50
Bile climbed my throat.
Blood seeped from Raxon’s chest, pooling beneath him on the floor. His emerald eyes stared at the stone ceiling. Vacant.
No one spoke. No one even whispered.
King Raxon was dead.
Heavy footfalls on stone lured my eyes down the long length of the room just as the doors boomed closed. Two males stood in front of them. One was as giant as a maturing wyvern, and the other…
Ruvus.
Strenard halted before them.
Voran ended the cold quiet with even colder words. “No one leaves this room until I say so.” He plucked the ceremonial dagger from his uncle’s heart, then stepped over him to stand opposite me. “Continue.” When the high priestess just stood there, gaping at the dead king, he said, “The vows.”
“Murder in the presence of a priestess is an insult,” hissed Priestess Nellassa.
Voran wiped the blood from the blade onto his sleeve. “Marrying or merely intending to marry someone after they have accepted a mating bond is considered a grave offense here in Valadorn. One that permits you to punish the offender how you see fit.”
My head spun and spun.
Had he known that before we’d accepted the bond in the Ceremonial Cave? Perhaps even before he’d lured me over Valadorn’s border and brought me to his uncle?
Heat engulfed me and burrowed into my sinking stomach.
The priestess raised a brow at me. “The late king was aware of your bond?”
I wasn’t sure I could speak. My mind continued to spin in endless loops. So I just gave her a jerked sort of nod while staring at Voran.
I heard my father’s guard mutter something to him behind me. I didn’t care to know what it was. Although I was looking at Voran, all I could see was the blood spreading across the stone floor. All I could hear was the splatter of it over my wedding gown.
Dead. Raxon was dead.
I would not have to marry him.
“Very well.” Priestess Nellassa tipped Raxon’s blood from the goblet to the floor. “We will need another blood spiller.”
Princess Elynia stepped out from the rows of wolves, where she’d been hiding. Her guard cursed and hurried after her.
But Voran raised his hand. “Let her do it.”
Elynia took the ceremonial blade from her brother. They exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher, but a genuine smile transformed the princess’s face. She squeezed her brother’s hand, her eyes misting.
“Being that both of you are now claiming new titles, you must include your pledge to Valadorn within your vows,” the high priestess said. “Do you understand how to do so?”
“I do,” Voran clipped.
“Then you will give your vows first.”
But Elynia was still smiling. She swayed, her dark blue skirts swishing around her legs, as her tear-glossed eyes bounced between us.
“Elynia,” Voran said.
“Oh.” She snatched my unbloodied hand, then frowned at it. “This one is wounded too.” Feigning a grimace, she said, “Oh well.”
I winced as she dug the blade deep and dragged it across my palm.
“Apologies,” she whispered.
I made a trembling fist above the goblet, my blood pouring in. Once it slowed, the priestess nodded at Voran.
I forced my gaze to his.
But I should have known I’d find no answers or reassurance there. Only unflinching and dark determination.
He spoke quickly yet clearly, as if impatient. “I, Voran Valadorn, rightful heir to the Valadorn throne, vow to preserve and protect this kingdom and this divinely ordained union for as long as blood warms my veins.”
His eyes stayed on me as he tossed my blood into his mouth. He licked his lips and handed the goblet back to the priestess.
Elynia dragged the blade across her brother’s palm, then retreated to stand aside the dais.
His blood trickling into the goblet seemed to mimic my wild heartbeat.
The priestess gave me a nod.
Though I could hardly feel the stone beneath my feet, nor make sense of all that had just happened, I didn’t hesitate.
My voice was clear and unwavering. “I, Ayla Cloverleaf, former Princess of Cloverleaf, vow to preserve and protect this kingdom and this divinely ordained union for as long as blood warms my veins.”
I then took the goblet from the priestess and drank Voran’s blood. I did so quickly to keep from making a face at the coppery flavor or retching. Yet I found myself doing as he had, and licked the remnants from my lips as I passed the goblet back.
“From this day until your last, you are husband and wife.” A weighted pause. “And the king and queen of Valadorn.” Nellassa touched the sapphire hanging at her forehead. “May the mother enjoy you.”
As soon as the priestess finished speaking, clapping sounded.
From Celestine, I realized when Dusk protested. She clapped alone for only a moment before others joined and thumped their chests. Not all, I noted, as Bryken and Strenard surrounded themselves with other warriors.
Voran took my hand and brought it to his mouth. He held it there as he held my eyes.
Something odious heavied my heartbeats. I averted my gaze and tried to pry my hand free without causing a scene.
His grip firmed.
The high priestess spoke quietly. “Am I correct in assuming the ceremony for the Scale Crown will be postponed?”
Voran lowered my hand but didn’t release it. “No,” he said.
Again, Priestess Nellassa raised a red brow. “Tread carefully, young king.” Her auburn eyes narrowed. “Many will conspire against you for that crown, and in the wrong hands, it will only cause more violence and heartbreak.”
Voran was now in possession of the Scale Crown. The title of high king would soon belong to him.
I looked over my shoulder—found my father watching us closely.
And I would be High Queen.
“Unless you wish to be exposed to more bloodshed this evening, I suggest you return to your accommodations, High Priestess.”
We both blinked at Voran.
He released me and stepped back. “Know that I am grateful for your willingness to set things right.”
Nellassa gave Voran a shrewd look. “I knew and respected your father.” As she stepped between us, she whispered to him, “Because of that, and because of who your mate is, I have faith in what’s happened here tonight.
You are brusque and unfeeling where it counts.
” Her eyes slid to me. “Fortunately, your wife will bring balance.”
With that, she was led through the door behind the throne by Elynia.
Dizzied suddenly, I swayed. “Voran, I—”
Snarling and cursing drew his attention to warriors in the middle of the room. His entire frame went taut. As did his voice as he ordered, “Bring him forward.”
Strenard was wrestled toward the throne.
Bryken remained near the doors, clutching his red coat.
“What beneath the waves is going on here?” my father asked.
Voran’s gaze shifted to the corner where my father stood with his guards. He’d heard him. But he ignored my father and rounded his uncle’s corpse to pace the length of the dais with his hands behind his back. “Stop.”
The warriors halted several feet from Voran with Strenard.
“You were once a palace guard, unsatisfied and wanting more, but my father knew. He knew you wished to be by his side for the wrong reasons, Strenard, which made you the perfect puppet for my uncle. Together, you devised a plan to get the power you both craved yet would never touch.”
“You lie,” growled Strenard.
Snarling came from the warriors who held him, as they forced Raxon’s personal guard to still.
Voran continued his slow pacing. “You killed my father for my uncle. You took our king’s hide, dismembered him, and left pieces of him in the wyvern spawning grounds. You made all believe Cloverleaf was responsible so that we had cause to move against them.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, mutt,” Strenard spat. “You’re good for nothing more than murdering. Your mind cannot be trusted after years of being caged.”
As those words danced with something Raxon had said to me, my stomach tightened and tightened.
“Quite the opposite, actually.” Voran smirked at the ground.
“When you are caged, you have a lot of time for thought. For things that never made sense to constantly plague you. And when you are only freed to kill and threaten your own people, many people grow fearful of you…” He stopped before his dead uncle.
“So fearful that they will do anything to survive a visit from you.”
Strenard growled. “So they lied to the ultimate liar.”
“There are only so many lies you can hear before you start to see trails leading to the truth.” Voran tilted his head. “And the truth stands before me, as desperate as he was when my father still drew breath.”
“You can prove nothing.” Strenard snarled and tried to yank free of the wolves holding him. “Not a single rotting thing.”
The wolves snarled back.
A warrior left the crowd. She prowled behind Strenard and kicked his leg. Hard. A vicious-sounding snap echoed throughout the room.
Strenard buckled, a groan trapped behind his clenched teeth.
Voran nodded once to the female, then went on. “Correct, Strenard. Though I’ve known what you and my uncle did for many years, and though I have searched endlessly, never have I found something to prove it. It was so fucking maddening that I almost stopped trying to find it—a way out.”
Again, my stomach tightened. Cramped.
Voran turned on his heel, intentionally pacing through his uncle’s blood. “Raxon knew there was no way out. Certainly not when he had Elynia, who he gleefully shared his plans with.”
The Valadorn princess raised her chin, haughty as she stared down Strenard from beside the throne.
“You cannot kill a direwolf,” Voran said.
“Not even Raxon, for all his vile tendencies, wanted to be the reason we became extinct. So he waited for me to mature to be used for breeding. Once I provided him with that firstborn babe, I was to be slain. To stop him, I would need to kill him, which I could not do without my sister safe and proof of his crimes.”
“Yet here you are,” Strenard gritted. “A king killer with no damned proof.”
Voran looked over at me, and the cramping in my stomach subsided. “I found something much better.” He then said to Strenard, “I found my mate, who just so happened to be the tool Raxon needed to keep his stolen titles.”
I’ve known since the moment your mouth first touched mine.
Heart stampeding, I gaped at Voran’s back.
All this time. All this fucking time, he’d known I was the only way he could reclaim his kingdom. The only way he could get revenge against his uncle. So he’d saved me after that kiss and forced me to repay the debt to better seduce me.
Not because Raxon had ordered him to, but for his own plans.
“Chains.” A calm yet iced command from Voran.
Two wolves came forward, each holding a chain strong enough to restrain a wyvern. As they looped the metal around the legs of the throne built into the palace foundation, I moved back and realized this had also been planned.
Raxon’s and Strenard’s deaths had been orchestrated, and Voran had garnered support from warriors—from the wolves without an alpha to lead them—in secret.
Awe and hurt fractured my breathing. My hand trembled at my chest, falling to my stomach when pain lanced through it.
Chains clanked as Strenard growled, “You’re all traitors. Fucking cowards with no minds of your own.” He stumbled to the stone as his arms and legs were restrained. “You chose wrong. He’ll make Raxon look kind, just you wait and—”
Wolves tugged at the chains around his arms. Strenard cursed, stretched over the ground.
“Pull him apart slowly.” Menace dripped from Voran’s voice. “End his life only when he confesses to killing my father.”
My vision blurred. I teetered.
Voran’s next order sounded muffled, distant, though he was mere feet away. “Escort Bryken to the dungeon for Ruvus to play with.”
Commotion came from the far end of the throne room. Bryken—being dragged through the opening doors.
“No,” he shouted. “I’ll gladly tell you anything. Everything, my liege. I was forced into this. I didn’t know what they would do to your father. I loved him, I swear—”
The doors boomed closed.
Pain sliced at my abdomen like blades. I clutched it and folded. Swayed again.
Dusk gave an ear-bleeding shriek and fluttered free of Celestine’s arms. Before she could reach me, Voran did—catching me right before I met the unforgiving stone.