Disclaimer: I do not own the Hollow Kingdom trilogy.

Chapter Twelve
Tarnished Silver

As Marak led a rather shell-shocked Jamie up to his apartments, he considered the ceremony and all that had happened during it. He had just finished taking off her shackles and giving her the antidote to the drink that took away her words. He was very pleased that his bride was a pure human. It would stabilize the magic of the race, making it less elvish and more goblin, like it should be. She would also acclimate to life in his kingdom much more easily, without those foolish elf dreams of dancing beneath the full moon. Marak remembered how he had purposely scared her with the sword, grinning and making her think he was actually going to slice her in half. He grinned again, remembering. He was amazed at how much he enjoyed teasing Jamie. Usually, only his lieutenant and adviser had that singular privilege.

Marak thought about the moment Jamie had emerged from the tunnel onto the stage. She had been so beautiful in that dress. Now he wondered what was underneath it. He knew he probably wouldn't find tonight, maybe not for a long while. Marak was not oblivious. He knew his bride wasn't completely willing and he had seen through her excuses for changing her mind. Marak was almost positive that Nabusar's visit to her had not been completely innocent. Whenever Marak did something that Nabusar thought was unwise, his ruthless lieutenant always took it into his own hands to correct it.

Most of the time, Marak would be irritated, but he rarely took him to task about it, mainly because he usually recognized that Nabusar was in the right. He wasn't Marak's lieutenant for nothing. Now was no exception and Marak was content to let things lie. He would accept his wife's reluctant consent without questioning it, mainly because he wanted her so much. And yes, he had perhaps been a tad foolish, naive even, to have such a high requirement for a wife. Still, it had worked out in the end. He had a wife that made him happy, and she... Well, what mattered what she thought anyway? She was married to a King, one of the most powerful goblin Kings in history, if not the most powerful. She should be grateful for that much.

Having worked himself into a righteous anger at Jamie, he was a little terse with her once they reached his, no their bedroom. He noticed she was wheezing after climbing so many stairs. Actually, she was almost fainting. Then he noticed the corset through her dress.

"Stand here and turn your back to me," he ordered her curtly, motioning her to stand in front of him in the middle of the bedroom. She wearily complied and he nudged her head down, undoing the buttons in the back of the dress.

Realizing he was undressing her, she began to protest and tried to move away. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back, saying, "Hush. You're nearly fainting from that corset, and you can't get it off yourself."

Reluctantly, she allowed him to continue. Done with the buttons, he pulled the dress down her body, ordering her to step out of it. When she did, she almost fell over, forcing him to catch her. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment that seemed endless, before he broke the spell, setting her once more on her feet. He tried to make his touch impersonal, but couldn't stop himself from caressing her exposed flesh lightly. Forcing himself to concentrate, he focused on unlacing her corset, discovering that it was extremely tight. He would be having a talk with those women. Idiots! The wedding wasn't exactly calming. It certainly didn't help to have something restricting her breathing. It was a miracle she hadn't fainted.

While he continued unlacing her corset, which was quite a laborious task, he admired how the snake had wrapped around her. Really, it was quite becoming, the way it had arranged itself. It must be feeling protective, looping around her shoulders so many times. And rather than strangling her by wrapping around her neck five times, it had looped only once, resting upon her breastbone, which was a good sign. All signs during the ceremony had pointed to a long, successful marriage. He hoped they were right.

When he finally finished unlacing the corset, she held it on with her hands, and he motioned her over to the bed. With her back to him, he missed her squeezing her eyes shut and the tears that slipped out, before she forced herself to comply. His gaze was fixed firmly on her derriere, barely concealed by the skimpy underwear she had on. He shook his head to clear it, then went over to the closet. He knew that the weavers would already have a full set of clothes for her, though he didn't know how on such short notice. How wrong he was. The only things available were silk ball gowns. No essentials like everyday clothes or even nightclothes. By the sword, was the entire kingdom conspiring to make sure he got started on making his heir tonight? What was the rush? Perhaps he had been wrong about his subjects' callousness toward her ending after the wedding. It seemed to be continuing past the ceremony, even though she was now one of them. Maybe to them, she wasn't married until... Bloody hell.

Cursing, he slammed the closet shut. On the bed, Jamie jumped. Turning around to face her, he said irritatedly, "It appears the weavers have disappointed me. The only clothing they have completed for you is ball gowns, though why they would think you need those right now is beyond me."

He shook his head, then looked at her and noticed she was still wiping away tears. He frowned worriedly. She thought he was frowning at her and started crying again and this time it was far from silent. He went over to her on the bed, took off his cloak and wrapped it around her. He gently tugged the corset from her grasp and bundled her up firmly in the cloak. Then he pulled her onto his lap, facing him, and rocked her while she cried her eyes out against his chest. Thankfully, he wasn't tempted to do anything more with the scantily clad woman in his arms. Crying was quite a turn off for him.

As she wept on his chest, he began to work a slow, subtle sleep spell. In about five minutes she had stopped crying and was fast asleep, and he had a firm grip on her mind, keeping her soundly asleep. He used another spell and ensured that her dreams were peaceful. In this state, he could drag her into a hurricane and she wouldn't awake unless he released her from sleep. With this in mind, he firmly thrust all inappropriate thoughts from his mind and unwrapped her from the cloak. He took off his own loose shirt and put her arms into the sleeves, a surprisingly difficult task, with her like a limp sack of bones in his arms.

On her, the shirt went down to mid-thigh, although it gaped open on her chest. He used magic to seamlessly join the two sides of the shirt into one, closing the shirt all the way to her collarbone. Then he carried her to the front of the bed and placed her beneath the covers, pulling them to her chin. She rolled to her side, making herself more comfortable. He smiled fondly at her, then the smile faded as he wondered what had caused her to start crying like that.

Then he remembered human wedding customs and realized that what his people had been conspiring towards, she had been expecting. He was insulted that she thought him so cruel as to take an already strained and overwrought woman and tax her even further by consummating their marriage the same night he'd kidnapped her. Not that he didn't want to, but actions counted for more than intentions, and he had resisted, taking for granted that he wouldn't get his wish anytime in the near future. Did she really think him so callous?

Admittedly, she hadn't gotten the best impression of him thus far, but then, he hadn't been really been trying to make her think well of him. He had made a halfhearted effort, but only to get her consent, and obviously that hadn't worked. His lieutenant had ended up threatening her into a reluctant agreement. Perhaps if he really tried, he could make her see the good side of him. He would never be able to give her the sensitivity that a human could have given her. He would always be slightly callous, he was a goblin after all, but considering what she obviously thought about him now, anything would be an improvement.

And he knew exactly where to start. She had left her bags in the village and it was an obvious conclusion that she would want them back. It was nearly dawn now, but tonight, he would collect them personally. He could also think of a few things he could do for her before she awoke, though it meant forgoing any sleep for himself. Ah well, such was life. Married life, to be specific. What a horrifying thought.


Awww... Wasn't that a cute chapter? Wow, Marak. I didn't think you had it in you.

Okay, am I the only person who loves to write fiction, but hates poetry? No, let me clarify that. I can tolerate poetry, appreciate it even, but micro-analyzing it seems really pointless. Why not just like it for what it is instead of examining every single word for a hidden meaning. I only bring this up because I'm taking a poetry class that's required for my degree, and it's stiltifyingly boring. We meet for two and a half hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Torture, pure torture. Anyway, I'm curious to know if any of you think liking poetry is a requirement for being a decent writer.