Anryn asked Griff to prepare him for the bedding ceremony. He was still angry at Griff for his two-facedness in front of their fathers—but Anryn barely knew his new brother-in-law, Riccardo of Sanchia, and there was no one else he felt he could ask. Without Maertyn, no one else would be prepared to spring to his aid if another assassin struck just then, at Anryn`s most vulnerable moment.

　　 "Do you want more cotton for your fingers?" Griff asked. He turned over Anryn`s palms, examining the scratches. "You don`t want to get blood all over the bride. She`s supposed to get blood on you."

　　 "Don`t joke about that," Anryn said. "I`m not in the mood."

　　 "Sorry," Griff said. He took Anryn`s jacket and shirt, and handed them to a valet. He passed Anryn back the long white sleeping shirt blessed with holy water for the ceremony. Thankfully, it didn`t smell like the rotten egg water in Java.

　　 Griff`s hands moved over Anryn`s shoulders, settling the folds. The prince followed the movements of Griff`s fingertips. After Maertyn had hugged him, Anryn was suddenly very aware of every part of his body. Especially the part that was about to betray him.

　　 "Hey," Griff said. He shook Anryn by the shoulders. "Stop gnashing your teeth. It`s your wedding night. It will be alright, even if it`s terrible. We`ll all be there, right outside the curtain&"

　　"That does not make me feel better," Anryn said. Gruffydd would be there. The red line pointing right at him, with none there to See it but Anryn.

　　"No one will laugh," Griff promised. "I will stab the man who makes a joke at your expense, tonight. Just go in there, and enjoy the gifts that God gave us. It`s natural. No matter what the priests say."

　　"I don`t know what to do," Anryn admitted. "Or what to say, when&"

　　"Ryn. Just tell her the truth," Griff said.

　　It sounded like good advice, but Anryn resisted because it was Griff who gave it. Every piece of advice Griff gave seemed designed to get Anryn killed. Griff took them to Dorland. Griff wanted to help the witches in Java. Even after the mages in the woods, Griff`s best idea had been to go back and fight the governor. That would have gotten Anryn killed, or delayed the wedding even more.

　　I have to know, Anryn thought. Was it you? What am I you to you, Griff?

　　He was too afraid to ask. So Anryn gave in to temptation to use the Sight. In the church, that red line threaded from Anryn to Gruffydd the Elder. The prince looked for it now in Gruffydd the Younger, gazing straight at his childhood friend. Dreading what the line between the two of them would look like.

　　It was not red, but it was thin. Stretched taught, like it might snap at any moment. It was impossible for Anryn to know if it had been that way all along, or if something now pulled Griff away from him. Something as strong as loyalty to a father.

　　 Anryn pictured the woman in the water and spoke, uttering the words that he was too afraid to ask when he was himself: "Why don`t you want me to get married, Griff?"

　　Griff sucked in a breath, ready with a glib reply. Then Griff looked up into Anryn`s face, and stopped. Under her soft stare, he wavered.

　　"Because my father doesn`t want you to," Griff said, at last. "He said I should take you to Dorland to give you a chance to think things over. Maybe you`d have an attack of nerves and call the whole thing off. Then we wouldn`t have the Fleet, and your father might forget about his stupid war."

　　Anryn squeezed her eyes shut. The Sight hadn`t lied. The red line leading from Gruffydd the Elder to himself was real. The line between himself and Griff would never be strong enough for her to call him a friend. Not while Griff still worshiped the ground his father walked on.

　　Griff put a hand on the prince`s shoulder. "I wish you`d been born a girl. Then it`d be me you`re marrying instead."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　Over my dead body, the secret self snarled. The vehemence of the thought surprised him, but his obvious self agreed with the sentiment. Anryn thought of what Beatrice had said the night before, and agreed: I don`t want to marry a coward!

　　"Are you going to get a nosebleed?" Griff said. "Here, take some more cotton&"

　　"No, it`s fine," Anryn said. He shrugged off Griff`s cloying hand and headed for the door. He couldn`t stand to be in that room another moment. Neither could she.

　　The prince went to the bedroom where they were all waiting. The King, the Queen, Professor Lawson, the priests& and Lord Gruffydd.

　　Anryn could not stop himself from glaring at the man. The prince wanted to shout at him right then, What the Hell did I ever do to you! But, it was not the moment. The prince had no proof, and he dared not make the King wait any longer.

　　Perhaps Professor Lawson is right, Anryn thought. If he could make a convincing show now, it would put a stop to whatever Gruffydd schemed.

　　Beatrice was already in the bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin. Anryn climbed into the bed beside her, trying to look as regal as possible. A priest stepped forward to make a holy symbol over the bed. Then the King himself pulled the heavy damask curtains shut. Anryn and Beatrice were plunged into darkness.

　　Neither of them moved. The second dragged by, hauling minutes behind them. Outside the bed curtains, they could hear the squeak of the floorboards as the lords shuffled, waiting for some sound.

　　Beside him, Beatrice shifted a little. Anryn turned to her. As his eyes adjusted, Anryn could make out her face in the dark. He admired again how lovely it looked. Vaguely, he wondered if he had been born a girl whether he would have looked like that.

　　 "Are you nervous?" Beatrice asked. "Are we just going to lie here until they go away&?"

　　She was disappointed, Anryn realized. He thought of Beatrice in the church, drinking wine that might have been poisoned. Thought of her creeping into his bedroom, bold and unafraid. He had wanted to kiss her the night before the wedding. Anryn found that he still wanted to kiss her, now.

　　The prince leaned over and kissed his wife. Lightly at first. Testing his lips against hers. She kissed him back, and moved closer.

　　Anryn gasped. She was completely naked underneath the blanket. Her skin felt like velvet under his fingers. He couldn`t stop himself—he wanted to see it, even in the dark. He looked at her with the Sight in the dark so that he could See every inch of her aglow.

　　The shape of her fascinated Anryn. It seemed that every place on her was a curve. Anryn ran his hand over her hips, her breasts. He imagined the curves under his hand belonged to him. That it was his nipples between a thumb and forefinger, being stroked and tugged.

　　 Beatrice inhaled sharply. Outside the bed curtains, the floorboards squeaked.

　　 This is working, Anryn thought. To his relief, he felt something. A tingling deep inside, somewhere underneath the body that never quite measured up. Anryn held onto the feeling. Pictured breasts heaving beneath a warm wet mouth.

　　Beatrice pressed herself against him. Her hands ran down his back, over his hips. He stopped her before she could reach between his legs. For all the feeling inside, the outside stayed as it was. Anryn didn`t want to hurt his wife`s feelings.

　　Anryn looked down at her face and Saw the flush in her cheeks, her narrow mouth parted in anticipation, pulse jumping in her throat. She looked at him, confused and afraid.

　　He leaned down and whispered to Beatrice in the dark. That other Anryn spoke for them both:

　　"I only just met you, and already I know I cannot live without you. So you should know that I am cursed. My body is not as it should be. I may never be able to give you children. But, Beatrice& you will be my Queen. I will give you anything that you ask me for, anything that`s mine to give. And when we are alone together like this, if you happen to think of something. Of some other man& Ask me to do what you`d want him to do. I will try anything. To please you."

　　Anryn stared at Beatrice in the dark, and tried to read her face. Beatrice reached up and took the prince`s face between her hands. For a moment, she said nothing.

　　"Keep kissing me," Beatrice commanded.

　　He obeyed. Anyone could kiss as long as they had lips. Anryn tucked the woman in the water away, closed off the Sight, and kissed Beatrice. Kissed her everywhere that she asked, and more places he imagined. He pictured that other Anryn lying there in the dark, being kissed in those soft, hidden places. Imagined it was Maertyn kissing her.

　　Beatrice dug her fingers into Anryn`s scalp. She made some noise, high and strangled while she pushed her hips up and his head down. If the whispers hadn`t done it, surely her scream in the dark did. The floorboards groaned as the spectators outside the curtain all went into the next room. Anryn could hear the pop of a cork and a dull cheer.

　　It was done. They were as married as they could be, that day. Beatrice rested her head on Anryn`s chest, while they both waited for their breath to slow. Just before Anryn dropped off to sleep, he marveled that it had been Griff of all people who`d given him the best advice for the wedding night.