Page 47 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

“Thank you for coming today. It is with great pleasure that I announce to you—I have chosen my bride, your queen.”

Murmurs darted amongst the crowd, but to a one, they stared up at him, breath bated.

“She is Lady Ravenna Broch, and she is my mate.” Sweeping his arm to the side, the crowd’s gaze followed.

Trumpets and flutes played a celebratory tune, and from the small door leading back into his personal wing, beneath burgundy banners and golden flags, came Ravenna.

She stepped forth into the light of the basilica, a vision in red and gold.

She seemed to catch flame the further she came, the late-morning sun sparkling against her skin and jewels.

Hair rippling behind her, she descended the shallow steps to him. Holding her skirts with all the grace of a trained courtly lady, her little slippers peeked beneath the hem. She took measured, graceful steps, and the closer she drew, the harder Vallek’s heart beat in his chest.

Pride lanced him through, and when he offered her his hand, he nearly shuddered to feel her cool hand slip into his.

Drawing her closer, he smiled down at her.

He could see the nervousness gathered at the corners of her mouth, but she stared up at him, her jaw set in that defiant little way she had.

My brave girl.

Together, they turned to face the shocked court. Scores of wide eyes stared back at them, and more than a few mouths dangled open.

Offering Ravenna’s hand a small squeeze of support, he told the orc-kin gathered and all the world, “The beast has chosen a mate, and your king his queen.”

His declaration was met with only silence, although this one seemed far cooler than the one of a few moments ago. The eager anticipation had bled from the crowd; now, many seemed confused, baffled even. But not angry. Vallek would take it.

He heard Ravenna take a deep breath, and beside him, she made the vows they had practiced over the past three days.

“I, Ravenna Broch, swear loyalty to the throne of Balmirra, the kin of Balmirra, and the heart of Vallek Far-Sight. The protection of the realm shall be my sworn duty, and service to its people my honor. I am Ravenna Broch, mate to Vallek Far-Sight, and it will be my honor to be your queen.”

Two heads shorter than all the orcs, lilac skin stark against his green hide, she stood tall, making her declaration proudly, loud enough for every ancient stone of the basilica to hear.

Gods, he loved this woman. He might demand she say all this for him again, in the privacy of their bed later tonight.

Her declaration was met with more silence. It seemed he had truly shocked them.

“Some of you may already know Lady Ravenna as the kone in my service. She has aided me these past years in bringing prosperity and unification to our kingdom. With her beside me, Balmirra will lead the way into our new age.” Gesturing for Eydis to step forward with the box she bore, Vallek said, “It is a gift to have found my mate and an honor to be claimed by her.”

Opening the box, Eydis offered Ravenna the gold torque laid on a bed of velvet inside. It was a piece he’d had designed well over a decade ago, in anticipation of finding his mate. Years had gone by without cause to wear it, and it’d been at least seven since Vallek had last opened the box.

The smooth surface of the torque gleamed brightly, a large ruby inset on either end winking up from the velvet. Ravenna lifted it from the box, Eydis backing away to leave the two of them atop the dais.

When Ravenna looked up at him again, a genuine smile wreathed her lips. He relished the covetous glint in her eyes—it pleased her to claim him before everyone.

I’m yours, he mouthed to her.

She lifted onto her toes as he bent to meet her—

“This is a farce!”

The crowd gasped and muttered, backing away from the orc who’d spoken. It was Grogar, an impetuous young orc of noble blood. He’d become the scion of his house far too young, and he was far too proud of the wealth and prestige his family—not him—had accumulated.

Vallek turned to curl his lip at the impudent whelp when another stepped forward.

“Is it true she’s fae? ” demanded Lady Silvia.

More gasps from the kin, outraged this time.

“I am half-fae,” Ravenna admitted, “but have never been loyal to the faelands.”

“You would make us kneel to a halfling? A fae? ” Grogar spat.

“Yes,” Vallek growled. “You will kneel before my mate, your queen.”

Grogar shook his head. “I will not. I challenge for the right to be chieftain.”

A few kin shouted their support, bringing a smug grin to Grogar’s face.

Vallek exchanged looks with Eydis over his faeling’s head. So this was to be his game. Grogar wasn’t the only young paladin looking to reap the reward of Vallek’s work, but he seemed to be the bravest. Or stupidest.

At least, until three more stepped forward, all throwing their names out in challenge.

Even one of the eastern tribesmen, a representative from the Iron-Chests, stepped forward. “The eastern clans recognize no king. We won’t be forced to kneel to a faeling queen, either.”

And another handful of orcs stepped forward, declaring much the same.

Vallek counted a dozen challengers. Not bad. He honestly expected more.

“Very well,” Vallek declared, his answering smile all teeth.

He moved to begin unbuttoning his fine tunic, but Ravenna’s nails dug into his forearm. “Vallek…” she murmured, her pulse visibly beating at her throat.

“Stay here,” he whispered. “This won’t take long.”

She met his bravado with lips thinned in concern. Vallek kissed her forehead, sliding his arms out of the tunic and robes. Laying them across the throne, he hefted Hormhím from its place beside the great seat.

“I accept your challenge,” Vallek proclaimed as he descended the dais steps. “All of them. And when I win, all of you—every single one—will kneel and pledge your fealty. To me, and to my faeling queen.”

With a wave from Vallek, a guard strode across the basilica to offer Grogar his axe.

The crowd pushed back toward the great red limestone columns, creating an oval of cleared space for the challenge.

The other eleven upstarts gathered behind Grogar, some of them beginning to look anxious now that the protection of the crowd had fallen away.

When another guard offered Vallek his axe, he declined.

Grogar’s brow twitched, and Vallek smiled viciously. He didn’t need a fresh axe to defeat this whelp, he could do it with one blade ground nearly to the poll.

Vallek had defeated his share of challenges in his time, most of them in the early years of his reign. It’d been some years now since the last, but these weren’t unexpected. Like all the rest, he would win.

He’d won against Mordis for the sake of his sisters.

He’d defeated all the later challengers for the sake of the kingdom he wished to build.

Today, he would win for his mate.

Mattias stepped forward to ensure they were both ready—and that the rules of the challenge would be kept. No other weapon. No outside help. The life of the defeated was decided by the victor.

His beast howling inside him, Vallek charged.

Their axes met in a spark of ringing metal, reflected in Grogar’s glare. The whelp had lost his bluster, the seriousness of his challenge finally seeming to dawn on him. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face as he put his weight and strength behind throwing off Vallek’s attack.

Vallek snorted, thrashing his tusks at Grogar’s face. The younger orc snarled, rage contorting his face.

Finally, Vallek decided to stop playing with him.

Adding more of his brute strength, he nearly bent Grogar backwards. The other orc’s legs shook with the effort of not falling to his knees beneath the onslaught of weight. Lips peeled back in a grimace of exertion, Grogar roared before jerking backwards, out from under Vallek and Hormhím.

He danced backward, trying to get some space to launch his own attack, but Vallek was there, bringing Hormhím down with a force that nearly cracked the handle of Grogar’s axe. He just caught Hormhím with the toe of his blade, arms shaking like mountain aspens in a gale.

With a heave, Vallek freed Hormhím, wheeling the axe behind him in an arc before battering Grogar’s middle with the blunt head of the handle.

The younger orc sputtered, the air knocked out of him as he stumbled backwards.

Another blow from Hormhím’s blade sent Grogar’s axe spinning out of his hand, onlookers scattering out of the way.

It took one kick to send Grogar to the ground. Planting his boot on the orc’s chest, Vallek leveled his blade on Grogar’s throat.

The paladin stared up at him in utter shock, breath coming in stuttering pants.

Vallek stood above the whelp for a good long moment, letting him really think about his choice, before finally tsking .

“Mercy,” he sighed. “And be grateful for it.”

Stepping back, he allowed Grogar’s friends to help him up. They hustled him away, back into the safety of the crowd.

With the toe of his boot, Vallek flipped the other axe toward the group of waiting challengers—interestingly smaller already. “Next.”

One after another, they met the same fate.

Flat on their backs, Hormhím pressed to their throat or gut.

Some gave him a more spirited challenge than others, particularly the Iron-Chest warrior.

Their duel truly got Vallek’s blood burning, and they danced across the basilica for the better part of ten minutes, exchanging furious blows.

It was the eastern tribesman who managed to nick Vallek’s cheek, sending blood dribbling down his neck to wet his collar.

Vallek merely grinned ferociously, his beast thrilling at the challenge. He relished the burn in his muscles and the look of awe in every orc.

By the time it came to the last challenger, whose only hope was that Vallek would be tired enough to finally defeat, it was clear to everyone else that it was Vallek Far-Sight who would win.

He was victor today.

He was king.