Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Consort House, Shadow Court
Daire
“Dinner is almost ready.” I stir the simmering stew in the soot-blackened pot. The pot perches over the glowing embers of the hearth. “And you doubted my cooking ability.”
I take a satisfied sniff of the earthy scent of lentils, onions, and fragrant herbs.
Instantly, the smell transports me to the frozen forests of my homeland, sitting around with my Frost Clan.
This was the meal that I would cook for Bai, whenever the youngest featherglass member and my personal attendant was sick or injured. It never failed to cheer up the rascal.
I stir the stew again.
I’ve been drawn to falling back onto simple domestic things that kept up the spirits of my bandit army ever since Freya and I were sent to this cold Consort House in the palace’s shadow, maybe because it feels so much like being sent into exile.
A squat limestone villa, the Consort House is surrounded by an untended courtyard with nothing in it but a single ancient olive tree and wildflowers.
In the past, the building would at least have been bright with frescoes of dragons on the whitewashed walls, but they’ve faded now, just like the sagging terracotta roof.
The house is as forgotten as Decima hopes Freya and I will be.
Liviana will be crowned in our place as Empress. She will claim the throne and power. She will enjoy our place in Aurelius’ warm, glittering nest.
At least, that’s what she thinks.
I glance at the pile of golden blankets and pillows that I have worked into a nest for Freya and me by the side of the hearth to keep us as warm as possible.
The Consort House has no bed.
A smile tugs at my lips at the memory of Aurelius awkwardly stripping his own royal bed of every single piece of bedding and stuffing them into my arms to take with me, when Maximinus’ personal guard arrived to escort Freya and me to Consort House.
“To remember me by,” Aurelius said, stiffly.
We couldn’t talk openly, but I understood.
He was telling Freya and me that he remained loyal.
He was asking me to trust him.
It has been a week now, however, and there are only seven days left until the Primo Festival and the coronation.
The dragon is asking a lot because the way that Freya clung to me in these blankets on the first night and whispered doesn’t this feel like a rejection…?
It shattered my heart.
“More like house arrest,” I replied. “Since there is a guard stationed outside. It looks like being a consort in Draca Kingdom is no different to being a bloody prisoner. Shall I try and walk out the door and see what happens?”
Freya only clung to me tighter. “Don’t you fucking dare. I have already lost two of my Alphas. I’m not losing you.”
Except, sending us here was the right decision.
Maximinus needs to believe that he has the upper hand, right up until the moment that he doesn’t.
Aurelius acted sweetly guilty about moving us here.
It is equally sweet that he doesn’t understand giving me this space has given me the advantage.
He still doesn’t believe that I have always been in control.
Aurelius’ face is going to be bloody priceless when he figures it out.
Freya relaxes at the simple oak table, drumming her fingers on it. “I just figured that a king like you would have an army cook or something. Your meals are delicious, however, even though we’ve only been given a couple of simple ingredients.”
“Well, I am brilliant.” I wink.
Freya rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you order someone else to cook for you?”
“We were a child army, remember? We barely survived in the first years, foraging off the land and stealing. Aurelius is right that I am a criminal. We starved and ate anything that we could. I was one of the oldest kids, so of course I learned to cook, or we’d have subsisted off handfuls of berries and roots.
You get creative when you’re hungry. Also, when you have people who rely on you to live from day to day, aye?
To Lanlin and Aurelius, kingship is this theoretical thing, but to me, it’s been agonizingly real.
I’ve witnessed it in the faces of my people both living and dead. ”
I break off. I’ve said too much.
My chest is tight.
Freya’s gaze is searching like she is trying to understand me.
I shift my wings on my back, uncomfortable.
Freya pushes her hair out of her eyes. “In Orm, the nobles didn’t go anywhere near the kitchens.
They simply stuffed their faces with the food that they were served.
I can’t imagine Prince Bard knowing one end of a pot from the other.
He never had his nose out of a magic book, unless he was training with his heathen wolves. ”
I glance at Freya, warily. “My magic book.”
“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten we need to talk about the fact that in Blood Kingdom you told me Bard was secretly working on taking over from King Ulf because he worshiped you, his feathered god.”
“Oh, look at that, dinner is ready.” I give a sharp smile.
Then I spoon the steaming stew into two earthenware bowls.
I frown, when I spill some of the lentils onto the mosaic floor. My eyesight has become patchy again, but I expected that.
It was going to deteriorate.
What I don’t know is how fast it will decline.
I treasure every time that I can study my Spark’s beautiful face. I memorize it, both awake and sleeping, so that I will have it to hold onto, when she slowly bleeds back, as the whole world will, into the shadows.
I have feared little in my life.
I have fought warriors who are three times as large as me. War has sliced me open. I bear my scars with pride.
I have faced death more times than I can remember. I have thrown myself toward it.
Yet it is a certain type of terror that grips my heart like nothing has before that at some point…soon…I will see my Freya’s green eyes close one night, and when I open my eyes the next morning, I won’t be able to see hers ever again.
I drop the spoon and grab the bowls. Then I grimace almost dropping them. I clutch onto them with whitening knuckles as pain shoots up my wrists.
Gradually, the pain from the iron poisoning is returning. This time, however, I know that I have no more doses from Maximinus to ease it.
I am on my own.
I don’t have much time left.
A new sense of urgency rushes through me.
Every moment with Freya that I have left is precious. At least this exile to the Consort House has given us a type of honeymoon and a taste of domestic life that I have never experienced.
It’s like we’re living on that farm she talked about, not as kings or queens, but simply living together as mates.
At least, if we can ignore that there are guards standing outside the door.
I leap to my feet, twirling to Freya. “A feast fit for a queen.”
“A Queen Consort,” Freya corrects, pulling at her robe.
We discovered new clothes laid out for us when we entered the house. Apparently consorts, like everyone and everything within the Draca Kingdom, are marked by their ordered status.
Freya pulls a face, as she adjusts her ivory robe, which is cinched in at the waist with a braided cord like tarnished dragon scales.
I am wearing a matching, plain outfit.
Our feet are bare, which is a calculated insult.
Stripping us of our footwear is a humiliation but is also a smart way of keeping us trapped within these four walls.
“A Wolf Queen.” I spin again, holding the bowls up like I’m an acrobat.
I am buzzing at the rush. I tip my head back.
I love the rush of my primal magic. “Just like I am a Raven King. Plus, King and Queen of the House of Sin. We don’t need anyone else to grant us power or status. We already have it.”
“Hey, slow down before you spill our meal all over our home.” Freya grabs at the back of my robe.
I laugh again, as she yanks me back onto the bench beside the table.
But then, it settles deep into my soul.
She called this our home.
Joy, bittersweet, surges through me.
I drop the bowls onto the table and drag my Omega onto my lap.
She lets out a surprised gasp.
I wrap my wings around Freya, relishing her rose scent.
Then I kiss her with desperate yearning.
I wish that I could live in this moment, the one where we are alone together, I am serving her food that I cooked with my own hands, and we have created a home together.
But I can’t.
I’ll take this one quiet moment though, as much as it is a fantasy.
Shadow Devils, can’t I at least have this?
I kiss Freya more deeply, before I clasp my arms around her waist.
Her eyes are glassy, and her cheeks are flushed.
I scan Freya’s face, memorizing the number of freckles that dust her nose and cheeks, and the way that her eyelashes flick up at the sides.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “What was that for?”
“Since when did I need a reason to kiss you?” I glance at the food on the table. “You’ve done well, love.”
Freya has laid out on a wooden tray a coarse barley loaf next to a wedge of creamy goat’s cheese, black olives and two apples.
It’s better than I received when I was locked in the dungeon.
Some days, however, it hasn’t been.
I love that Freya has also arranged some of the wildflowers in the center of the table to brighten it.
She has done the same around the small room.
“Iggy is on guard duty today.” Freya smiles. “He brought us his own food, rather than the standard shit that he was meant to. He’ll get himself in trouble with his Omega.”
My expression hardens. “Aquila better start treating our Iggy well, or I’ll have words with the cold-hearted idiot myself.
On the sacred ash, Iggy dreamed that matching with his dragon rider would be special.
Do you remember that he explained it as one of the most powerful bonds in the realms?
It feels like his bond is more of a cage. ”
“He said that it would be nice not to feel alone.” Freya nuzzles me. “On the moon, I understand yearning for that. But Aquila is taking advantage of it. Iggy is so desperate for his bond to work that he’s blind to his Omega’s flaws.”