Forever and a Thousand Times

Chapter Five

Othniel frowned while he stared over the crowd at his bride's shimmery dark hair. She disappeared through the door. He tamped down a fleeting image of a temperamental woman . . . something like her father tended to be but worse. He had no reason to believe that of Ismene, but the thought lingered. It had only been in recent years that he'd had reason to get to know Lord Drake Tenbow, but the man's temper did flare from time to time, even in the king's presence. There was really no telling.

"Give her time, Highness."

Othniel, surprised, looked down to see Bimala standing just behind his right shoulder. The simple village girl had been a part of his life since boyhood, as she'd worked in the kitchens most of her young life, and she'd later also become his mother's helper in the queen's own private flower garden. In the scheme of things in castle life, Bimala was no one important, but she had been someone special to his mother whom he mightily missed, especially in the last two days.

His mother would have been so pleased by the wedding. When she'd been dying, it had been her grandest dream to live long enough to see Othniel wed. Sadly, she passed away before he'd even graduated from his schooling.

"What did you say, Bima?"

"She needs time, Sire. When your mother left this world, I felt her loss almost as a daughter might, and I know you felt it more. We have had years to mourn. And the lady . . . though not in death, she loses her family and all she has known in coming here—"

"Yes, I know." Othniel bit the inside of his cheek, stilling the resentful words that had no place between them.

"'Tis not you she rejects."

"I know."

He didn't mean to sound curt, but her reminders were not the encouragement she sought to bestow. When she didn't respond, he looked to see that she'd disappeared as stealthily as she'd arrived, the strange girl.

As the crowd of well-wishers diminished to a few, Othniel moved toward escape. He had no idea what to do with himself now that he was married. He thought he should be getting to know his new bride, but she made it clear she wanted to be alone. Maybe she didn't want anything to do with him but was too polite to say it which left him confused about how he should respond. He'd no idea who she really was or if he could ever care for her the way he wished to care for a wife . . . for someone he dreamed could be more. He longed for someone with which he could speak with candor and his full trust. A true friend. Something he'd been trained to never expect as a prince. Power always attracted schemers and fortune hunters, liars and usurpers . . . .

But the emotions of the day and Ismene's almost foreign beauty beguiled him. For all he knew, she would be the bane of his life. Still, he hoped not.

"Highness," a soft, feminine voice spoke from behind.

Othniel turned and smiled knowing exactly who he'd find, and he was not unhappy to know it was a friendly face he'd see. "Lady Grace."

A distant cousin who was often a court, Lady Grace curtsied low, her skirts a fluttering plume of soft layers circling her waist while the top of her golden head tilted toward him. "Your Majesty, I didn't have a chance to tell you yesterday, but I must express my congratulations. It appears I cannot feel pity for you; your bride is not a troll, as some gossips would have it said." Her hand flew to her mouth, slender fingers parted to reveal glimpses of supple pink lips opened in surprise. "My apologies. I would never presume to imply—"

"All is well. I've heard the rumors, and I'm glad to report they are false."

"All of them?" she asked, a certain something in her voice that pricked Othniel's senses without raising any alarms.