45
The journey to the Serakan Mountains took only a few hours via sleigh.
Yet it felt like a glimpse of eternity.
Before I’d left the dining room last night, the king said that we’d depart for the trial after lunch. Also that Voran would patrol the river with other warriors to give the pretense of monitoring the trial and guarding his king.
After telling Celestine all that had and would happen, I left Dusk with her in the commander’s rooms. She’d been concerned, yet hopeful, as she’d emphasized that this was an opportunity to talk to Voran alone.
To get answers once I’d crossed the river and made it to the Ceremonial Cave.
Knowledge is armor, she’d said. Shield yourself with as much as you can.
She was right. But my fear and this persistent ache…
Even if Voran would indulge me, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him alone. Or that I wanted to know why he hadn’t told his uncle that he hadn’t failed in seducing me. Not entirely.
Tents dotted the snow-blanketed valley and foothills. Before numerous fires, crowds gathered in thick clusters, wearing coats and cloaks and hats crafted from fur and leather and wool.
I pulled my own cloak tight against me. Wool lined my long black boots, which were a thin yet durable leather. Theela said they’d been made just for this trial. My long-sleeved black tunic and britches, too.
Not only did the ensemble remind me of my time at the archives, but it would also help me to blend in.
The driver eyed me closely.
I didn’t know his name, so I just gave him a small smile before finally walking from the sleigh toward the king’s. It waited at the side of the valley. Guards surrounded the grand tent before it.
Within, the king sat upon a wooden chair lined in furs.
More furs were draped at his booted feet for someone curled there. The guard who’d barged into my rooms in search of the princess moved aside, revealing a female. I halted at the sight of silver hair.
Elynia.
Her olive eyes found mine and immediately brightened. A feline smile accompanied the wriggle of her fingers.
I should have joined her. The king was expecting me.
But he was talking animatedly to Bryken, jewel-bedecked hands waving. His booming laugh caused a shiver as I walked on.
The princess raised a brow.
Wanting to see this river I would cross, I lifted the hood of my cloak over my hair and ventured into the crowded valley.
Covering my hair and shadowing my face was pointless among wolves. Many knew exactly who I was, likely from my foreign scent, and turned to watch me pass. Others were too distracted to care.
Birds of prey circled the snow-capped peaks of the Serakan Mountains. Glinting soon seared my eyes—afternoon light thrown from the frozen waterfall. Shielding them, I spied the river beneath it. Wide then narrowing to trail through the valley.
Sudden laughter, jeering, and snarling lured my attention to two wolves, fighting over at the riverbank. I backtracked and chose a different route between tents. Tossed from one I passed, ale hissed across snow.
As I stepped around it, feminine laughter and a moan escaped the dark green fabric, and I began to question if a closer look at the river was worth it. Before I could decide, crunching footfalls had me turning.
A young male ran toward me. His cheeks were tinged red, either from the cold or from trying to find me.
“Princess.” He rushed out, “You must come with me at once.”
I frowned but followed him back through the throng of tents to the king’s.
Raxon rose from his chair when he saw me.
Elynia gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. But as the king stomped over the furs and took me by the arm, I understood she’d been warning me.
Not that it would have saved me from being dragged beyond the king’s chair into the deepest portion of the tent. Raxon flung my arm away and hissed, “I heard something rather interesting just this morning.”
More than the cold raised the hair at my nape. Cautiously, I asked, “Majesty?”
“Are you intact?” The question was hurled like an accusation.
Shocked, I blinked repeatedly. “King Raxon, I—”
“Have you been fucked by fingers or a cock?”
Each word came pushed through his teeth, and I knew. I knew if he discovered my innocence—that I wasn’t yet fertile—then he wouldn’t allow Voran to consummate the marriage on his behalf.
He’d do it himself.
So I let my eyes struggle to hold his as I twirled some hair around my finger. “Both, Majesty.”
Raxon stared down at me. Seemed to search my face for any hint of my lie.
Then he spun to pace the end of the tent.
When he kicked a pail of fish, I flinched. They flopped onto the snow soiled by our boots. For endless moments, he stared at them with his hands on his hips before turning to me. He smiled as if he hadn’t had an outburst. “So rarely can a king take someone for their word alone.”
My stomach lurched.
Eyes tight on me, he ordered, “Oula, take Elynia outside and close the tent. Make sure no one enters.”
The guard, who I now suspected was assigned solely to the princess, offered Elynia her hand. She took it and rose, fur cloak falling like fresh snow. On her way out, the princess tossed me another warning look that heightened the fear shortening my breath.
Raxon removed his cloak and then hung it from his chair. “Pants off and take a seat, Princess.” He unfastened his own pants.
No.
No, no, no.
“I don’t understand,” I said, though I understood perfectly. “W-what about your desire for a wolf heir?”
Amusement dripped from his voice. “Fret not, Ayla. You are merely going to let me inspect your cunt for the truth while you suck my cock.”
As if he’d slapped me, I flinched again. “My High King,” I almost pleaded. “I would rather not do something so intimate in the midst of company.”
“No one will enter this tent without my permission.” Rolling his neck, he gave me a venomous smile. “Now let me inspect you. If you have spoken true, then this shall prepare you nicely for my nephew.”
And leave me smothered in his scent. Everywhere.
It seemed Voran hadn’t lied about one thing. His uncle indeed resented him. Loathed him. Wanted to take anything and everything from him. Even my innocence.
“Ayla.” Raxon’s gaze narrowed—sharpened. “Do as you’re told, or I’ll open the tent and let people watch as Strenard holds you down for me.”
I failed to feel my extremities, to know if I even breathed, as I removed my cloak and waded over the furs to his chair. A tear slid down my cheek. It splashed onto my trembling hands while I fumbled with my pants.
Raxon came to stand before me, his cock mostly covered by his stroking hand. I looked away—averted my eyes to a pitcher of wine on an overturned crate behind him—as I pushed my pants to my knees and fought an onslaught of tears.
Footsteps crushed the snow outside.
I heard Strenard growl, “Leave.”
Raxon curled a finger beneath my chin. “Sit. Then open your legs and that pretty mouth.”
“Impatience grows. The Gelvin family was just caught trying to crack the ice.”
Voran.
His presence and those words made me even more tense. If anyone could crack mid-winter ice, it was wolves.
I pulled my pants up.
Murmuring a slew of curses, Raxon gazed at the canvas over our heads. He then tucked his cock into his pants. He turned just as the tent opened. “Join the patrol,” he ordered. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
I glimpsed Voran’s hair and his leather coat before the king closed the tent. He collected something from a trunk.
A gray pelt.
He tossed it at me. “Put it on.”
I caught it and frowned. “I already have a cloak, Majesty.”
“A female on trial must wear the pelt of the first trialed queen, and nothing else,” he said absently. “Tradition.”
Then he was gone, the tent flaps swaying closed behind him.
I quickly undressed and donned the cloak. It smelled like mothballs and damp fur, and draped over my shoulders to fall to my thighs. I looked at my pants, wondering if Raxon actually expected me to wear nothing else.
Of course he did.
Already shivering, I stepped back into my boots.
Outside of the tent, a castle of snow stood before Elynia. She watched her brother cut through the wolves in the valley, then looked up at me with her brows high.
Strenard muttered, “Get inside.”
Elynia pouted. “Can I not watch the trial, too?”
Strenard just waited until the princess rose. She kicked her snow-castle over before brushing past me into the king’s tent. Her guard trailed her inside.
Scowling at my boots, Strenard asked, “Are you being defiant or are you simply stupid?”
Stunned, I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
He stabbed a beefy finger at my boots. “Nothing else means nothing else.”
“But I’m going to walk across ice. Surely, I cannot be expected to do—”
“Stupid and defiant.” He crouched, as if he’d remove my boots himself. I stepped back, and he glowered as he straightened. “Remove them or the trial is forfeit.”
Behave, I reminded myself. Survive.
Forfeiting this trial wouldn’t merely tell this kingdom that I didn’t wish to marry Raxon—it would be akin to spitting on every citizen within it. All I’d ever wanted was to be queen. All I’d ever craved was the respect of my people and father and friends.
I didn’t want to be Valadorn’s queen.
But if I wanted to survive, I had to become just that. So I needed this kingdom’s respect. If that meant saying goodbye to some of my dignity, then so be it. I peeled off the boots and socks, wincing as my feet encountered the snowy grass.
Strenard grunted, “Follow me.”
I did so at a safe distance, eyeing the tents I passed. Most were empty. Coils of smoke rose from snow-covered fires. Laughter and shouting and chatter reached me long before I reached the last line of tents astride the river.
My toes curled into the snow as I halted.
It was much worse than I’d glimpsed. Hundreds of faeries, perhaps over a thousand, awaited my trial. They’d gathered in bulging groups, making it seem like they were fighting for space at the riverbank.
Ahead, Strenard ordered people to vacate the small bridge.
I pried my burning feet from the snow and walked on. Fearing the aged brooch might fail and reveal me, I clutched the cloak at my chest, relieved when I felt slippery wood beneath my feet. Under the bridge was a frozen curl of water.
The narrowest portion of the river.
As my eyes traced it back to the mountains, I squeezed the pelt tighter.
There it was. Beneath that crystallized waterfall loomed the giant mass of frozen water I needed to cross.
Drums boomed.
My heart slowed as we left the bridge and trailed the riverside.
Numerous eyes turned our way. Conversation and merriment paused with each step deeper into the throng of people. Though they gave us room, the smell of fur and leather and smoke and the heat of unwavering attention overwhelmed.
Raxon had spoken true.
While many had undoubtedly made the journey to witness something entertaining, something that would be inked upon the pages of Valadorn history books, others wanted to see this because they were wary of me.
Numerous gazes confirmed it. These people would not respect me until I’d proven why they should. And as we neared the belly of the river, that wariness worsened. There were only gold eyes. Only black uniforms and furred cloaks with brooches signifying rank.
All wolves. All warriors.
They stood in neat formation by the riverbank, a walkway created between them for us. They were the reason Valadorn was formidable. But even if the crown did not employ them to protect and serve, they would still be the heart of this wintry realm.
And being surrounded by so many of them had me wanting to dip my chin and lower my gaze.
Don’t you dare, I inwardly screamed at myself.
I could not cower before the people I most needed to respect me.
So I kept my head high and marched barefoot between the endless rows of wolves. I rolled my lips when I feared they might quiver, and I clenched the cloak tight at my chest to stop my hands from shaking.
The closer we got to the mountains, the colder it became. Wind stirred white tendrils from trees in the hillsides and sent them flurrying toward us. I fought a shiver. Fought the urge to run across the ice so that I could warm my poor extremities in the Ceremonial Cave as Strenard halted.
He faced some wolves lining the bank. All were tall and broad enough to block my view of the river.
One nod from Strenard, and two warriors stepped back onto the ice. Strenard turned to me, a bushy brow raised as he gestured to the gap they’d left.
Both terrified and anxious to get this horrid ordeal over with, I walked forward to stand where instructed.
The drumming increased. My heartbeat matched it as I stared across the vast expanse of frozen water. On the other side, warriors stood in the same formation, while onlookers waited farther downstream.
Silver caught my eye.
Twice.
Voran and King Raxon stood directly across the river from me. Their hair swirled in the wind that sent more flurries gusting over the ice between us.
A horn blared.
I jumped.
Strenard shoved me onto the ice.
I stumbled and almost slipped. Huffs of contained laughter came from the wolves around me. Teeth gnashed, I whirled to glare at Strenard. “That was wholly unnecessary, yet extremely telling.”
Before he could unleash the outrage burnishing his eyes, I walked out onto the burning ice.
I had no strategy. I had no idea if careful steps would be better than hurried ones. The middle of eternal winter, the king had said.
I ran.
I ran until I reached the center of the river—where I slipped, then slid across the ice on my side. The noise from my audience drowned my hiss of pain. But the commotion echoing through the valley failed to smother the sound that locked my bones when I tried to get up.
A crack.
On my hands and knees, I watched the fissure spread in a zigzagging line. Watched as something dark grew beneath the ice.
And slammed into it.