The Blood Crown (The Blood Folk #2)

48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

L ips brushed against Aurelia's ear, the soft lavender light of dawn bleeding through the windows.

The festivities had gone late into the night, the ale she'd shared with Karro and her brother resurfacing as a dull pounding in her skull. She wasn't ready to face the morning just yet.

Ven's lips were more insistent at her throat as she tried to burrow deeper into the warmth of his body. but it was clear from the hard length against the curve of her ass that he had no intention of letting her go back to sleep.

She turned toward him, playfully nipping his lower lip with the edge of her fangs, her eyes still heavy in a half-dream state as she reached for him.

“Later,” he purred against her neck. “We have business to attend to today.”

She let out a disgruntled sigh. “You tricked me.”

“I let you sleep as long as I could.” Ven stood up from the bed as Aurelia rolled over onto her stomach, digging further into the warmth of the covers. “I need to pay a visit to an old friend, and I’d like you to join me. As my queen.”

“So official,” she yawned, cracking an eyelid open and catching the magnificent view of his powerful legs as he walked toward the bathing chamber.

“I’m afraid my motives are far less noble,” he threw over his broad shoulder, a smirk on his face as he caught her staring. “Hathos is much more amenable to a pretty face.”

“You shouldn’t have any trouble then,” she called after him, “so long as you shave.”

She closed her eyes again, letting sleep tug her back under just as footsteps neared the bed.

Ven’s laughter was in her ear as his stubble grated against the skin of her back, pressing kisses into her spine that made her arch in invitation.

Without warning, he ripped the heavy comforter off, the jolt of the chilled air enough to make her hiss as his rumble of laughter filled the room.

And for a moment—just a brief, glorious moment, she nearly forgot the worries that hounded them.

“No time to waste, Love,” Ven drawled, snapping his fingers.

A steaming cup of coffee woven with thick cream appeared at the table beside her. Pushing the wild waves of her hair out of her face, she picked up the substantial mug, savoring the warmth in her hands as she took a sip that burned her tongue.

She held out her coffee cup expectantly, and Ven grasped it between his fingers with a raise of his dark brows, taking a swig.

She stood up, letting the sheet fall away completely to puddle on the floor at her feet, biting her lip to hide a smirk as he choked on the coffee.

Wiping his mouth, his eyes swept down her body, darkening with desire before locking with hers. A battle of wills.

And as she took the mug of coffee back, she headed into the bathing chamber. “As you said," she glanced over a shoulder, "no time to waste.”

A string of muttered curses sounded behind her as she closed the door.

Ven’s shadows cast them into a rugged patch of mountainside, the winter air blasted the peaks around them as she scanned the horizon.

“The Western Ridge—the edge of our kingdom.” Ven looked out across the wind-whipped terrain. “I spent countless nights on these hills." His expression turned wistful. "Here—I was just another Wraith sent out to the Shades for training. Not a half-breed prince. Not the son of a queen. Not the son of a monster . . .”

She understood that more than he could know. Their burdens had been different, but she knew what it was to carry the weight of her family and the expectations that came with it.

For him—everyone waited for his father’s blood to emerge. For her—no one had expected much of anything at all.

“Most of the Blood Folk chose to live within Ravenstone’s walls,” Ven explained, leading the way, “but some wanted to remain on the outskirts of the kingdom following the war."

The path opened up ahead, revealing roughly cut dwellings carved into the cliffs, a handful of them glowing with firelight. Ven stalked forward, keeping an even pace with her as they approached a humble, wooden door.

He turned, breath misting the air between them. “Hathos and his family have been here for generations. It’s a rough way of living, but he’s always preferred the solitude.”

Through a snow dusted window, Aurelia could see a fire crackling cozily in the home, a pair of well-worn pants hung up on the hearth to dry, candles burned nearly to stumps along the windowsill.

Ven pounded his fist against the thick wood, and it wasn’t more than a few moments before the door scraped open, warm air encasing them in the smell of yeasty bread and spiced wine—the aroma startlingly at odds with the male who greeted them.

Heavy brows creased in suspicion on a face etched with age. The male had clearly witnessed millennia, but his broad shoulders still held a strength that would have rivaled someone much younger. Thick cords of muscle roped arms wide as tree trunks, and the mere size of him was enough to make Aurelia take an involuntary step back.

He took a step onto the threshold, recognition flickering behind his ruby eyes.

“My King,” the male’s rugged face split into a wide grin, much to Aurelia’s relief as Ven put his arm around her waist and brought her to stand beside him once more.

Ven clasped the male’s forearm in greeting. “To you—it’s just Ven.”

Hathos pulled Ven into his massive chest, slapping his back with thunderous affection. “Long have been the years since you have darkened my doorstep.” He put Ven at arm’s length once more, his eyes falling to where Aurelia still stood in the snow. “Well now—poor manners to keep a lady waiting in the cold. You on the other hand . . .” His gaze slid to Ven as he let out a rumble of deep laughter that threatened to set off an avalanche.

Hathos poured a steaming cup of spiced wine into the mug in front of Aurelia with a wink.

After Ven had made her introduction to the male, Hathos had been the consummate host, ushering them inside and insisting they share a drink and a meal.

They were seated at the scratched table in the center of the room, the dark wood oiled and clean, well-loved. The house was humble, but warm and inviting.

“Much has changed since we met last,” Hathos rumbled.

“Indeed,” Ven answered with a smile as his eyes slid to where Aurelia sat beside him, resting a palm on her thigh, his warmth sinking into her skin even through the thick winter leggings she wore.

“Hathos served my mother.” Ven nodded to the male. “And my grandsire before her as the Master Bladesmith. His son and daughters as well . . .”

The male across from her gave a humble dip of his chin.

The sheer size of him made sense now as she considered the weapons she’d seen the Wraiths wield. And then she caught the sadness clouding his dark eyes as they dropped to the cup in front of him, darting to the empty chairs at the table for only an instant before he seemed to compose himself once more.

“I got to witness the male before you when he was a mere pup.” Hathos smiled, his eyes crinkling like a doting father.

“I hope you have stories,” Aurelia grinned, relishing the panicked look on Ven’s face as the older male let out a rumble of laughter.

“Oh, I’ve plenty.”

Ven took a deep drink of his wine, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as Hathos regaled her with tales of adolescent Ven and Karro. None of which surprised her, but all of them making her laugh so hard that tears streamed down her face.

The hearty stew he served them quickly chased away the chill from their short journey, or maybe it was the cardamom and nutmeg he’d put in his wine. Either way, Hathos had immediately put her at ease. And he’d damn near stolen her heart when he placed a thick slice of dark brown bread the same shade as his skin in front of her, refilling her mug.

“Are you trying to steal my new bride away from me already?” Ven laughed.

“Please, boy," Hathos rumbled, "I’m too old for such sport now.”

“Boy?” Ven raised his brows, looking at the older male over the rim of his cup. “When I walked in here it was My King , have I been deemed unworthy for the job already?”

Hathos’ boom of laughter resonated throughout the small space as he sat back down at the rough table, the chair squeaking in protest as his large frame filled it.

“You’ve finally taken up your mother’s crown,” the male murmured with pride. “It’s good to see you content,” Hathos said softly, his voice rough with emotion as the two males shared a quiet understanding. “You were always restless, always searching for something,” he reflected. “Always trying to prove your place here.”

“It served me well,” Ven replied.

“Aye,” Hathos offered, eyes drifting to where she sat beside Ven, crinkling at the corners with warmth.

Ven lifted his glass in response. “To the ones who hold our hearts.”

With a somber smile, Hathos clinked his cup against it.

It was only then that Aurelia glanced around the small house. Ven had mentioned children . . . but there was no sign of anyone else passing through this space—a bachelor’s quarters. Sparse and tidy. And she wondered what the war had taken from the gruff male across from them.

“Come now, lad. I know you’re not just here to give an old male some company.”

The comfortable smile on Ven's face faltered. “I would not be here disturbing your peace if it was not essential,” Ven said.

“And did I not answer your call when you were Commander?” Hathos hedged.

Ven gave a single nod of his head, crimson eyes studying the male across from him. “You did.”

“Then why would I not also answer the call of my king?” The male replied, proud eyes never straying from Ven’s as he took another sip of wine.

Ven gave a somber smile in return, swirling the wine in his cup. “It’s time to relight the forges at Ravenstone.”

A grin spread slowly across Hathos’s ruggedly handsome face in answer.

They left the warmth of Hathos’ house to his protests.

He’d offered for them to stay the night, but she suspected despite the male’s hospitality that he had not the space nor the blankets to spare them. And if Ven had accepted, he would have all but guaranteed the male slept cold and with an empty belly.

Ven graciously declined, explaining that they had other business to attend to while they were here. But Aurelia didn’t miss the chill that swept over Hathos’ roughly hewn face when Ven mentioned their meeting with the Western Lords.

A rugged manor loomed just ahead of where Ven had cast them. And he hesitated just a heartbeat before lifting his gaze, hard and resolute as he offered an arm to her. "The Lords that rule these lands have claims that predate the split of the kingdoms. When the Blood Folk were little more than warring clans scattered throughout the Shades. They’ve had a strong hold here for millennia. Proud, ancient families—and the most vocal opponents when my mother took the throne.”

“We need their numbers,” she reasoned.

He nodded, his mouth a thin line.

The Western Ridge . The name dredged up the story he’d told her of his mother’s older sister—the female who would have been the rightful heir to the throne before his father had brutally hunted her down at these borders.

That accounted for his sudden change in mood.

“The oldest among them is a greedy male, so I don’t expect to leave here without having to give up something substantial in return,” Ven murmured as they passed the sentries posted at the entrance. Dark tendrils of his magick trailed after them, as if he wanted to keep them close.

“More lands?”

His eyes scanned the courtyard leading up the opulent entryway. “Possibly, and he’s welcome to them since there aren't many noble families left to claim them anyway.”

The doors swung open; the sentries’ heads dipped in respect.

Ven wore no crown today and she’d followed his lead. Their clothing was simple, warm to handle the winter chill in the rugged climate, but there was no mistaking Ven for anything other than what he was. His blood marked him as royalty—but even the way he carried himself brooked no room for question. Shadows rippled from him, dark and foreboding. He was power incarnate. He was a king.

They were led into a finely decorated dining room—four massive hearths roaring with fires. Rich tapestries lined the black stone walls and candles flooded the space with light across the table that stretched the length of the room. It was bare even though the evening hour called for a meal.

Five males of varying ages had gathered in the grand room. Four of them stood as Aurelia and Ven entered—the last, his once-black hair flecked with white—didn’t bother to rise from his seat at the very end.

Something whispered down Aurelia’s spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge. A memory tugging at her instincts . . .

Once food is offered, no harm may come to you inside the host’s walls.

Ven had spoken those words to her shortly after she’d awoken in Ravenstone—an attempt to put her at ease, but an important facet of their customs.

An insult—and a warning. A single glance at the aged male’s expression told her he’d meant it as such.

“My Lords,” Ven began, controlled—unbothered. And she realized that was the true display of power. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

Only one pair of red eyes glimmered with warmth at their arrival. Silver streaked through the dark hair of the broad-shouldered male, towering over the others in the room by a head.

His age-weathered face was solemn as he clasped a fist to his chest. “Your majesty.”

“It’s good to see you again, Lord Thero,” Ven replied, an attempt at diffusing the tension that had sparked in the room.

The male at the head of the table remained silent.

The younger male standing beside him, echoed, “An honor,” eyes darting between his companions, as if trying to decide whose lead to follow.

The other two dark-haired males murmured, “Your Majesty.” The title begrudgingly spoken, but Ven ignored the jab—offering a bland, polite smile in return as they took their seats.

“Your message was—unexpected.” One of the younger lords commented as servants poured glasses of Red.

Ven took a sip of his drink, meeting each of their gazes—holding the icy stare of the male furthest from them. “As the Lords of the Western Slopes, I’m sure you’re aware of the growing threat beyond our borders—”

“From your father,” the eldest male interrupted, finally breaking his silence.

Clearly the Red was as far as his generosity would stretch.

“From much more than the Nostari, Lord Bellor,” Ven plowed on, unfazed. “The Dark King has amassed an army—”

“I thought as the Wraith Commander,” the male drawled, “it was your duty to see he did not.”

The other lords shifted in their seats—the insult plain now. But to Ven’s credit, he didn’t shy away from the accusation, meeting the male’s red eyes directly.

“He created rifts in the wards—unbeknownst to us. To me. And now we’ve run out of time.”

An omission of her responsibility in all of this—the fact that the King of the Void was amassing an army to find her .

Emboldened, one of the raven-haired lords asked, “Is it true that you’re harboring one of them .”

He could only mean Valea.

A chill descended on the room, the four large hearths in the space not nearly enough to warm it.

Ven was cunning enough to hear the tone of the question . . . one wrong word and this meeting would go to shit. Maybe it already had. “A member of the Court of Flame helped us escape when we were held captive there. She remains at Ravenstone out of gratitude for the risk she took in seeing our safe return.”

The youngest lord opened his mouth, but Ven cut off his words. “We are preparing Ravenstone for an imminent attack and I have come to call on your support—as your king.”

All the lords save for Thero seemed to be following Lord Bellor’s lead out of deference for the male, quiet as he spun the stem of his cut crystal glass between thick fingers, considering. Pretending to consider.

It was clear this was a power play.

Lord Bellor finally looked up, contempt in his ancient eyes. “Your mother disgraced the crown when she put it on her head.”

Lord Thero, who had been holding his tongue, turned abruptly at the insult. “His mother—is the reason any of us are standing here today, and not fodder for the Dark King’s demon army.”

“What’s left of us you mean,” Bellor spat. “He puts on the crown of our people and suddenly you forget what he is?”

Rage crackled at Aurelia’s fingertips. After everything he’d done for his people—after everything he’d sacrificed—this is how they repaid him?

A chair scraped against the stone as Lord Thero stood. “I know exactly who he is,” he answered, towering over the others. “He fought beside me on the bloody fields of Gandria. At the front of the lines when other males were pissing their skins at the dark host fighting against us. I was proud to call him Commander then—and I am proud to call him my King now.”

Lord Bellor’s lips lifted into a snarl as he bared his fangs. “Tell that to my brothers who were slain by his father’s pale riders. Speak it over their graves for all it warms them now.” He spat onto the floor.

“My men and I are at your service, Your Majesty,” Thero offered, his square jaw working as he ignored Lord Bellor seething beside him and stormed from the room.

The other three males remained silent. Whether out of cravenness or contemplation, she couldn’t be sure.

Ven only raised the glass of Red to his lips, taking a healthy swig before he set it back down on the table.

The leash on his control slipped slightly as rage burned behind his eyes.

The flames in each of the hearths guttered simultaneously—as if his anger had sucked the oxygen from the room.

“And do the rest of you refuse your king’s command?” he uttered.

The young lord’s eyes grew wide, his throat bobbing as he seemed to look for the exits—the other lords had the wherewithal to feign composure. But Aurelia could smell the fear on them. Sour and sharp.

“I will serve my rightful king,” Lord Bellor finally spat, “when he decides to stop sitting at your side like a lapdog.”

Not an outright declaration of insubordination—a coward’s reply.

Violence glittered in his eyes as they slid to Aurelia. “You bring another half-breed abomination with you and call her queen—”

Glass shattered against the stone floor as shadows wreathed the male’s neck.

The fires roared back to life around them, the red-orange flames licking the surrounding walls and staining them black with soot.

Ven had quietly endured insults from these males all evening, but at a single word against her, the leash on his control finally snapped. Tightly contained rage leaked through his gaze as Lord Bellor clawed at his throat, crying out as a trickle of blood and spittle ran down from the corner of his mouth.

“Your tongue will heal,” Ven said with quiet menace. “Consider it a warning not to speak of my claimed again.”

Thin threads of shadow reached for Ven’s dark power—but they were batted away like wisps of smoke as he stood from his seat, offering a hand to Aurelia.

Lord Bellor slumped back into his chair, choking on his own blood as Ven finally released him.

Shadows gathered around them, darkening with his parting words to the other lords.

“It was not a request.”