The interior of the feasting hall was grander than Emery would've guessed, based on its relatively humble exterior. The space was open all the way to the back, where sat on a platform a huge, high-backed chair with a wooden stool before it. Both the chair as well as the stool were intricately carved and had furred cushions or padding on them. Huge, low tables ran down either side of the hall, thick, covered straw pallets tucked under them, and in the middle was a long, deep fire pit that ran almost the length of the building. Over the low, smoldering flames were numerous firedogs, metal frameworks that held logs in them, and chains attached to overhead beams held cauldrons above the fire pit as well. The ceiling went so far up that its peak seemed to disappear in the shadows beyond all the crossbeams, and the walls were decorated with wooden shields and painted blue designs, which reminded Emery of the tattoos on Cathbad's chest and back. The building was warm and inviting (if a little dark), which she hadn't expected, but then she noticed the men in there, and that made her breath catch in spite of her determination to remain impassive.

At least Cathbad was by her side. Oonagh and Tess had been advised to wait outside, and though the druid was a comfort, Emery wished to have her friends near her. She had no idea what "right of the first night" was, but the way Cathbad had hissed it so urgently before they'd stepped into the building, she didn't think it could be anything good.

Cullen was near the end of the building, by the platform, speaking to another man who was shorter than he was by a few inches. The stranger was also bearded and certainly older, though in the dimness and at her current distance, Emery couldn't tell how much so. More of the king's men were standing about, these behaving a little more casually than those outside the feasting hall, but they enhanced the aura of business that permeated the place at the moment. When Cullen and the king caught sight of Emery and Cathbad, the two stopped talking and stood back a bit, the king calling a greeting and asking her to come forward.

"You stay right next to me," Emery whispered to Cathbad. "Don't even think about leaving."

"Of course."

Emery did as she was bid and walked the hall to the end of it. She tried not to look but couldn't help noticing Cullen's expression as she approached. His face, fair in the firelight, revealed consternation and perhaps something like admiration, and Emery was agitated to think that Oonagh's makeover might have made her suddenly impressive. He himself was done up, his hair braided and twisted in all sorts of ways and his attire layered and decorated like hers, and Emery felt a sense of justice; if she'd had to get all fancy to meet this king, at least he'd had to, as well.

And the King? He was distinctly uninteresting. Beyond his obviously finer clothing and the metal band he wore around his head, he resembled an ordinary older man. He had a head of dark, flowing hair which connected to a close beard, and though Emery had associated beards with hipsters and grandpas until she'd come here, King Conchobar looked to be somewhere in his forties.

"Lady Emer," was the first thing the king said to her as she came within a yard or so of him and Cullen. He made a sort of bowing gesture, and Emery pulled some knowledge from her past viewings of historical films and attempted something like a half-curtsy, feeling utterly foolish for not knowing the procedure. Fortunately, she must have looked all right enough, because the king didn't make any indication she'd behaved incorrectly. Cullen, on the other hand, suddenly darkened. Emery again sensed some deep, negative emotion from him, though she couldn't quite place it--animosity? resentment? Was he angry at her? Why was he always so frightening? All of Emery's determination to remain nonchalant went out the window at his perceived displeasure, and she shivered inadvertently beneath all her layers.

Nobody spoke for a moment, and Emery wondered in a brief panic whether she was expected to say something. She definitely didn't like the way the king eyed her up and down during that pause and instinctively crossed her arms in a show of irritation, which caused Conchobar to adjust the alignment of his gaze and turn to Cullen.

"She's quite as lovely as the rumors say, Cuchulain."

Emery almost gave an audible "ew" and would have if Cathbad hadn't suddenly stepped in front of her. "The curse goes deep, my King. Though it may not affect her appearance, be assured that the Lady Emer is in no position to satisfy your demand."

King Conchobar raised his chin slightly, narrowed his eyes at Cathbad. He seemed to be gauging the veracity of what the druid had said. Then he drew closer to Emery, waving Cathbad aside, and stood right in front of her. Emery's inclination was to move back, but she wasn't going to show fear to this old man. He didn't scare her half as much as Cullen did; he was her height, even! He was hardly intimidating.

There was, though, something off about the way he looked at her. He kept his eyes on her face, this time, but Emery knew he was trying to get a grip on who she might be, like that counselor at school who'd tried to "figure her out" back when she'd still been in high school.

At length, though, Conchobar said, still looking at her, "I see nothing concerning. My demand holds."

Cullen was off the platform and drawing his sword so suddenly that all the soldiers around the hall hastened to move forward and get out their weapons as well. Had Cathbad not placed his body between Cullen and Conchobar, something bloody would surely have occurred. The King put out his hands as if to stop his men, and they froze in anticipation.

"Wait! Wait! Please! My Lord--my King--this is--this is no place--in front of the Lady . . ." Cathbad was frantic, breathless.

Emery just stood there behind the king, absolutely stunned, no idea what was going on. It was like someone had flipped a switch and set everyone off. Part of her wanted to turn and run out of the hall, but there were too many people everywhere. A fire had ignited Cullen's eyes; the copper veins shone from them like molten metal--he looked ready to kill the king, who, though wide-eyed, managed to maintain his nerve. Everything was at an insanely intense standstill. The only things Emery heard for a long moment were Cathbad's ragged breathing and her own pounding heart, and she was sure nothing good could come of Cullen's momentarily curbed rage, but then the king at last spoke.

"Hold," he said, and his men immediately began to sheathe their swords. Then Conchobar nodded at them, and all but two left the building, the aforementioned two stationing themselves near the door, across which they drew the curtain. The king pursed his lips, looked at the ground, then turned his eyes on Cullen. "I owe you much thanks, Cuchulain, for all you've done to keep my lands safe" he said, more casually than Emery would've believed he could, seeing as he'd almost been attacked, "but your bullheadedness will be your undoing. I ask for no more than I'm due. You knew my right, and yet you knowingly thwarted it; I'd have the head of a lesser man."

Cullen lowered his sword, but he didn't return it to its scabbard. In fact, Emery was sure she saw his fingers clench tighter around its hilt. "You're too late, anyway. The first night's come and gone."

A wry grin stretched unnervingly across Conchobar's chin. "Then I'll be sure to lie with her twice as long."

Emery's stomach dropped; she had a sudden understanding of what they were talking about. But before she could say anything, Cullen twisted his sword in his hand threateningly. "If you touch her, I swear I'll kill you. You know I can, and I will."

Conchobar's grin faded, and his voice was low but dangerous as he spat, "You dare talk of treason, to me? I've gone to war for far less!"

"War?!" That was Cathbad, attempting in vain to gain the attention of the two arguing men. "Please! My King, my Lord, we can be reasonable--"

"Nevertheless--" Cullen was beginning to say, and

"Gods damn you to Hell, Cuchulain--" Conchobar started, when the chaos of what was happening broke Emery, and she yelled at them to stop.

The three men were taken aback, as if they'd forgotten she was even there, and in a fit of passion, Emery swept back some of her beaded hair which had fallen loose, huffed indignantly, and said to her captive audience, "Are you going to ask me what I think, or are you just going to sit here and talk about me as if I'm not even here? I will not be the cause of your fighting. This is my body--mine--and where I'm from, men don't get to touch women without their consent, do you hear me? We have a name for that, and it's a crime. You'd go to jail for it. How old are you, anyway?" She looked at Conchobar. "You could be my dad! That is gross! And I know people here get married at, like, twelve and probably it's to their cousins half the time, but it is not ok where I'm from. So shame on you, you creepy old man! And I will not let you touch me. I will fight you to the death, do you understand me? I'll--I'll--" she looked about erratically, "I'll jump into that fire. I'll burn myself up before I ever let you put a hand on me!"

For as fearless as she may have sounded, Emery couldn't hold back the tears that came hot to her eyes. What these men were talking about--it was horrible. How could they just discuss her as if she were an inanimate object? Ultimately, Emery knew she had little control over what anyone did to her; there were no police, no DNA evidence to convict someone of a crime if she were hurt--there were just people. People who could help, or people who could sit back and let others do as they wished. If even a king had the right to abuse his subjects, what sort of security did she have, here? She'd never wanted to be back in her previous life more.

She hated that they'd see her cry, even if her tears were of frustration rather than sadness, but fortunately Cathbad turned her toward him and embraced her, covering her face in his cloak. Emery could only hear the words of the men behind her.

"Your woman has fire," Conchobar said after quite the pause. "You're a pair for each other, aren't you?"

Was there some hint of acquiescence in his voice? Emery held out hope--

"And your druid is right," the king continued. "Her brain's been addled by that curse. I am not sure it's right to--well . . . Oh, gods damn you, Cuchulain! I never wanted to earn your ire, but you're stubborn as a mule. You forget your place! Every chieftain's known the tradition; they've all paid tribute to the right of the first night upon their unions. Do you think you're better than the lot of them? That you should be treated differently?"

"Then do away with the tradition," returned Cullen in a low, calm voice. "What's the purpose of being king if you can't bring change where change is needed?"

"If you weren't my sister's son, I'd have had to kill you long ago," Conchobar muttered. "But I can't let this be. You must understand it. I can't be said to bend the knee before you, as if our positions were reversed."

"I have no desire for your position."

"But you must understand! I cannot leave here without having gotten what I've come for. You've always been stubborn, since you were a boy. What are we to do with this?"

There were no other words for a moment, and Emery, having suppressed her furious tears, pushed away from Cathbad and looked at him decisively. When she turned toward Cullen and the king, rubbing under her eyes with the palm of her hand, she found them staring at her enigmatically. She had no idea what they were thinking, but they did both look somewhat concerned for her. "What is the tradition?" she asked the king, looking into his face as boldly as she dared.

"Th-the tradition, Lady?"

"The right of the first night? What does it say, exactly?" She had an idea, but she needed to know.

Conchobar avoided her eye, and though Cullen did not, Emery couldn't quite look at him. Cathbad chimed in, speaking so quietly it was almost as if he was embarrassed to be heard: "The right of the first night allows the reigning king to . . . to share a bed with a chieftain's new wife, the first night, before the chieftain has--er--had the opportunity."

Emery had thought as much. She eyed Conchobar, disgusted. "That's exactly what it is, then?"

The king appeared almost ashamed . . . almost. He hung his head slightly, and Emery knew he was weak. He cared about his image more than anything else.

"Then . . . I will share a bed with you--"

Cullen's whole body tensed, his bottom lip dropped open as if he were about to protest, and Conchobar gave her a quizzical expression.

"Listen to me," Emery hurried. "I'll sleep on one side of the bed, and he can sleep on the other. And nobody will touch anybody, because Cat will be in the middle."

The druid gaped. "I?"

"That way," she sighed, hating to have to concede anything at all to the king, "he won't have to sacrifice his pride. He can say we shared a bed. And you--" she met Cullen's eye for the first time since she'd arrived, swallowed her nerves, "you'll be assured that . . . nothing happened."

The three men stared at her, and Emery practically held her breath. If Conchobar refused the offer, she didn't know what she'd do. In her mind, she was certain she'd try to fight him, but reality often overtook expectation in all its grimness. So it was much to her relief when the king replied, "It'll do." Then he turned to his nephew. "We'll stay here. Prepare the chamber," and then, preempting any pushback from Cullen, the king spun on his heel and left the feasting hall, his men following.

Before she knew it, Emery was left with Cathbad and Cullen, and her assumed bravery dissipated. It had all been a show, anyway—she was still totally shocked that it had worked—so when the druid gave her an apologetic look and scurried off, she was caught by surprise. There she was, suddenly, all alone with Cullen, who stood there looking serious as ever, and she had literally no idea what to say to him.

The man himself appeared to be trying to figure out the right words. He shook his head a little, lowered his brow as he studied her. "I would've rather killed him," he said quietly.

Unsure whether he was joking—hoping he was but afraid he might not be—Emery looked at the wall. "Well, then you should thank me for not letting you start a war." Her nerves were on edge. She wanted to escape. "It's just— the last thing—" she struggled for words, distracted. "I don't want you to go off to war . . ." Oh, where had Cathbad gone?

"Is that so?"

She didn't understand at first but then realized what she'd said and felt too warm in her fur shawl. She faced Cullen, breathing a bit louder than she meant to, and saw him watching her, his eyes softened, one corner of his mouth very, very faintly turned up.

Had there been time or inclination for any other conversation, they might have continued, but all at once the kings' men and several womenfolk entered the hall, set on preparing it for the feast to come that night.