Blood and Bond
Matilda lay on her side under the warmth of the blankets and absentmindedly rubbed the heavy ruby on the chain around her neck.
It was a troublesome tick she developed shortly after the ambush, which had her betrothed frequently unclasping her fingers from around it.
The threat of reclaiming the necklace for himself usually halted her self-soothing.
A sharp pain below her stomach made her pause and clutch it.
Her breathing shallowed as she waited to be struck with another pain, but none came.
She hesitated to relax, fixated on the possibility it would happen again.
Eventually, she relaxed against the cushions and considered it a random phenomenon.
“It is far too early for that,” she mumbled to herself. “You must stay in there as long as possible because I’ll be gone once you’re born until I claw myself up to the surface again.”
She lost herself in her thoughts again—a constant since meeting the dukes and receiving the devastating news that she had to be turned.
What if it took months or years for her to return?
What if she missed those precious moments with her child that she wouldn’t be able to get back?
What if she didn’t return at all? How would her beloved fare without her?
Her mind anxiously raced, and the stone walls seemed to close in around her when the multiple locks that safeguarded their sleeping quarters tumbled.
After the deadly attack, her lover had a series of complicated locks fashioned on the bedroom door, and only he had the keys. She was a prisoner—a willing prisoner—but a prisoner all the same.
Matilda smirked as she recalled the moments since her fateful and unexpected meeting with King Alesi in the woods.
Then, she would’ve done everything in her power to escape, but the thought hadn’t crossed her mind since he had hunted her down at Belzar’s tavern and whisked her away to his foreboding castle.
“My Queen? Do you slumber?” Luka whispered as he entered their bedchambers.
“Aye,” she whispered back.
“Those who slumber do not speak,” he said, securing the door.
“The phrase is, ‘Dead men do not speak.’ I am neither dead nor a man.”
Luka sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh and folded back the fur that hid her beautiful face from him.
“Thanks be to the gods that you’re neither dead nor a man.”
Matilda grinned and propped herself up on an elbow.
“I don’t know about that, my King. I believe you’d still fancy me if I were a man.”
“You are deranged,” he sighed again, smoothing a hand down her cheek.
“Can you imagine it?” she asked with bright, mischievous eyes.
“Imagine what?”
“You on your back—panting and near delirium with my manhood plunging in and out—”
She giggled when he slapped a hand over her mouth.
“If I had known that locking you away for two hours would cause you to lose your mind, I would’ve made wiser choices.”
He removed his hand and instantly regretted it when she said, “I would be a top.”
“We wed tonight,” he said suddenly, smiling softly when her mouth gaped, reminding him of an aspirating fish on the riverbank.
“We wed tonight?”
“Aye.”
“How is that possible? We—”
“For a royal wedding to be deemed official, at least three nobles must be present to certify the marriage.”
“And those three nobles would be Duke Gustafson, Duke Brennan, and Duke Mirren,” she muttered.
“Precisely,” he answered, grabbing her hand. “I know it is not the wedding you desire, but—”
“I never fathomed getting married, and those who sparked interest were warned off with the threat of torture and bloodshed. I certainly never desired to marry the ruthless Vampire King of Night Falls. Nothing is ever as we desire.”
“You have had marriage offers? I am aware that Belzar often propositioned you, but it seems far-fetched that you’d have many suitors.”
It was Matilda’s turn to sigh.
“You forgot Beta David.” He sucked his fangs and waved her off, dismissing the thought. “I have had multiple suitors, but none who could offer me anything of substance. Some claimed they could protect me, which was laughable. The others did not have enough coins to entice me.”
“And I had enough coins to entice you?”
Matilda shrugged with a smirk, “Just barely.”
“Amazing,” he chuckled. “Do you require assistance with your wedding dress?”
“I do. But I do not want you to see me in my dress yet.”
He nodded. “I am unable to have a servant assist you due to the secrecy of our marriage.”
“We are not announcing our union?”
“Under advisement, it was suggested we wait to announce our marriage until you’re turned.”
“To keep the peace?”
“Yes.”
“I guess some things can’t be helped,” she commented, scooting off the bed. She approached her armoire and unlocked the latch, allowing the door to swing open.
“I can close my eyes,” he offered, not wanting to disappoint her. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded.
“That should suffice, my King.”
She waited until his eyes were closed and retrieved her wedding dress, bringing it to her chest. The fabric swished around her feet as she shuffled toward the bed.
She stripped out of her nightgown, stepped into the royal dress, and shimmied it into place.
She pressed her hands against her chest to hold up the bodice until her beloved could tie the back.
“Are your eyes still closed?”
“They are,” he confirmed, vibrating with nerves.
Matilda turned her back towards him and led him through the intricate process of fastening her dress.
She often stumbled over her words when his fingers brushed against her bare skin.
They were the same electrical currents she felt whenever he touched her, but she was finding that every stroke felt brand new, as if it were happening for the first time.
“My task is complete, my beloved,” he whispered in her ear, sending a jolt of lust through her when his warm breath caressed her cheek.
“I have one request, Luka,” Matilda said breathily. She moaned when he squeezed the back of her neck.
“I love it when you say my name.”
“I have one request, Luka,” she repeated.
“I have a compulsion to fulfill your request.”
“Once our union is blessed, we shall return to our quarters immediately to celebrate.”
“No.”
“No?” she said in disbelief.
“I shall kick our esteemed guests out of the throne room and have my fill of you there.”
Matilda licked her lips at the thought of being bent over her husband’s throne.
She cleared her throat.
“I-I have another request.”
“Of course, you do.”
“We leave our crowns on.”
“Whatever my wife desires.”
***
“You are buzzing with excitement,” Ezra commented to Luka, who fidgeted before him while they waited for Matilda’s anticipated arrival.
“It seems you are unable to differentiate between excitement and annoyance. She was fully dressed when I left her. Why must she dawdle on one of the most important nights of her life?” he groused.
Ezra shrugged. “Perhaps she doesn’t consider tonight the most important night of her life.”
“Impossible,” Luka huffed.
Ezra watched as the king’s shoulders rolled back and his Adam’s apple repeatedly bobbed.
“What aren’t you saying, my King?”
“I never imagined I’d be here again.”
“Do you feel guilt?”
Luka shook his head and clasped his wrist in front of him.
“Nay, and that is what troubles me. There is no guilt, sadness, or yearning for Anastasia. It is as if she never existed. It is only Matilda.”
“Just as the gods will it. May favor bless your union and Matilda’s journey from the afterlife.”
Luka acknowledged his advisor with a nod. His throat tightened with emotion as he thought of what he had to do. He had to kill his beloved—his everything—and leave the rest to chance.
The doors to the throne room creaked open, capturing everyone’s attention.
Tears pricked Luka’s eyes as soon as they landed on his beloved.
She stood at the end of the aisle, wrapped in a gown of blood red silk.
The dress fitted with tiny garnet beads clung to her motherly figure before giving way at the empire waist to a sweeping skirt that pooled around her feet.
The fabric caught the torchlights, turning each fold into a ripple of fire.
Long, fitted sleeves opened at the elbow into trailing panels that whispered against the floor when she moved.
Her curly hair haloed around her shoulders in lustrous curls that smelled like lavender and honey.
Her lips were pouty and stained red, and the ruby around her neck was as blinding as the sun.
His breath caught from the sight of her.
The throne room seemed to extend with every step she took—cruelly keeping her miles away and simultaneously just out of reach.
The only thing that ruined the vision before him was Duke Gustafson escorting her with an arm looping through hers.
It took every ounce of self-control not to gracefully tear off the duke’s appendage.
Matilda admired her beloved as she made her way to him. He waited before the dais—tall and still as a statue carved from a dragon’s tooth.
He wore a tunic of deep black velvet, cut to fit his broad shoulders, with a sable fur draped over one side.
The front of his tunic bore ornate gold clasps, and his trousers were black leather.
A crimson silk sash wrapped around his waist, matching her gown.
Upon his head rested a crown of blackened steel inlaid with garnets, each stone catching the firelight like droplets of blood.
Briefly, Matilda’s eyes tracked to her crown nestled on a ruby red velvet pillow in Duke Mirren’s hands.
Finally, she arrived, dropping Duke Gustafson’s arm. He shifted towards his son, beaming at the opportunity to witness history in the making.
Luka reached out and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.
“What held you?”
“A visit to the galley,” she responded honestly.
Silently, he wiped a bread crumb from the corner of her mouth.
“I am convinced you’re comprised of blood and bread.”
“I’d rather be comprised of blood and bread than blood and bullshit like you,” she said with a teasing smirk.
The dukes’ laughter bounced off the stone walls and velvet tapestries.
“It is not too late to change your mind,” Duke Brennan commented.
Luka smiled and said, “She was born slightly touched.”
“Slightly touched?” Matilda squawked. “If I am slightly touched, then you were punched!”
The laughter increased.
“You win,” he said, finally surrendering.
“Shall we begin?” Ezra asked.
“Please.”
“Please join hands.”
Matilda held back a shiver when Luka’s cool fingers curled around her warm ones. Ezra resumed, placing a length of braided crimson and gold cord across their joined hands.
“In the presence of those here gathered, we bind two souls—one immortal and one mortal—in blood and eternal vows. Do you, King Luka Alesi, vow to guard her life as you guard your own, and in doing so, guard the life she now carries?”
“I vow it,” Luka answered, voice low but solid as he stared into her eyes.
“And do you, Matilda Helsing, vow to walk at his side in darkness and in light, to be his heart in the absence of beat?”
“I vow it,” she whispered, gaze locked on the man she loved more than mortal life itself.
Ezra drew a silver dagger from a sheath. Matilda winced when a shallow cut was made on her palm as on Luka’s.
“Please join hands.”
Their blood mingled as their hands pressed together in love and commitment.
“Then by blood and by bond, you are one.”
Luka lowered his head, pressing a kiss to Matilda’s lips. It was slow, claiming, and full of promise.
“Duke Mirren?” Ezra called. Duke Mirren stepped forward with Matilda’s crown and bowed. Ezra plucked the crown off the pillow, bowed, and offered it to Luka to crown his bride.
Matilda started to lower her head when he stopped her.
“You will never lower your head—not for me, the crown, or Night Falls. Hold your head up, Matilda.”
Matilda held back tears as she straightened. The tears spilled forward when the weight of the bejeweled crown rested upon her head.
“It is official—blessed by the gods and guided by fate beneath the moon. I hereby acknowledge you, Queen Matilda Seraphina Alesi.”
“Thank you, my King.”
Luka didn’t hesitate to wrap her in his embrace as the small group of witnesses cheered and clapped. His lips found hers once more, and he didn’t stop loving her until Duke Gustafson made an announcement.
“I apologize for the interruption, but we’d like to take a moment to bequeath your wedding gift.”
He clapped his hands, and the doors swung open. A bedraggled man in manacles was escorted by two guards flanking him, and one in the rear with a spear, ready to impale him at a moment’s notice.
Matilda gasped when he came closer.
“What is it, my Queen?”
“That’s him,” she whispered, pointing at the man.
“Him? Who is he?” Luka questioned, giving the disheveled man a once-over.
“It’s Gregorio. The man who propositioned me to assassinate you.”