Free King by R. J. Larson

legal requirements, his wife. She merited his protection.
    Hearing her stir, Akabe touched Caitria’s tender face, then kissed her cheek. If only necessity hadn’t forced him to marry a stranger—he hated being so unsure of his queen . . . his wife . But perhaps he could lessen their mutual emotional distance. He snagged his overtunic from the foot of the bed, flung it on, then stood. “Good morning, lady. I’m expected at various meetings today. Before then, however, let’s share the morning meal.”
    She nodded and sat up, still seeming half asleep as she reached for her chamber robe and slippers. Akabe waited for her to speak, to say something . . . anything. But she moved about in that same speechless daze of last evening. How long would it take for her to recover from her father’s harsh abandonment?
    It might help if he corrected his own unhappy acceptance of their marriage.
    As Caitria donned her robe and swept her hair off her neck, Akabe glimpsed a darkened mark on her pale skin. A bruise on her throat, just behind her ear.
    Akabe strode around the bed, startling her. She froze, her brown eyes huge. Did she fear he would strike her? He halted within arm’s reach and opened his hands gently, matching his cautious movements with hushed words. “Stand still, lady, only for an instant.” He slid his hands beneath her hair, lifting the soft, sweetly scented brown waves off her neck. Not one bruise, but two. Someone had held Caitria by the back of her neck. Viciously and recently. “Who gave you these bruises? Your brother?”
    â€œNo, my lord.”
    â€œYour father then.”
    She waited, not arguing with his conclusion.
    Akabe released her hair and stepped back, watching her. “Why was he angry with you?”
    â€œBecause I . . . behaved thoughtlessly, and . . . spoke contrary to his wishes.”
    â€œConcerning what?”
    Caitria looked away, her elegant face setting in stubborn lines. Clearly, she would refuse to elaborate further. “It’s unimportant now, Majesty.”
    Unimportant? Not by the look of those bruises. Akabe suppressed a frown. He could only guess that they’d quarreled about this marriage. She’d argued against it, failed, and suffered. For which he must bear the blame. Well enough. He touched her face, running his fingers along that stubborn, lovely jawline. When she glanced at him warily, he said, “This will not happen again. Granted, we’ve been compelled to accept this marriage, but for as long as I live, I will not allow you to experience further abuse such as this!”
    Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she swallowed, so pitiable that Akabe felt compelled to hug and console her. In his thoughts, chief priest Nesac warned again, Majesty, consider—I beg you!—an Atean wife could very well lead your heart away from the Infinite. . . .
    Was this how such a divergence of faith might begin?
    A vulnerable instant.
    The longing to protect . . .
    The progression was more subtle and more treacherous than he’d believed. Would he be able to withstand such temptation?
    Infinite? Guard my heart, I beg You!

    Caitria slid another glance toward her husband as he led her out into the echoing corridor to face her first day as his queen. Was he always so . . . protective? Truly, she’d experienced more tenderness and consideration from this “despicable fool,” as her lord-father called him, in one day than from her entire family for ages.
    Oh, it would be so easy to love this man if he weren’t such a danger to her family. To her! Though she was descended from Siphra’s most ancient noble lines, her family might be destroyed if she breathed a word of her fears and suspicions to Akabe—to the king.
    She must guard her every word. Did he suspect—?
    A bark startled Caitria from her thoughts. She turned and laughed, seeing