Page 37 of A Bond in Blood (Blood Bound Duet #1)

Chapter 37

I walked through the halls of my home like a Ghost. Ulrich’s Wraith surrounded by a sea of people who did not understand what that title meant.

Gliding through life while the preparations for my grandmother’s final departure commenced. Busy work. Things to keep us all occupied while we mourned the loss of a great woman.

I entered my father’s great hall, finding the tables and chairs set with her favorite colors. Crimson red, her reminder of the daughter she’d lost and the daughter she’d gained. And white, the color of the white bears she adored.

I saw only blood.

“How many guests?” I asked, turning to the handmaid beside me.

She startled, then cleared her throat. “For the final journey or the dinner after?”

“The dinner,” I replied.

“Your father, your mother’s parents, the king.”

I whipped around. “What?”

She stepped back. “The king , princess, and his wives.”

My heart dropped. “Oh.”

She eyed me nervously, continuing to list other names I did not take the energy to recognize. I waved my hand in approval of their decorations then turned away to ready myself for the farewell.

It was melancholy and surprisingly cold, while we watched the burning boat head across the Fjord. Grandmother’s trip to the Gods. A wishful hope the wind would pick up her ashes, taking her to their island in the sky. Where they would joyously return her to her younger body, and she would live out her afterlife in peace.

The village had gathered for her, to no surprise, and distant relatives arrived. I’d greeted no one, keeping myself tucked away with my black veil covering my face.

The people of the village dispersed, and the familial group returned to our palace where our meal awaited.

When I entered the great-hall, I found the seat furthest away from it all, tucked in the shadows. Refusing to sit beside my father or the family members pretending to mourn.

They had not known her. They had not understood who the woman was. The hold she had on us all. The impact she’d had on me .

I thrummed my fingers against the table when footsteps approached. Rolling my eyes, I glanced up, pausing when I found a queen before me.

I jumped to my feet. “Titania,” I whispered, bowing to her.

Oberon’s quietest wife nodded at me. I stared at her, realizing I had forgotten she would attend this meal. Her dark golden hair was tied up into loose curls with the ends falling against the high neck of her black gown. Her still youthful brown eyes burned with golden embers.

“Brenna,” she said softly. “Are you well?”

“Yes, your grace,” I whispered.

She eyed me, stepping back while her face went solemn.

“Hilde was a great woman.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“She always knew when to offer respect.”

I nodded.

“She also knew when to speak her mind,” the queen continued.

I smiled and met her eyes. “Yes, your grace. She did.”

“I liked that about her.”

“I did as well.”

Titania held out her hand and I grasped it, thankful for her familiar kindness. Her head turned to my father, whispering with King Oberon.

“Isn’t my husband handsome?” she whispered.

I startled, allowing myself to turn to the king. His long white hair was shining in the candlelight. A metal crown of branches sat atop his head while his hand grasped the hand of another woman—Mab, his other wife.

“Your grace,” I replied. “I cannot comment on your husband’s features. Is that not disrespectful?

Titania laughed. “I guess it could be considered as such.” She turned back to face me, offering me a smile. “Are you celebrating your birthday with me this year? It’s the end of the blood moon. A rather exciting event.”

My chest rose with a twinge of pain while my thoughts went to Ulrich, but I nodded.

“Oh good,” she whispered. “Aesir will be so ready for nights without that ghastly red. Please let your father know you are to arrive a full month before the harvest.”

My brow crumpled. “Your grace?”

She smiled. “The whole of Aesir lives in a month-long celebration. It’s rather spectacular. It is a command, Brenna.” Her voice became stern.

I nodded. “Yes, your grace. I look forward to it.”

She squeezed my hand tightly. With more strength than I thought her small frame had. Then she left me.

A voice cleared beside me, and I glanced over, finding my father.

“Bren?”

“Not now,” I snapped.

I walked away, ready to leave this dinner that was quickly turning to a party with Oberon’s presence. His hand came out, wrapping around my wrist, stopping me.

“Unhand me!” I shouted.

Every head turned our direction. Glasses clattered against the tables and Oberon gave me an odd smile.

I hated it. Having to keep my mouth shut when I knew that the king being paraded and admired had murdered all of those people. Sending their heads to Ulrich’s shores.

Shattering all of those Unseelie faes’ hearts.

“Brenna.” My father’s voice was quiet. The same commanding tone Ulrich used when addressing his court.

I dropped my head. “I apologize, my king.”

“Brenna, stop. I am your father.”

“You are no better than the beast who hurt me,” I replied.

His hand lifted my chin, and I found sorrow in his eyes.

“What?” his voice cracked.

I stepped away from him.

“Why did you not come for me?”

“Brenna, what are you talking about?”

My eyes went to Oberon and his wives, and I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Why did you not reply to a single letter I sent you? The ones where I told you about my pain and scars. About my torment.”

I met his eyes, my tears running down my cheeks. “Why, Papa? Why?”

He blinked and a tear rolled from his eye. “Brenna, he did not mention this. What letters?”

“ He ? What do you mean he? ”

My father said nothing, he only turned on his heel, motioning for me to follow.

At first I did not want to, but the regret in his eyes, I could not allow our relationship to fracture. The chatter began again as we exited the room. Leaving our guests to mourn grandmother alone.

When we made it to his study, he slammed the doors open, and I was sure my heart stopped at the sight.

Along every single wall, on every surface, were my maps and drawings. My scribbles, my notes.

The work Ulrich had led me to believe he’d disposed of.

“What in the Gods?” I sobbed.

My father passed me, heading straight for his desk and pulling the drawer open, laying down pile after pile of letters.

“The first one,” he held it up. “The king apologized for the death of your betrothed and the fear his ship’s arrival caused. He promised to take care of you.”

My father slammed the paper down. “Then a month of silence. Nothing. No letters. No updates and I was about to go straight to Oberon when another one came. And more. Every single day. An update of what you were doing. If you were well.”

“You’re lying,” I cried.

“Then your letters came, and they were so full of pain,” my father cried. “Gods, I almost went to Oberon again, but the king always sent one at the same time, calming my fears.”

“Threatening you,” I replied.

“No, Bren, never.”

He picked a parchment. “ King Enok, I know her recent letter is filled with lament and sorrow. Caused by my own hand. I cannot beg for your forgiveness more than I am now. If I were in your presence, I would drop to my knees. I promise she is well. She will return to you by the eleventh month. I am ending her servitude early.”

I let out a shout. “Stop! What is this?”

“This is why we all knew you were coming home. Ulrich was told your grandmother had taken a turn for the worse. Gods, we were even surprised, but we were already preparing to welcome you.”

“Why did you not write back?” I cried. “Why, Papa?”

My father’s expression was blank, and he pointed to the walls around him.

“He sent them to me. The notes and scribbles at first. Telling me he was sure you wouldn’t miss them, but I saw you in them. The quiet thoughts you always keep inside of your heart.”

He turned his gaze back to mine.

“I saw something else too.”

I stepped back.

“I saw love.”

“Stop it.”

I leaned against the wall behind me, holding my hand to my heart, unable to understand what was happening.

“Do you?” my father whispered.

“Do I what?” I snapped.

“Love him?”

“No!” I shouted. “Gods no!”

I fell to the ground, sobbing heavily. “I can’t. Papa, you do not understand.”

He approached, dropping to my level. “Explain it to me.”

“My heart is conflicted. I cannot care for them. I cannot want to know what they are doing. If he is well.”

“They?” his brow rose.

I sighed. “Ulrich and the beast who claimed me, Olen. They have both caused me torment.”

“Two?”

I laughed. “Olen is like the friend my soul has longed for. He is rough but as soft as your smallest canine. He is brash in all the wrong ways, but he has protected me. Ulrich—” I sobbed again. “He is the cold and heat my body longs for. The poison I cannot stop myself from ingesting. He is everything I should not want, yet I yearn for him.”

“Do you want two men?” My father cleared his throat.

“I want the friendship of one and possibly the very soul of the other,” I admitted.

My father’s hand rose, passing the letter he held.

“Read his words, Brenna. Understand why I did not come.”

I ripped the letter from his hands as my legs found their strength again and I pushed myself up off the floor, pointing at him. “Were another man’s words more important than your daughter’s pain?”

Guilt flashed across his face, and I continued.

“Why? Why did you allow him to persuade you to stay away? Why was my begging, my pleading, and rage not enough for you to come for me? Are another king’s words really so much more significant than those from the daughter of your own blood?”

His shoulders slumped with shame. “Brenna, please understand.”

“I cannot understand,” I sobbed. “I cannot understand why after so many years of my unquestioning duty and obedience, you could not gain the confidence to come to me when I needed you most.”

He took a step back. “I see I have made a grave, foolish error. One I will now spend my days to beg your forgiveness for. But please, try to understand.”

“I understand you are a coward. I understand no matter what I do for you, you will always choose what you believe is best for me. I’ve fulfilled my duty, father. I’m leaving you and this island. I am never coming back,” I snapped.

His voice cleared and I met the same stoic, unmoving expression that was burned into my memory. A ruler stood before me. Not my father. Not the man who had raised the daughter born in a bath of his wife’s blood.

No, he was a king who had done what he believed to be best for his subjects. Not what he’d believed best for his child.

He left me in the study, surrounded by my own works of art and the lingering hate of his inaction in my heart. My hands shook in my lap while one fist crumpled the parchment.

Did I want to read the words? Did I want to discover whatever lies my captor had sent to quell my foolish father’s fears?

I raised my fist, releasing the paper and smoothing it out, refusing to flip it over and read the words until my heart was sure I was ready.

I was not ready for what I found.

King Enok . . .

My eyes snapped up.

I jumped to my feet, propelling myself down the long hall until I reached my bedroom door. My hands threw it open, and I went to my vanity, ripping open the drawer. Papers spilled out, unleashed from their hidden place.

I was frantic while I grabbed as many as I could, splaying them out across the top of the vanity. My eyes searched the ink, the words I had committed to memory.

There had been a change in the lettering, subtle in the beginning. One I had brushed off as him being more intentional with his writing.

I flipped through the pages, trying to find what I searched for.

I found one, lifting it with shaking hands while I read the words.

My enaid,

I dream of you, Bren. Every night my mind wishes to know what your voice is like. For I’m sure it will be a sound my soul has longed for. Perhaps it will be similar to the music that floats through the palace, calling for you to join me by my side.

I knew this handwriting.