Gwenllian nodded and sat to remove her stockings while the girl brushed hair that was hardly worth the effort. It did not spread out voluminous across her shoulders and tumble down her back. It was fine and hung limp and was wholly unremarkable. The other ladies spoke of their own wedding feasts and pressed her to eat sugared almonds and the candied peels of a Seville orange, to sweeten her breath. She said little beyond what courtesy demanded, and fixed her eyes on the small case in the corner that held her new gowns, ready for tomorrow’s journey to her new home.

The men came, with Morency in a short linen tunic and the king and the priest raucous with drink. When at last the bed was blessed and they were both safely in it, the fire was banked and the party left them, leaving the echoes of their lewd comments and catcalls behind them.

She had resolutely avoided thinking of this moment. Now that it was here, she thought she should have considered what best to say or do. They sat in a charged silence until he turned and extinguished the lone candle, then pulled the bed curtains closed.

In the utter darkness, she could only hear his breath, feel his heat next to her. She heard him lay back on the bed and she did the same, pushing herself further under the coverlet and staring up, searching in the blackness above her for any light at all. All the long years of learning how to lead were evaporating, now, in this night air. Her men would follow Madog. Her armor would rust. She thought she should weep for it, but she had no talent for tears.

Neither of them moved. The sound of music and merriment came faintly, as though from a great distance. They were married, and he was her husband. All the lands her mother had wanted for her, for thirteen long years, were hers now. And his. In the distance a hall full of strangers celebrated it, and in the darkness she reckoned with the reality of it. He would settle disputes among tenants and ride off to war, while she managed their household and birthed his children.

The night air settled around them. It was impossible to imagine, a life with him.

“Tell me true,” she said into the night, “why you were in Wales and not with your king.”

She felt the resistance in him, heard the hesitation in his breath and knew the moment he would speak.

“Alice came to me. In a dream.” He waited, but she held her tongue. “Her brother is at an abbey there in the wilds. I...” His voice trailed off.

He had lain before her in the hut, burning, his eyes wild and desperate. Full well did she remember how he had calmed at her touch. How he looked at her as though she could deliver him from despair.