They had us locked up in a closet they called the Sundial Room. It'd seen better days, and it looked like those days had been before I'd been born. I think it'd been for guests, but maybe guests nobody liked too much.

There were almost no tapestries on the wall, so it must have gotten real fucking cold in winter, and all the furniture was naked wood. None of it matched. I think they just threw the shit they didn't feel like scrapping in there, which I guess explained why they'd locked Ecka and me in.

The only nice thing about it was a huge fucking sundial right in front of the window outside, so you could always see what time it was. I should have been overjoyed about that. Honestly, I should have been singing praises to the halls of the gods. I mean, who wants a pissed-off bride?

Fuck. I wanted to puke.

I was laying back on the moth-eaten little bed stuffed into a corner of the room and staring at nothing. They'd put me in a dress, which was fine; I'd grown up wearing them, and I'd get used to them again. It was rough linen, cheap, clearly stolen off a maid or a laundress. It was too big, like wearing a tent, but I wasn't feeling real picky just then. It was clean.

Ecka was pacing like it really was the night before his wedding. Which- I mean, I guess it was, but- fuck. Whenever I ran my thoughts around the matter, they just got more tangled.

I sat up, not wanting to give him any ideas about weddings and beds. "We can have it annulled, can't we?" I said, "you know the King."

"The High King," he corrected automatically, before he started thinking over what I'd said. I felt like I could almost see the wheels turning, like a fancy bit of clockwork a merchant from up north had once brought into town. "Annulments are… expensive, even in these… and I am not… that is, we'd also have to prove… hm. A difficult proposal." He started pacing, lost in thought.

What I knew about Eadling weddings-- the fancier ones, at least-- I could count on half a hand. I knew divorces were just about impossible, and that annulments existed if you hadn't fucked, a condition I was real determined to keep steady.

To his credit, Ecka hadn't seemed interested in taking liberties. He wasn't the sort of man, so far as I could tell, that needed to prove he was more powerful than me. We both knew it, and for all that I'd screeched at him in the Duke's dungeon, I guess he'd forgiven me for it, on account of me getting us out of there.

Well, we'd both had a hand in it. But it'd been my idea.

He stopped pacing, but he kept his eyes on the floor. "I only need to know one thing," he said, extending a hand to point at me. "Are you with child?"

I wanted to scream. Of course! He thought this was all some scheme to get him set up with some cuckoo Magni baby. Never mind that the Duke had clearly thought the idea up by his own self right in front of us. No, it had to be me.

"Oh, fuck you," I spat back. "You already think I'm conspiring against you-"

"I will raise it as my own," he said back, as though I hadn't said anything. "But I need to know."

Why would he raise it as his own? Why would he care? What kind of knight was he?

But I just said, "no. I'm not pregnant."

"You're sure?"

Honestly, I'd never been with any man, but it was the sort of thing you kept to yourself, since it seemed to make people want to change that.

"Swear on The God," I used the Eadling's God, to make sure Ecka was listening. They only had one, the Eadlings, but He had two brothers, who were also Him-- I wasn't sure how it worked, but I'd pretended to for nine years. I knew enough.

He seemed to relax, then, his perfect posture melting into something a little more languid. With all the fuss over, I could get a better look at him. He wasn't very tall-- we were about the same height, both of us short for a man-- but he had broad shoulders that seemed to convey his real feelings a lot more than his voice or expression. I wondered if he knew that was his tell. Maybe he was so used to wearing armor, it usually didn't matter.

"I have no want of children," he said with finality.

"A knight?" I couldn't keep it back. "How will you pass on the title?"

"I won't," and his tone returned to his normal good humor. "It's very simple."

"Huh," I said. What else could I say to that? It was his life. "Well, marrying me is still gonna hurt you at court." I'd never seen any of the royal courts, but I'd heard tell. Any commoner in those places had a bad fucking time.

"That's manageable," he said, "if it can't be annulled."

So he was still planning on not fucking me. Good to know.

"I'm not going to- '' I was on my way to make more demands, when someone burst through the door. It was the little page boy that'd sat by Ceorl's side the whole time. He was still wearing his livery, so he was on official business from the Duke, or one of his lackeys, anyway. He bowed low to us both, even though he almost certainly had the best breeding of everyone in the room. Noble boys were traded between houses, to become pages and receive training from a hand that wouldn't coddle them. I could tell you right now, from the look on this kid's face? By the look of him, nobody’s coddled this kid in a long time.

"My Lord the Duke Ceorl of Sigan-Faru wishes-" The little page boy looked up at me, scandalized. His face turned beet red again. It was always doing that.

I curled my legs up on the bed, so my knees were covering my chest. The kid looked away, hands behind his back. I heard Ecka make a sound in the back of his throat, something like surprise, or disappointment. He grabbed a bit of cloth and came up to me, covering my hair with it.

I’d honestly forgotten Eadling women always have their hair covered. Magni women didn’t, and I’d never been a woman among the Eadlings. I didn’t know how to tie or secure it the way Eadling women did, with the special wrapping and the braids. I’d had my hair shorn short for ages; it was to shoulder length, like nearly every Eadling man I’d ever seen, aside from Ecka. There wasn't much to hide, so I just threw it over my head like a hood. How much did this kid need?

Ecka came over, but he didn't look angry, or even disappointed. He never seemed pissed at me, at all, even when he really should have. How hadn't I noticed that by now? That answer came quick and easy: I'd been too wrapped up in myself.

No, Ecka just stood in front of me and patiently put the cloth in place like it was a proper veil. He knew just how to do it, so the top bit fell over my forehead like a little curtain, and the bits on the sides hung out but didn't show any of my hair. He let the extra fabric wrap around my neck, and in that style it didn't matter if my hair was short.

I wondered how the fuck he knew how to do that.

"Uh, thanks," I managed. He just nodded.

The page boy only looked up when I was proper covered, and his face was still a little red. Eadlings find women's hair dead sexy. I was probably going to give this poor kid a complex.

Ecka sat down next to me, barely moving the bed. How was he always so gentle? He said, "As you were saying, Master Squire?"

Wait, was he a squire? I didn't remember what age you became a squire. The whole knighthood deal really wasn't what made my world turn.

It did for Ecka, though, and it mattered to the little squire, too. He looked up with an expression that wasn't borderline panic, which was a first. He was a short, bony little thing who hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. He still had baby fat on red rosy cheeks and fingers were short and delicate. The kid's hair was about as long as mine, and about the same color, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be red or yellow. We could've been related, except my brothers had all shot up at twelve, and he didn't have a crooked nose.

He bowed again. "Thank you, Sir Knight."

Ecka bowed back, but he didn't get up from where he was sitting. It was good to see him take some privileges of rank.

"As I was, um, saying," the kid mumbled, "Duke Ceorl wishes to deliver better clothes for the wedding."

I didn't really need another dress, but Ecka was still stuck in the clothes he'd worn in the dungeon.

"I have a dress," I patted the voluminous linen that surrounded me on the bed like a fairy circle.

"It is a bit stained," Ecka said.

"If I'm a bit stained, you're wearing nothing but."

He laughed to himself, that dry little sound between his teeth. "Things may as well look nice for your wedding."

I kind of hated that, because the nicer it looked, the more Ceorl was making fun of us. We were both lowborn; dressing us finely was almost more of an insult as putting us in rags. It said, look at these little puppets I've put in my play for you. They think they're real people, like us. If Ecka had spent any time at court, he must have known that. But he kept that gentle smile firm on his face, stood, and reached out for my hand. Too slow, I realized he was trying to play the doting groom for the little squire, to keep our lie going.

Didn't he realize that wasn't what the Duke wanted to hear about? Didn't he realize this wedding was a punishment for us both, but him especially? They were using me like a cudgel, saddling him with the dead weight of my prospects, my heritage, even my foul fucking temper.

But I didn't want to scream at him. No clue why, I just didn't. I took his hand, and stood instead, before I felt something between my legs. I sat right the fuck down again. My hand was still in Ecka's, so I curled it into a claw, my dull fingers digging into the meat of his palm. "Get this kid out of here."

He seemed a bit surprised. He tried to move his hand away, but I held it firm.

"I'm serious. Get him to fucking leave."

The squire wasn't budging. His eyes were darting between us, like he was trying to figure out if staying meant getting slapped now or later.

"Ecka-"

But it was too late. The page boy cocked his head to the side, looking at the fabric bunched around me on the bed. "You're bleeding."

Look, I don't make it a habit of threatening kids, but my life still depended on certain people thinking I was certainly pregnant. So I stood up and grabbed the kid, dragging him closer by his thin little wrist. I got in his face, like you do with threats. "Hey, fucker."

"Yng-" Ecka started. I ignored him.

"You're gonna keep that to yourself, kid."

The little squire was getting red in the face again, but this time tears were welling up. He was either a milksop, or he'd seen too much hard treatment. Either way, it was him or me. I raised my free hand up, like I was winding up for a hit.

"You think Ceorl runs this castle?" I knew the kid slept here. "I know every nook and cranny. I got around everywhere for nine fucking years before anybody fucking noticed. I'll-"

"Yng." Ecka's voice was, for the first time, stern. He wrapped one of his thick, strong hands around my wrist, but gave it only a gentle tug. I could feel the heat of his palm through my sleeve.

"What?" I hissed back, turning my head. As soon as I did, the squire started squirming away from me, like my eyes were a curse. We had the same color eyes. I don't know what his problem was. I don't know what Ecka's problem was, either.

Ecka moved in next to me, getting down on the squire's level and everything. "Allow me," he said, and put one of his big old hands on the kid's shoulder.

This, I had to see. I released the boy, and moved around him. I wasn't going to trust Ecka with everything. If the little fucker ran, he'd have to deal with me. I'd caught squealing pigs bigger than this kid, with a lot bigger problems.

"What is your name, young Master?" Ecka said, his voice all gentle again. Maybe a touch gentler than usual. He sounded like he was trying to sweet-talk a dove to get his hands on a feather.

"Uh," the kid swayed on his feet. "Cnafa Unsamwraede, of Wyrgda."

"Ah, so you must be very far from home," Ecka continued on, pleasant as anything.

The boy, Cnafa, nodded.

"And it seems like you've made some mistakes before, and maybe you were treated harshly for it?"

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The boy nodded hard enough I thought his eyes might roll out.

"My bride," he gestured to me. I didn't make a rude gesture back, but only because little Cnafa was looking now, too. Instead I curtsied, maybe a little awkward, but I don't think anybody was expecting much of me in the world of feminine graces. "She was upset."

Cnafa managed to whisper a thin little, "yeah."

"You saw something you shouldn't have. It's something between wives and husbands. Or brides and grooms, I suppose. She was embarrassed, and it made her angry, but I won't let her hurt you."

I could see the kid losing focus, trying to pull away. Ecka had made a pretty simple mistake when it came to teenage boys, even little chickenhearted lads like Cnafa.

"You think a woman could hurt a squire?" I said. Hopefully he'd get the picture.

"Of course not," Ecka caught on immediately, gods love him. "But you could try, and it would be…" He was smart enough to turn his head away from the boy, so the lad wouldn't see him cringe. "It would be a shameful thing, to be scratched up by such a lowborn woman."

Another thing to keep in mind about Ecka. He couldn't keep his face straight for every lie, but at least he knew it. I guess pretending he cared what lowborn curs did was a bridge too far, being lowborn himself. I wondered who his parents had been, where he'd come from, what had gone into making such a strange sort of man.

But it didn't matter right now.

"We're Ceorl's guests," he kept on going, "Ceorl would not like to hear you'd been snooping-"

"I wasn't-" At least little Cnafa was quick to defend himself.

"But he'd think you were spying on us."

That gave me an idea. I hadn't been able to think of anything in half a second, so I'd leapt for threats, but Ecka had given me enough time. Yet again, he'd helped in his own way, enough that I could save us.

For this, I'd need to look embarrassed. I couldn't manage bashful when I'd nearly tried to bash his brains in, but I could twist it around. Maybe I'd hid my embarrassment behind anger. I changed my posture a bit, so I wasn't leaning forward anymore, ready to strike. I leaned back instead, kept my posture rigid, but adjusted my hands. No longer fists, they just looked like I didn't have anything to grab, knuckles milk-white. I bit my lip, crossed my arms, tried to look as uncomfortable as I was pissed.

With blood running down my leg, it wasn't hard.

"He'd think you were naughty," I said. This kid was still young enough to believe all that crap about knights, how they needed to be pure and chaste and true. Had that been why my hair and tits had bothered him so much? "He'd think you were some sort of ribald."

"I'm not," he kept going, now looking at me with big pleading eyes like a cow. Fear of me was gone, replaced entirely with fear for himself. "I don't understand, why are you both being so-"

"Women bleed when they're fucked." I reached out to point my finger at him, an accusation. "You interrupted us."

The kid was red as a robin, now, breathing fast. In four years he was gonna be real fucked up about women, I was pretty sure of it. But that was his problem, and I still needed to solve ours. Luckily, Ecka helped, catching the lie and expanding it.

"My bride didn't want that knowledge shared," he said. "My… weakness for her."

In case you were wondering, I still wanted to hurl.

"And I do not wish you to be unjustly punished." He put just the smallest little bit of weight on the unjust part, not like a thread, just a reminder. Where'd he learn to lie like this? The picture in my mind I was forming of Ecka's childhood involved a lot of back streets and boxing matches. Cyne must have its fair share of filth.

"Um," the kid was nodding again, and Ecka finally let him go, standing up straight. "I won't say anything," he said.

"I won't make you swear it," Ecka said, like he was being real gracious, "but I will make you promise."

He held out his hand, and Cnafa shook it after he intertwined their fingers. It was the way Eadlings made informal deals. Always looked weird to me, but Cnafa looked like he was taking it dead serious.

"Thank you," Ecka said, and bowed to the little fucker. I let him past me, so he could leave, but he turned around just before he opened the door. "Ceorl-- my Lord the Duke--" He coughed. "That is, he wishes…"

"He wants us to have nicer clothes," I said, "I remember."

"I will send in the seamstress in an hour, by the sundial," and then the kid, that squirming little virgin, got the balls to give us the most purely highborn look of judgment I'd ever seen, "make yourselves presentable by then."

And then he skipped out, quick as a flash, and slammed the door.

Ecka spent a good five minutes just laughing to himself. When he saw I was scowling, he said, "you saw his face."

I collapsed down on the bed, my dress billowing out around me like I was in a pond. I could already smell the blood, and now that I was moving, I could feel it thick between my thighs. Fuck. I'd never been regular, but I'd always been careful. Lose track of time once, and this is what I got.

"I saw his face," I said. "Little prick."

Ecka started laughing again.

"For a guy who doesn't want kids," I said, "you sure were fond of that one."

"Oh, no," he said, between gulps of breath. "What a loathsome child. It's why- his face-" He broke into laughter again.

This time, I decided to wait it out. I got up and began poking around the room, looking for anything I could use, while Ecka recovered himself.

"No, he said, still breathless with it. "No, I just can't stand seeing children beaten, if I can stop it. But I loathe them, truly."

"You're good with them," I said, while I tried to shove one of the windows open.

"I have to be, at court. What are you doing?"

I gave the window another shove, and the rusted metal hinges began to creak. Promising. "Trying to get a twig," I said. "Are any of your clothes made of cotton? Mine's all linen."

"I- yes. Why?"

I gestured to my dress, which was now stained far more with red than whatever grease and sweat had come with. The thing had literally been thrown at me when we'd been locked in the Sundial Room, so there was no underdress or shift to catch any of it.

"Going to need to hide this from the seamstress," I said, "don't think we can lie to her about how fucking works."

"Ah," he said, finally getting it. "Cotton. And… a stick to wrap it 'round. Will that not be painful?"

"Beats the fuck out of dying."

"Distressingly true," he conceded. "We'll have to wash you, as well."

I had my whole hand out the window, now, and was grasping at the branches of a mulberry. "Who's we?"

"It's my head, as well," he said. "I'm not sure what Ceorl would do with the idea that you'd miscarried, but this farce is… too fragile, just now, to change any details."

Not to mention the fact that the guards had hit me in the gut more than once. I couldn't risk a speck of blood.

I remembered things I'd heard, over and over, from the men I'd known and worked with for the past nine years. "Your holy men say you can't touch this," I said. "Women's blood. It'll make you imporent."

"Infertile," he said, rolling his eyes, but it was as always with fond humor shining in them, "which, as we've discussed, I would take as a blessing. I will help you wash, if you will trust me with-" he gestured to the whole of me. Myself. Would I trust him with the whole of myself?

It was a big thing to ask, too big for me to deal with. Honestly, I should have considered it rude, if I had any airs at all. "Dead charmed at the offer, but I can manage myself. You can turn away."

So he did. No argument or nothing. It made me nervous.

"If you were going to rape me, you would've already," I said, to reassure him. I wasn't sure he needed it, but it was never a bad idea to reassure a man when you could.

His grimace cut the craigs of his face into a ravine. "I wish," he said, painfully earnest, "you didn't need to think like that."

I pulled the branch in and snapped the window shut. "I mean, shit." I began pruning the thing of leaves and knobs. "Me too."

The seamstress was an old woman with a face like a rotting apple. Her name was Beorgyld, and she adored me. Ecka, she kept shooting nasty glances at. I'm not sure why, but if I had to guess, it was some grandmotherly bullshit. With a proper veil on, I looked like a real lady, and real ladies aren't supposed to get fucked before marriage. She kept asking me questions about what he'd done, where I'd gotten that bruise, that scratch.

I didn't for a second believe she knew one thing the entire castle wasn't gossiping about, so I guess I was glad of the cotton stuffed up my cunt. When I'd done this in the past, and I'd had to, there'd been more time. I'd been able to treat the thing with oil, or even honey if I could find it.

No, I wasn't feeling great, but I'd had it worse. No cramps, no aches, and it was light. Maybe my luck was turning.

Beorgyld had come in with some clothes from fuck knew where, and it was her job to fit them to us. Since it was only for the evening, I got the sense a perfect fit wasn't anything to die over. It just had to be taken in enough that I looked like I was putting on airs.

What a weird fucking thing, needing to look just nice enough to look grubby.

Speaking of luck, I'd have died of heat stroke if it hadn't been Autumn. Eadling fashion ran real big on draping and covering and basically wrapping you in ten different kinds of blanket. Of course, it was all cut a certain way, so you could see almost every layer of fabric under the next, with a girdle to hold it in place. It was pretty fancy for me, though I knew it was dogshit compared to the stuff the Duke and his wife were used to. No embroidery, no cloth of gold, no cape, and the brooch was twisted up iron.

Honestly, they could have put me in wicker and brambles, so long as they let me keep the smalls. I was already making plans to steal the things. Even though Eadling women didn't wear braes, it still felt grand. As soon as she got in, Beorgyld threw a clean shift and some stockings at me, and neither of them had any holes or stains. She'd made me scrub down before I was allowed to put them on, of course, so I wouldn't dirty them, but I didn't mind. A bath and clean smalls after weeks in a dungeon, and I was feeling as right as the sun in the sky.

Once they were more or less fitted, I was covered from head to toe in cloth, but it was smooth linen of the finest make I'd ever touched. The only bit of me sticking out was my hands and my face.

Later, I'd see fine ladies in dresses that put this to shame, with trails behind them and embroidered trim, dangling necklaces, endless rings, and jeweled brooches. I knew I looked plain, in the Sundial room, but I didn't know quite how much, or even really feel it. I'd seen the Duke's wife-- a lovely lady who spent all of her time somewhere the fuck else ever since she'd popped out three sons-- maybe twice, and the only impression I'd got was 'shiny'.

Now, rich men, I knew how they dressed. I'd worked in the Duke's hunting party, and seen him and his mates plenty of times. I knew how plain Ecka looked as soon as he pulled his tunic over his shift. It was cut low, covering his knees. I knew it was the fashion to have it hemmed higher, to show off naked stockings. Girls I'd talked to, before and after getting to Sigan-Faru, had always found calves dead sexy. I couldn't tell you why.

I couldn't tell you why anyone found anything sexy, really; we're all dunces about something.

He hadn't a cape, either, just a thin bit of drapery that didn't do more than swaddle his shoulders. His hose were brown, rather than a bright color to draw the eye. And again, no jewelry, no embroidery, nothing fancier than a wrought-iron brooch and a girdle with a single clay bead at the tie.

My girdle had no beads at all.

But making my dress fit me had been easy. She'd only needed to take a little in, as I was naturally lanky and made moreso by dungeon living. Ecka was another matter. Beorgyld had her work cut out for her, making him look like he fit in those clothes. Out of the travel-worn, dungeon-stained rags he'd been wearing, I could see the shape of him.

I whistled, not out of liking it-- that was something men did, and I knew to play my part in front of Beorgyld-- but in the way women with country manner did when they were surprised. "Built like an ox, you are," I said, "reckon it's to match your face."

Ecka smiled like I'd gotten a good jape in-- suppose I had-- or like he was humoring me. Either was likely. He was never displeased when I spoke, and once I'd noticed that, I just couldn't leave it be. Had to take advantage. It's the way of me.

Beorgyld let out a wheezing croak that had probably been laughter in her younger days.

"First time we've met in the light, this is," I explained to her.

She pricked Ecka with her needle for maybe the ninth time before grinning along with the joke, her eyes disappearing behind the apples of her cheeks. "Ain't that always how it is, aye?"

"Wouldn't know," I said, "you're the experienced one."

She hissed out more laughter, like air leaving the goats' bladders villeins' boys kicked around when the sun set early. "All men are handsomer by the dark," she said while she arranged some lump of fabric around Ecka's arm so it looked less like he was going to burst out of it. "My aul' wan especially."

I whistled again. "You have a sweetheart, m'lady?"

She cackled. Look, I know I was being ridiculous. But it was clear this old woman hadn't had upward of nine people speak to her with any interest in a dog's age; she warmed to attention like butter in my hands. I was a liar and a faker, yeah, but sometimes it was just nice to bend yourself into a shape someone appreciated.

And Ecka, despite being prodded and poked, seemed to like it. The look on his face was kind, pleasant, the way someone looks when they see a sick dog get fed scraps from the table.

"I do? No, no." She didn't have the real thick southern accent that put Rs in places they didn't belong, but I could hear a hint of it in her words, just around the middle bits. "I did? Many, in my time."

"I don't doubt it," I said, as sweet as I never was. "You've a charm. Why, even Ecka's half in love with you."

She sniffed at this, as though to turn her nose up at it, but I could tell she was pleased by how her attention focused back on Ecka. "You'll be kindly to the girl?"

Ecka, of course, answered so earnestly it didn't matter if this whole thing was a lie. "Of course, Goodwife Beorgyld," he said. "I haven't any quarrel with her."

Which was a big fucking thing to say, given he was being forced to marry me, but Beorgyld wouldn't be distracted from her purpose. "She's still young," she said. I was twenty-three, which got me in spitting distance of becoming an old maid, but maybe everything looks small from the top of the mountain that age had put Beogyld on. "Be gentle with her, even as she talks rough. You've only had her the once?"

I looked up at the ceiling. I could hear Ecka's gone silent-- saying you fucked somebody's one thing, but being asked for details was another, and we could both tell where this was going.

"Yes," he said, and his voice was soft. He'd taken the time to smooth himself out, so the words didn't sound skittish. Clever dick.

"She don't need to be bounced around. Just a good smack, if she don't heed."

"I…" Ecka seemed to be at a loss, then. In a lie, there's always a certain point where you forget what the kind of person you're pretending to be would say. Everybody hits it different.

I decided to pretend Sir Knight from the big city just didn't understand these quaint nuggets of country wisdom. "She's saying you should hit me if I'm willful, but don't fuck me too hard."

Beorgyld wheezed her buzzy laugter to hear me put it so plain, muttering something about Magni and their type. I wasn't listening. I'd caught Ecka's eye, and he wore an expression I couldn't read.

---

Sleeping was another thing to deal with. They'd locked us in the room, and it had only one bed. It was either large for one person, or small for two, and as I'd said, Ecka took up a lot of room.

I was nearly hanging off the side of the thing, trying not to touch him.

Beorgyld had taken our clothes back with her, once they'd been fitted, and I was left in the clean shift and stockings. I dearly missed braes, anything to cover up my ass.

"It'd fine," Ecka said. He'd turned on the bed to face the wall, trying to let me have some privacy. "I won't touch you."

I wasn't worried about that in any practical way-- I knew if he hadn't by now, he wasn't going to. But some part of my mind still recoiled from the possibility, and I was worried about touching him. If I did it by accident, would he get the wrong idea? Would he think it was welcome?

I stayed there, hanging off the side, until he began to snore. I moved away, and crept over to an upholstered bench. Lying on it, my head ended up forced up against the wall to fit. It was a full moon, bright, so I could see my neck was angled crosswise to north. I fell asleep that way, with my head pointing toward morning.