Chapter 9: Red for the King

Conan was already in the bedroom, standing by the window with his back to the door. Xavier stood nearby, arms crossed, his orange hair catching the candlelight.

"You shouldn’t have done that, Conan," Xavier said quietly. "Alpha Rowan is powerful. His pack controls the southern trade routes. You humiliated him in front of everyone."

Conan didn’t turn around. "He cursed my marriage."

"He’s an old fool with outdated beliefs. You could have ignored him."

"I don’t ignore disrespect."

Xavier sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, and that’s the problem." He paused, his gaze moving to the five figures standing in a row near the door.

The elders, the keepers of the old ways.

Three women, two men, all looking at Xavier and Conan.

"Are they really going to watch you...."

Conan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yes. They are. Tradition and all apparently."

Xavier nearly gagged. He had never quite liked them. They were fools, insistent on maintaining barbaric traditions and cultures despite the world’s rapid advancement.

"So, did your trip to our ancestral land answer any of your questions about your bride?"

Conan chuckled. "You know me so well, Xavier," he turned around briefly to look at the elders. "We’ll discuss my findings later, when there are no prying eyes." He didn’t bother lowering his voice, and Xavier sighed, but nodded.

After a while, Conan spoke again, his voice softer. "What’s she like?"

Xavier blinked. "Who?"

"Hazel. My... wife." Conan stared quietly. "You spent more time with her than I did. What’s she like?"

Xavier considered the question carefully. "I think.... underneath all that trauma, there’s a girl filled with fire and rage. She can be snappy, but also seems easy to speak with. She doesn’t grovel, even when she should. She stood up to your mother, you know. Didn’t back down."

Conan’s jaw tightened. "My mother?"

"She touched her, grabbed her arm and smiled. Your mother was so disgusted, I thought I was going to die there." Xavier almost laughed at the memory. "She’s got spirit, Conan. More than you’d expect from someone who’s been beaten down her whole life."

Conan said nothing. His face remained blank, but something flickered in his eyes.

"Why?" Xavier pressed. "Why do you ask?"

Conan didn’t answer.

Instead, he tensed. His head snapped toward the door, nostrils flaring.

"She’s coming here already," he murmured.

Xavier straightened, suddenly alert. "I should go."

"No. Stay." Conan’s voice was clipped. "Wait."

The footsteps grew closer. The scent of roses drifted through the crack beneath the door, just barely masking the markless scent.

The door swung open.

And Hazel stepped inside.

Conan swallowed.

Fucking hell.

She stood there in a vibrant red robe that hung loosely off her shoulders, the silky fabric pooling at her feet. Her dark hair tumbled past her shoulders in soft waves, and her grey eyes darted nervously around the room.

She looked so innocent.

And yet so bold.

That robe.

Conan’s jaw clenched.

He remembered now. A drunken conversation with Becky years ago, when she had asked him what he had want his future wife to wear on their wedding night.

"Red," he had said, half-slurring into his glass. "I want her to come to me in red. It’d be hot as hell."

That sneaky minx.

Becky had remembered. Of course she had.

Hazel bowed a little the moment she spotted Conan, and he could hear how her pulse became erratic.

"Good evening."

"Hello."

Xavier cleared his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting between his friend and Hazel. "I’ll... I’ll be outside if you need anything." He bowed quickly, fleeing the room like it was about to ignite.

Which frankly...was not too far from the truth.

And then there were seven.

The elders still stood in a neat row near the far wall, their faces grim and simultaneously expectant. Hazel’s gaze darted to them, and her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What... what are they doing here?" she asked, looking at the king for an explanation.

Conan crossed his arms. "They’re here to witness the consummation."

Hazel’s eyes went wide, and her face drained of all color.

"To... to watch?"

"Yes." Conan nodded. "It’s tradition."

Hazel looked at the elders. Then back at Conan. Then at the elders again.

Her mouth parted. Closed. Opened again.

"What?" she finally managed, her voice cracking. "You want them to... to stand there and... and watch while we... while we—"

"I didn’t say I wanted it," Conan interrupted, a flicker of amusement dancing in his black eyes. "I said it’s tradition."

Hazel stared at him, her cheeks burning red. "I—well—I don’t—" She gestured helplessly at the five old people staring at her like she was a talking squirrel.

Conan raised a brow. "You don’t want them here?"

Her throat bobbed. "I...." She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "No," she said quietly. "No, I don’t."

Conan held her gaze for a long moment. Then he turned to the elders.

"Leave."

The eldest elder stepped forward, his brow furrowed. He was completely bald, the only tufts of hair being the ones on his eyebrows, and even those were slowly disappearing. "Your Majesty, with respect, this is a sacred tradition. Your father—"

"My father is dead," Conan cut him off. "And I am not him."

"But the consummation must be witnessed to ensure—"

"Ensured?" Conan’s eyes flickered red. "Are you questioning my ability to perform my duties as a husband?"

The elder paled. "I would never—"

"Then get out."