That night Kenna cried and shivered. The despair she felt crept through every nerve. Eighteen years old and she had done the thing she swore she'd never do. Marry a man of little title and wealth. Damn King Henry. Damn him to hell. Damn Bash too.
She heard the door creak open and saw Sebastian standing in the doorway if his chambers. Her chambers now too. Kenna felt sick at the thought of sharing a bed with him. But then again, she had her share of sexual un-pleasantries, and surely he couldn't be worse than King Henry. Hopefully, he would finish quickly and leave her be. The thought only gave her little comfort.
Wide-eyed, Kenna watched Bash take of his shirt and drop it to the floor. Her fear thickened and she felt sick. She couldn't do this. Be brave Kenna, she thought to herself. Get a grip. She tilted her neck and looked at him from across the room. He was handsome, she couldn't deny that. But he was not what she desired.
"Shall we consummate this marriage, then?" she said, feigning nonchalance.
Bash didn't reply. His face looked as pain as she felt. Kenna didn't want to make a move to the bed. She didn't want to position herself as an object for offering. But then again, that's all she was.
Tears raked down her porcelain cheeks as she lowered herself to the fall, and cradled her arms around her knees. Hugging herself tightly, she felt that it might protect her not just from the evening chill, but Bash too. It was like a defence mechanism. When she crossed her arms over her chest, no one could get to her heart. No one could hurt her.
"Get off the floor, Kenna," he said firmly. "The bed is much more comfortable than the floor."
She gazed at him, wide-eyed and fearful.
He sighed and moved towards her, extending his hand. He pulled her up and she fearfully and hesitantly climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up to shield her thinly clothed body from his gaze. He moved to climb in beside her and she stiffened.
"I'm not going to touch you," he said softly.
Even through the darkness, she could see the depth of his irises.
"You're not?" she whispered.
"Not until you want me to."
"What happens if I never want you to?"
He shrugged. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do."
Kenna didn't believe him. He was a man, after all. All they wanted was sex.
She nodded and hugged her pillow as she stared out the window. She was tense for a long time, anticipating for him to go back on his word, for him to ravage her body without her consent. But he never did. She couldn't sleep. The warmth of his body beside her was unsettling. She could feel his gaze on her spine.
"Kenna?" his voice flooded through the darkness.
She didn't reply, but pretended to be asleep.
"I know you're awake," he continued. "I don't expect you to fall asleep beside me. We, after all, are just strangers to one another. I'm going to sleep on the floor, to make it more comfortable for the both of us."
Kenna turned around and look at him. "You don't have to do that. You're the man; you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I am just the woman…I can put up with anything you decide."
"I don't doubt it," he said, "but I want to – no offence but I can't sleep with you beside me either. It'll be much more comfortable night with me on the floor."
She began to unravel the blanket from around herself.
"You have the blanket," she said.
"No. You keep it."
"But you'll get cold."
"Lady Kenna, I've spent most of my nights in the forest…in the darkness…I'll be fine."
He got off the bed and lay supine on the wooden floor. Kenna saw the rigid muscles of his chest, the defined contours of athleticism.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
"Goodnight."
As Kenna settled into an uneasy sleep, she got the sensation that Bash would've preferred to be alone in the darkness than here with her.
And when she thought he'd fallen asleep, she let the tears come fully.
Bash listened to her cry. Every ragged sob felt like an arrow to his heart. He didn't even like the woman, but the sound of her grief haunted him through the night. And he knew, this would never be a love story.
