lord Secuban moves forward and reaches out to take my arm.
Before I can jerk away, Aron's cold voice cuts through the room. "If you touch her, it will be the last thing you do."
A hush falls through the room. Thunder crackles overhead and my ears pop with the force of the sudden storm. A headache stabs between my eyes, too. Lady Gerline cowers at Aron's feet, but she doesn't move away. No one moves at all.
Lord Secuban recovers first. He bows to Aron, his expression one of confusion. "My lord, I thought you brought your concubine as a gift to share with those of us in Novoro. It is tradition—"
"I do not give a fuck what your tradition is. That one belongs to me." Aron points at me, and the air practically crackles. I'm gleeful at his defiant claim.
"But—"
Aron turns his wrathful gaze on Lord Secuban. "Did you not hear me?” He leans forward, his hands clenching the arms of the throne, and there’s so much electrical energy building that my hair is starting to float around my head. Oh Jesus. I’ve never seen Aron this angry.
And it’s all because they want to share me. I’m a little stu
Lord and Lady Novoro drop to their knees. “Tradition—” Lord Secuban begins.
I swear, the man does not know when to shut up. I step forward, moving to Aron’s side. There’s a little pillow at his feet where I guess a good slave girl is supposed to sit, but fuck that. I slip into Aron’s lap, and I’m relieved when he lets me and then puts a possessive hand on my hip. “Aron is the Lord of Storms,” I tell them. “He does what he wants. If he doesn’t feel like sharing, he doesn’t feel like sharing. End of story.”
“I do not feel like sharing,” Aron says, biting out each word furiously. “I would rather raze this place to the ground and salt the earth.” His hand tightens on my hip and he pulls me closer, until I’m practically astride his big lap.
Woo, all righty then. “Let’s not salt anything,” I say, keeping my tone conciliatory. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to offend. It’s just a difference in customs.”
Lord Secuban sits up, rocking back on his heels. His face is pale, grave with the realization of his insult. “Simply bless us, my Lord of Storms, and we will be your army.”
“I need no army,” Aron tells him arrogantly. “I need nothing from any of you. If I left now and burned this place to the ground, it would change nothing.”
Gerline quivers, her forehead still to the floor. Lord Secuban’s mouth works, opening and then shutting silently. I look around the room and see everyone is silent, from the knights to the serving women. Off in a corner, I see Secuban’s slave women curled up in the laps of other lords, and one of the maids stands between two men, frozen, their hands on her. The plates on the long tables are only one for every two people, same with the goblets. It’s clear that sharing is part of the culture here.
It’s also clear that Aron hate, hate, hates the idea. I can tell by the change of the pressure in the air, the hallmark of one of Aron’s temperamental storms. My head throbs in response to the sudden onset of weather, too.
I see Markos and Vitar out of the corner of my eye. Their faces are tense, their hands at their sword belts, ready to act. Aron might be fine if he fights his way out of here, and me too—but what about our people? What about Yule
“Aron,” I murmur quietly, and put a hand on his chest. I lean in and whisper in his ear, his nearness threatening to distract me. “I don’t think they meant to offend you. Let’s bring it down a notch, okay? No one’s going to touch me but you. I promise.”
His eyes blaze at me for a long, silent moment, and I feel as trapped under his outrage as the others do. I don’t dare breathe, my hand still on his chest. When he continues to remain silent, the air practically crackling around us, I rub my thumb against the fabric of his new tunic, just over his heart, and arch an eyebrow at him.
The terrible tension in him seems to ease a bit. His hand relaxes on my waist, and Aron gives a curt nod.
“Why don’t we just enjoy the celebration of your arrival?” I ask, sliding my hand up and down his chest like a good, flirty concubine would. It’s not a hardship.
Aron’s hard dual-colored gaze rests on me, and he nods, slowly. “If you like.”
Why not. We’re already here and I worry that if we leave now, we’ll make everyone angry enough to hunt us down. I’ve had enough of that. If I have to spend an awkward evening at a feast, I’d rather do that. “I would like,” I tell him, smiling. “I’m sure Markos and the others would, too.”
He leans in closer, his voice low. “You know I care nothing for them.”
For some reason, I get goosebumps. Maybe it’s the way he says it—as if it’s a caress and not a statement of an arrogant god. Whatever it is, it makes me shiver. I keep smiling and turn towards the lord and lady, who are watching us. “No one touches anything of Aron’s, and we’ll stay.”
“Of course,” Lord Secuban says, dipping low to touch his forehead to the floor again. “Of course, my lord. Whatever you desire, it shall be. We are simply honored to host you.”
Aron grunts.
I pat his chest again and glance over at the lord. “Eat and celebrate,” I tell him with an encouraging smile, trying to smooth things over.
Lady Gerline lifts her head, her body trembling. She looks at the pillow at Aron’s feet, then at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. No wonder she’s been giggling like a schoolgirl and so nervous about the feast. If sharing is the big custom here, she probably thought I’d be boinking her husband and all his buddies, and she’d get to fuck Aron.