“What are you wearing?”

He repeats the sentence with the same unhurried cadence, but there’s nevertheless a touch of menace in his tone. It makes me bristle, and my back stiffens. He’s going to need to learn how to deal with women if he plans on being married to me, because the more you order me about, the less inclined I am to listen. “Is that Magpie in the painting?”

Hawk points at the base of the stairs, as if indicating I should move there, and quickly.

Even though I’m irritated, I need him. I can’t afford to anger the person I need to enroll me into the fledgling program…at least, not on day one. Once I’m safely ensconced in training, I don’t give a god’s arse what he thinks of me. Fighting back my annoyance, I head down the stairs and stand in the spot he indicates.

“What are you wearing?” he asks again.

“A uniform.” I flick a strand of Squeaker’s cat hair off my sleeve. “Why? Am I wrinkled?”

“That’s not the uniform I gave you.” This close, I can see the displeasure on his unusual face.

“That’s correct. I had this one tailored before I left home.”

His arms cross over his chest and he glares down at me. “Are you not taking this seriously? Is all of this a joke to you? Because we can end this right now—”

“Of course I’m taking this seriously!” I put my hands on my hips and glare up at him. “I should think that’s obvious, given that I had a uniform made even before I arrived. You’re insulting me by suggesting otherwise.”

“Everyone wears the same uniforms when they’re a fledgling,” he says in that dangerous tone of his. “The same shitty uniform. You want to be taken seriously? Then you’ll change.”

“Having a blouse tailored doesn’t mean that I’m not serious—”

He leans in, and I automatically lean back, his muzzle in my face. “Do you really want me to rip those clothes off you, Aspeth? Is that what we’re going for here?”

I let out a squeak of distress, blinking up at him. He’s alarmingly tall. Alarmingly tall and a little scary. “D-do you really want to start our marriage ripping my clothes off?”

“While I would love nothing more than to do that in about three weeks,” he murmurs in that deadly voice, “right now I just want you to change. Understand?”

Managing a nod, I hold my breath until he steps back and gestures up the stairs again. This time I race up them, heading back to my quarters. Once inside, I pull off my tailored clothes with shaking hands and fish the much cruder set out from under Squeaker, because of course she’s made a nest on them. They’re wrinkled and covered in cat hair now, but if this is what Instructor Hawk wants, this is what Instructor Hawk gets.

I can’t believe I’m going to marry the grump. I’m an idiot. I tuck the ill-fitting blouse into the waist of the pants and wonder if I should just lick my wounds and retreat. Return to my father’s keep and…

And then what? Wait for a rival holder to come and behead me? Wait for someone to steal our lands and just pray they’re in a benevolent mood and send me to a convent instead? No, this is my only choice.

Annoyed at Hawk—and at myself for hesitating—I return downstairs, this time clad in a blouse that is far too tight across my bust and makes me look stout and matronly because the waist isn’t cinched. The pants barely fit over my backside and I suspect if I have to sit at any point, they’ll split. But I’m in the uniform he wanted. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he says flatly. “Let’s get going. You have to be at registration in two hours.”

Hawk tosses a brown cloak over my shoulders and then puts one on himself. He pulls the hood up, his forward-pointing horns making the tent of fabric huge over his head, the tips just barely sticking out of the hem. Following his lead, I pull up my cloak hood as well, and head out the front door behind him.

Despite the early hour, the city is bustling. We head down the busy, crowded street, narrowly avoiding the contents of a chamber pot that someone empties above, and I trot after him. I keep close, because I don’t want him to use any excuse to call this off.

I’m a little surprised when he takes me to the nearest temple of Asteria. I thought that Taurians worshiped Old Garesh, the god of war and destruction. Perhaps he’s not the right god for a wedding, no matter if it’s Taurian or not. Hawk marches into the temple, his hooves echoing obscenely loudly on the floor. There’s a nun taking donations near the front altar, and he heads directly for her, pulling a small bag of coin from his waist. “I need a marriage, quickly. Get me a priestess.”

“Please,” I add politely, moving to his side and taking his arm.

“Hush now,” he tells me.

“If you’re going to demand things, at least have the decency to add a ‘please’ on the end. You’ll find people much more willing to deal with you.”

He lowers his hood, turning to give me an incredulous look. “Are you chiding me?”

I shrug. Perhaps he thinks he didn’t need chiding. On this, we’ll have to agree to disagree.

Hawk snorts, as if unable to believe his ears. I keep waiting for him to shrug my arm off, but he doesn’t. I guess it would ruin the fantasy of our hasty marriage if he did. The priestess arrives a few moments later, a puzzled expression on her lined face. “It’s the middle of the week, my dears. A marriage on the weekend, when the goddess is at rest, is a blessed marriage. Wouldn’t you rather wait?”

“No waiting.” Hawk sounds as gruff and cranky as ever.

“It needs to happen today,” I try to explain, a gracious smile on my face.

The priestess blinks at us and then leans in, confiding to me. “My dear, if you’re in a carrying sort of way, a few days won’t make a difference, and your child might need the goddess’s blessing more than anyone.”

I stare at her in horror. She thinks I’m pregnant? I glance up at Hawk in surprise, then back at the priestess. She’s ignoring Hawk as if he doesn’t exist, her gaze focused entirely on me, and I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended. I decide upon being offended, and pretend to lean in to confide back to her, my voice deliberately loud. “If I have to go another night without this virile buck in my bed, I shall scream. The wedding must happen today.”

She makes a distressed sound and somewhere behind her, I can hear the muffled giggle of a novice. “I see.” She composes herself and holds her hand out, and the novice puts the bag of money in her grip. “I suppose the goddess does love…ahem, love. Take your man’s hands and I will join you.”

“Wait,” I blurt out, looking up at Hawk. “Don’t we need witnesses?”

“The church registers all marriages,” he says.

“For another coin, you can have a lovely certificate to post over your home altar,” the priestess adds, putting her hand out for an additional coin.

Hawk hands it over without question, and I guess we’re about to be married.

EIGHT HAWK

25 Days Before the Conquest Moon

My new bride’s hands twitch in my sweaty grasp, her cuticles covered in tiny scabs from zealous overchewing. Her expression is bland and composed, but the twitching gives away her nerves. She’s as anxious about this marriage as I am, and when the priestess says the last of the matrimonial prayer, Aspeth breathes a sigh of relief and flashes me a quick smile that takes me aback and makes my tail flick.