Chapter 2
Chapter Two
RAGNAR
Splashing water over his face, Ragnar tried to still his thoughts. They’d been rushing for the better part of two months now. A hundred thoughts, a thousand of them, voices screaming in his mind over and over again.
What he had agreed to do was wrong.
No, it was more than wrong. It was repulsive. Helping his people in any way that he could—that was the honorable thing he had chosen to do. But marrying a human ?
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach it. He’d walk down that stupid aisle and he’d throw up right at her feet. Not in fear, but in knowing that he was going to marry one of her kind. Humans were creatures he had never found attractive, and yet now he would be bound to one. Not just in life and in marriage, but offspring were expected as well, which would require...
Gagging again, he shook his head and braced himself on the edge of the leather basin. He could do this. He had been bid by his king to make this connection, even if it was a lie.
The human king James had asked for peace. The troll king Egil had laughed and said the only peace would come from elven blood. And that was when the treaty had been signed. It was King James who had offered up his own daughter. A woman who was half elven. Her blood was pure, far more pure than Ragnar’s own, that was certain.
His people needed those bloodlines. They were tired of the baser instincts that came with being made of mud and fur. It had taken centuries for them to build up as much elven blood as they already had. The magic that ran in their veins was stronger than most humans would ever see, but it still wasn’t enough.
The troll king had no interest in using his own offspring for this treaty, however. No. He would not give a prince to a mortal woman.
That was where Ragnar came in.
The flap to his tent opened, the supple leather barely making a sound as another massive troll walked through the opening. His brother, Gunnar, was the spitting image of their father. Broad shoulders, darker green skin, and tusks that were so large they nearly curved up to his cheekbones. His flat features were what made him so handsome to the troll women, but it was the faded stripes on his skin that set him even more apart.
They had the same set, he and his brother. Markings that made them blend into the foliage when they moved through the birch groves that dotted their mountain home. But Ragnar had not been blessed with the same deep green skin. He took after their mother, with plum and mulberry streaked beneath the tattoos across his arm and chest.
“You look like we’re sending you to the gallows, rather than a wedding,” his brother said with a laugh. He leaned forward and smacked Ragnar’s shoulder hard enough that he knocked into the basin and nearly sent it to the floor. “Careful. Your troll wife will wish to know her husband is strong.”
He could still taste the bile on his tongue at the thought of her. He groaned, “You know I have no interest in humans.”
“Yes, you’ve always found them so disgusting. Why was that again?”
“Because they are weak. Their skin is far too pale. They have no talons, no claws, nothing even remotely pretty about them. Instead they are just?—”
Gunnar interrupted him because he’d heard this rant far too many times. “Fleshy bags of weakness that should be hunted into the next realm?”
“Yes!” He burst out. “That’s exactly what they are, and I have no patience for it. I understand the king having no wish to marry his son to one of them, believe me. But why is he sending me, of all people?”
“Because you are the best of us.”
The best of them.
He’d heard it countless times. And he knew that there was some sense to the claim. He was larger than most trolls. Both he and his brother were massive beasts, even among their kind. His chest was broad, his waist trim, his tusks were sizeable but not overwhelmingly large. Their mother had been nearly a quarter elf, which gave both him and Gunnar impressive magical abilities. Any woman would be glad to have him.
Ragnar reached for a few of the piercings in his ear, tugging at the ones that he’d gotten for his wife. Each of them had meaning, but the rings at the very tips of his pointed ears showed her that he had plenty of elven blood to gift their children. There were more piercings as well. Countless of them.
Ones he had gotten for her. The famed mate he had dreamt of his entire life, who would now prove to be a nightmare.
Sighing, he shook his head. “I am not the best of us. If they were looking for that troll, then they should have chosen you.”
Gunnar grinned, his tusks only marginally getting in the way of the expression. “Ah, yes. But I am not meant to have a troll wife yet.”
It was always the same excuse. The same reasoning. Those who were meant to have troll wives were found in the smoke and mirages of those who could see the future. Just like he was now supposed to go see their Bone Reader. The seer who would tell him that he was, indeed, about to meet his mate for life. Confirming what he already knew, because the king’s Smoke Breather had already deemed it so.
Sighing, he ran his hand over his head, scratching at the newly shaved sides that were already growing sharp stubble. “I shaved my head for her. For this woman who I know I will not wish to have as a troll wife.”
“And yet, you look like a mate.” Gunnar opened the flap of his tent and a spear of light filled the room. “Come, brother. Morning is upon us and the Bone Reader grows antsy to get home.”
“At least she can go home alone,” he muttered, and followed his brother out into the sunlight.
He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, the burning light of the sun a blinding white that took long moments for him to get used to. Trolls were not creatures who regularly found themselves in sunlight. Many of them still had the slitted gaze of a cat, or the rounded wide-eyed vision of owls. Twilight was the time when trolls saw best. Not at high noon like this.
Grumbling under his breath, he weaved through a crowd of his brethren. Women and men, trolls of immense power, created a wall between him and his fate. He pushed through muscular bodies, all while listening to the sound of clinking piercings and gnashing teeth. The flashing of fangs and tusks and claws filled his vision until he pushed through the many-colored bodies to the center of their tented circle. And there she sat.
The Bone Reader.
She swayed on the ground, her legs crossed beneath her. Her dark hair was dreaded and piled atop her head in intricate designs. There were bones woven throughout those strands. The remains of creatures she called upon when she wished to see the future. Her eyes were milky white, and her skin a pale lavender that was so thoroughly tattooed it was almost impossible to see what her skin color really was.
She sat cross-legged on a rug someone had laid out for her, a low hum building underneath her breath as she swayed. The other trolls fell silent as Gunnar shoved him into the middle. They all watched, waiting for the moment when they would witness the confirmation of a mated pair.
His stomach rolled again. He did not want this to be his moment. Ragnar had always prayed that he would find a troll wife with certain traits he’d find beautiful. Rounded muscles in her arms. Tusks that were perhaps smaller than his own, but ones that would scrape against his as he kissed her. Light blue skin, the color of the sky just before the clouds came in. And pitch black hair, like coals in a fireplace.
Now, he would find none of those things in the partner he had been thrust upon.
The Bone Reader reached out her hand, her palm full of tiny animal bones. Some of them were rabbit, he knew that from memory. Others, he thought, might’ve been the individual ribs of a snake. They all rattled in her hand as she shook them.
“Ragnar, Seed of Frode, Son of Ingvild. You stand before me in search of a troll wife.”
No.
No, he didn’t.
He didn’t want a troll wife, not like this. He wanted a woman who desired him. Who could see the beauty in the world they shared together. He wanted a wife who didn’t hate his people, like a human certainly would.
But the bones never lied. They rattled in her hands on their own now, magic coursing through them as the icy tendrils of their power coiled around his body. He was forced to take another step closer, bit by bit, until he was right in front of her.
He stared into those milky eyes, feeling the icy shards of her power crawling through him, and he envisioned the troll wife he wanted. He thought of her bravery, in the face of all odds. He thought of the kindness in her heart, and how she looked at all trolls with love and not judgment. But above all else, he thought of a bride who loved him dearly and with every ounce of her being.
The icy power radiated through his body until he was on his knees before the Bone Reader. Her eyes were level with his, and he could see the power in her gaze. It sparkled through her body, making her veins glow with a strange darkness that he could see like a web through her skin. She was powerful. He wondered how they’d gotten such a powerful seer to risk her life and come this close to a human settlement.
The Bone Reader trailed her fingers along his ears. They weren’t as long as hers, but his points were prominent.
“A good bloodline,” she said quietly. “You got these from your mother.”
“My father had less elven blood than she did.”
“And so you will follow in your father’s footsteps. A man who sees true goodness in his children, regardless of what they look like. You have a good heart, Ragnar, but I fear you are short sighted.”
He wasn’t following the last bit. Or the first, really. The princess was supposed to be well over half elven and that should mean his children would be even more than that. “Has the king lied to us?” he asked without thinking.
But she did not answer his question, because that was not the reason she was here. The bones in her hands rattled free. They clacked against each other, skittering across the ground into a pattern that meant nothing to his eyes, but everything to the Bone Reader.
She poured over them, her back arching as she hunched over the skeletal remains. She murmured under her breath, nudging a bone here and there as though it displeased her. But then she leaned back on her haunches.
He could see the disappointment in her gaze. The answer was not the one he wanted either, and he felt the need to reassure her that he already knew the damage was done. He would suffer with a bride he did not want. Their lives would be miserable and he would give up the future he had once dreamt for himself, all because the king thought he was the right troll for this job.
Instead, she gestured for a man at her side to come forward with a bowl of white paint. “A troll wife is a responsibility. She weaves herself around your soul like the roots of a tree.”
The Bone Reader pressed her palm to the bowl of paint and then over his thundering heart. It was all he could hear. The pounding in his chest nearly drowned out the sound of her words as she continued to speak.
“I open your heart to the woman who walks into your life. It is your responsibility to take care of your troll wife. You will keep her safe, keep her happy, and you will put her needs above all others. Even your own.”
He could hear the crowd murmuring in agreement. To them, the creation of a mated pair was nothing short of holy. They were bound, body, mind, and soul. There was no getting out of a mated pair without death. Not even if he begged the gods themselves to free him from the torment.
The Bone Reader dipped both of her hands into the paint this time, a grim expression on her face as she met his gaze. “You have been blinded by too many years of fighting and hatred, Ragnar. Your troll wife waits for you beyond the walls of that city. You will stride into the wedding with your heart locked away because what you see is far beyond what your heart can stand to reason with. But the gods have spoken. The gods have sent her to you. I will do my best to open your gaze.”
She reached forward and pressed the palms of her hands into the hollows of his eyes. Her fingers reached beyond his temples, into the short strands of hair he’d shaved just yesterday. Leaving the handprints behind, she met his gaze once more with a sad expression.
As the trolls behind him went wild, their chants echoed through the clearing. “Troll wife! Troll wife!”
“The hunt is on,” the Bone Reader said. “The gods have chosen wisely for you. Even if you do not believe it to be so.”
“I know you are lying,” he quietly replied, standing and towering above her. “It will be a hard path for both of us to walk.”
“I suspect you will make it harder for her to walk than it has to be. I know my words will change little to nothing in your eyes, but Ragnar, hear me. It is not the end of the world to be mated to a human.”
“I don’t see you mated to one.”
He turned toward the crowd of trolls behind him and lifted his fist into the air. They all cried out, stomping their feet on the ground and repeating the chant of troll wife . They would hunt tonight. They would go out into the human realm and bring back his mate.
They didn’t care that he didn’t want one. Nor did they care he didn’t want her .
This was his path to walk. No matter the consequences of what waited for him at the end.