The Blood Crown (The Blood Folk #2)

12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

R ough hands pulled Aurelia and Ven from their mount, herding them into the belly of the fortress.

Mountveil.

The illusive place Aurelia had only ever seen on the map carved into the moonstone table at Ravenstone. The Wraiths had only spoken of the other court in passing, but what little they said told her enough.

The smell of death clung to the stone walls, her skin crawling—her body begging to find a way out as they went further into the fortress.

Where Ravenstone had been a haven; a beautiful sanctuary carved into the mountains, this place was a cold, dark, prison. A place to contain monsters that could not bear to look at the light.

A dim tunnel stretched forward, emptying into a windowless cavern full of staircases roughly cut into its walls and leading away into the gloom. Torches lined the halls, staining the dark stone black with soot. Even the air felt oppressive here, like it was trying to snuff out the remainder of life inside the mountain.

They were led up a wide series of steps and into another cavern. A dais carved from the black stone sat at the front of the room. In the massive throne lounged a handsome male that looked like he might have been her father’s age if he’d been human. He possessed the ethereal beauty of the Blood Folk, but marring the alabaster skin on the left side of his neck was a wicked scar. A burn mark if she had to guess, but what kind of fire could brand immortal skin permanently?

His hair was a silken sheet of white that flooded down his shoulders. The planes of his face were sharp and unlined, but his eyes were ancient. A pale, milky red, as if time had desperately tried to leech what it could from him.

Adorning his brow was a jagged crown forged from iron that cut into his white skin, leaving streaks of blood so deep red that they looked nearly black as they trailed down his temples. But it seemed it must be a mark of pride, for he did nothing to remove it despite the blood it cost him. At its center was a deep amber colored stone, and in the torchlight it nearly seemed to pulse.

The Nostari King had sided with the King of the Void during the war three hundred years ago—but how many centuries had he lived before that? How many lifetimes had this monster seen?

Flanking either side, pale, grotesquely beautiful faces leered at them, fangs exposed in silent threat as red eyes watched carefully from every direction.

Aurelia looked straight ahead, refusing to show her fear in this mockery of a court. Squaring her shoulders, Ven stalked beside her, doing his best to mask his limp. Karro had been taken away somewhere, and maybe it was a small relief that he was still unconscious and unaware of where they were.

The two kingdoms had been in a stagnant war with each other for centuries. The Captain had taken the ring from her. So why had the Nostari saved them in that clearing?

Fear prickled at the back of her neck as they were brought forward. If the Nostari found out that the King of the Void hunted her—she had no doubt that they would willingly hand her over.

Snarling and hissing erupted as she and Ven were shoved into the center of the room, but the king raised a pale hand and silence fell.

The white female stalked ahead of them, dropping to a knee, clutching her fist to her chest before she stood again. The king smiled at her, the smallest amount of warmth seeping into his expression as her long legs made the ascent to his throne and she handed him the ring.

“You’ve brought me gifts,” he purred, white brows raised in dark delight.

“We found them at the eastern border,” she replied, taking her place at the edge of the throne room.

She must have been the Commander of the guard or some sort of trusted advisor with the place she took beside his throne. Much younger than the rest of the males and females that stood in places of honor, and yet nothing about her demeanor made it seem that she was beholden to any of them. The King’s Justice, maybe.

The king braced both of his pale, powerful arms on the carved throne, standing to his considerable height. His steps were slow and measured as he descended from his dais, and she could nearly feel the power seeping from him as he drew closer, circling like a bird of prey.

She fought down the urge to flinch as he leaned toward her with a predatory flare of his nostrils.

“This one smells . . . unusual.” He resumed his slow pacing, a warning prickle trailing down her spine as he passed behind her. “You don’t smell human—but you don’t have the appearance of one of them , either,” he added with a nearly imperceptible nod toward where Ven stood next to her, his feet braced apart as if he might try to strangle the king with the chains that bound his hands.

“Solari scum,” someone uttered from the periphery of the throne room. Laughter dispersed as some of the others echoed the sentiment.

Ven bristled at the words, his eyes trained on the king, who had stopped his circling to look toward the slender male that had thrown the insult. At once, the laughter died. The smug look on the male’s face drained along with what little color had been there.

“It would be wise of you to remember who you are speaking to,” the king said with deathly calm as his pale red eyes slid back to Ven. “The Wraith Commander,” he spat out the title like a curse. “The Black Veil of the Battlefield.” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth in something resembling pride as hushed whispers scattered throughout the room.

If Ven could illicit such fear amongst a court full of monsters, he must have made quite the reputation for himself, indeed. It was a reminder that magick had dwindled over the centuries since the war. With the power that she’d witnessed Ven wield even in its depleted state, he must have been a terror to behold when magick had been rampant in their world.

“But what . . . are you?” The king turned his attention to Aurelia once more.

It reminded her so faintly of the night when Ven had asked her nearly the same question that it took her a moment to realize the king was waiting for her answer.

“A half-breed,” she replied.

Maybe not a truth, but not quite a lie.

“Fortunate that you found each other, then,” the king said, glancing to Ven.

And she was reminded once more that half of Ven’s blood, half of his power, belonged to this den of vipers.

“Your name, child,” the king purred, the sound of his voice making her skin crawl.

She lifted her chin, wincing as the wound in her shoulder pulled with the movement. “Aurelia.”

“An unusual name for an unusual female.” His eyes landed on her dark brown hair, the gold flecks of her eyes marking her as something other. “Who was your sire, girl?”

“I never knew him,” she answered flatly. The only true father she’d known had been buried nearly six months ago.

“You will forgive my curiosity—it’s been a long while since I’ve encountered a half-breed. The Solari have always been less . . . discriminating with their bloodlines.” His mouth split into a wide grin as a rumble of laughter burst from him. The hall rang out with echoing amusement, the simpering Nostari nobility desperate to please him. But the blade of a female remained impassive on his other side.

He stalked close enough to reach out his hand. “Though I’ve never met one in my lifetime where the blood of our kind didn’t win out.” He lifted a lock of her dark brown hair between his pale fingers.

Instinct overrode fear as she bared her teeth in a silent snarl, her sharpened canines proof enough of what she was.

Out of the corner of her eye, wisps of shadow gathered, slithering across the stone floor of the throne room. Thin and translucent, as if they were the last dregs of Ven’s power—all that remained of his magick now that they were injured and half-starved. The chains binding their hands stifling whatever small amount was left.

The king turned the heavy ruby ring between his forefinger and thumb, the firelight catching the facets of the jewel and setting it aflame. “How was it that this came into your possession?”

She tilted her chin up, meeting his eye once more as she answered, “I killed the last man who wore it.”

Silence stretched throughout the cavern as the king’s gaze raked over her, taking her measure. Though from the power she felt rippling off him, he could easily kill her where she stood.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “And yet Fate has decided that it belongs here.” He clasped the ring in his palm. “Interesting.”

He looked at her, then. Cunning and cruel eyes assessing her, and for a moment there seemed to be a flicker of genuine gratitude that crossed his expression as he said, “Thank you.” Gone just as quickly as he gave a jerk of his chin towards the guards nearby. “Kill her.”

The words barely registered for how carelessly he spoke them. The silence was shattered as Ven shouted, eyes widening in fury.

The grip on either side of her arms tightened and she was drug backward, her boots slipping on the stone.

Ven spun and kicked the chest of the guard holding him, breaking free for a moment. The shackles at his wrists bound his magick, but they did nothing to damper the strength that he’d honed for centuries. He twisted, tearing out the throat of the guard behind him, his chin dripping blood as the others fought to restrain him.

Nira’s instruction rang through Aurelia's panic as she became dead weight, going limp between the guards. Without the tension of her body, she slipped through their grasp for a moment, kicking between the legs of the male and using her bound hands to strike the female under the chin with a satisfying crack of teeth.

She cried out as a blast of heat seared along her arm, trying to dodge the red flames that shot toward her. Hands wrapped around her once more, restraining her.

“No!” Ven shouted.

Five guards held him down as he raged, fighting viciously like a male possessed as he clawed at them to get to her. But it did nothing to stop the inevitable as she was dragged back toward the edge of the cavern to whatever death awaited her.

Anguish twisted his features as his eyes met the king’s.

“Please—” The word was ripped from his throat.

A lank of black hair had fallen over Ven's face from the struggle, but the look of desperation unmistakable as the raw emotion in his voice.

The king's white brows creased as he glanced between her and Ven.

“Name your price,” Ven heaved, straining against the guards.

The king prowled toward her, the guards holding her so tightly that she couldn’t flinch away as he lifted the strands of dark brown hair that had escaped her braid. His hand was cold as he bared her neck and she wondered for a moment if he would just kill her himself. His eyes dropped to the side of her throat, as if searching for something.

He studied her—seeming to try to solve the puzzle of what she was.

“What I want, Venohan—Is what I’ve always wanted.” His tone was benevolent as he turned toward Ven. “For you to return to your rightful place at my side.”

Rightful place?

“So long as you remain, she will be unharmed.”

The fire behind Ven’s eyes banked as he shook off the grasp of the guards, nodding once.

The king smiled, turning his back to them. And with a dismissive wave of his hand, the white-haired warriors closed in on her, dragging her from the cavern. He chuckled darkly, taking a seat upon his throne once more, his voice rumbling through the space.

“It’s good to have you home—my son.”

My son.

Before the words could fully sink in, a sharp blow to the back of Aurelia’s head made the world go dark.