Page 57 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Sleep eluded Vallek that night and for much of the three nights afterwards. He stayed awake into the longest, darkest hours, watching over his sleeping mate to ensure that should a nightmare find her again, he was there to banish it.

It was a small price to pay for the wellbeing of his queen, although he wasn’t convinced it actually helped her much. His frustration mounted alongside his exhaustion as the days passed, but he wasn’t to be defeated.

Although he was adamant she take time to rest and get her mind straight, Ravenna refused.

She claimed she liked the distraction, and Vallek was loath to deny her.

She was patient through the final touches and installation of her own throne, a beautifully crafted piece that announced to all that Balmirra had the most skilled carpenters.

As big as his, it’d been stained almost black to hide that the arms and seat were masterfully angled to ensure she wasn’t dwarfed by the chair.

A cushion gave her a little more height and some comfort, which she needed when she insisted on attending the seasonal petitions.

Most legal matters were handled by Balmirra’s robust network of local courts, magistrates, and justiciars, but since the time of the ancestors, any citizen of the city could bring their matter before the chieftain.

Vallek kept this honored tradition, and at the beginning of each new season, he heard those petitions and grievances that had risen through the system.

It always proved to be a long day, one that required patience and stamina.

Matters that had reached all the way to him were often prickly, and his judgement was final.

To his immense pride, Ravenna sat regally in her new throne, listening carefully and offering thoughtful advice.

Honestly, it pleased him to find she could be as ruthless, if not more so than him when it came to these petitions, for Vallek didn’t suffer fools.

These traditions were important for both the chieftain and the people, and they had to be taken seriously.

He wasn’t the only one who threw off all his finery at the end of that day.

Ravenna hastily unhooked her many earrings and lifted the coronet from her head before using her mother’s grimoire to mix a simple remedy for headaches.

She shared with Vallek, and the two of them sat in exhausted, companionable silence for the rest of that evening.

He’d hoped, with how tired she was and how distracted, that her visions would cease. But as they turned down the blankets to get into bed, her eyes went distant, her shoulders stiff. When she returned to him, her lips had thinned and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

He tried every trick he knew to help her rest. He purred for hours to soothe her, rubbed her shoulders and legs, stayed up late whispering across pillows with her, suggested sleeping draughts and reading and long bouts of talfon , licked and fingered and thrust inside her cunt until she was exhausted of pleasure, but nothing seemed to help in the end.

“There’s just much on my mind, is all,” she told him one morning, her smile achingly sad. “I’m sure I just have to get used to it.”

It was true that taking on the burdens of a kingdom came lightly only to those who didn’t care about the people and proper management, and despite how aloof or sarcastic Ravenna could be, no one could accuse her of not caring. If anything, she cared too much.

Gathering her up in his arms, he bent to kiss her cheek. “You have a soft heart, love.”

“I absolutely don’t,” she scoffed.

“You do. You’re soft and generous and kind and ever so adorable.”

“How dare you?” she laughed. “I’m dangerous. Ruthless. Not to be trifled with!”

“That, too.”

He glutted on her giggling, relieved to see her smile turn genuine. Moments like these reassured him that all would be well. She just needed time to find her footing. Every day would be easier than the last, and one day soon, he’d see her emerge the fully fledged queen he knew she would become.

Her happiness bubbled inside him, his beast content for the first time in days.

When Eydis walked into the den to join them a moment later, a grave look on her face, he almost barked at her to get out.

But Ravenna had seen. “What is it?” she asked, all the play falling from her face.

Vallek scowled at his sister, who deftly ignored it.

“A spy has been apprehended on the Spearhead. He meant to sail to the faelands with information.”

A growl punched up Vallek’s throat, his annoyance with Eydis eclipsed by his rage at the traitor. Sellswords were vermin, but to sell secrets? To endanger Vallek’s mate?

Unacceptable.

“Gather the court and bring him before me,” he growled.

Vallek had insisted, more vociferously this time, that Ravenna need not attend this. His anger was vicious, and this part of kingship was ugly, if necessary. It wasn’t a part of him he wished for her to see.

But, ever stubborn, she accompanied him to the basilica and took her throne. “It wouldn’t do to be absent now,” she reasoned. “It would show weakness.”

While that may have been true, it didn’t lessen his desire to hide her away from this.

Petitions and politics and feasts were one thing—meting out justice to traitors was another.

Threats to her couldn’t stand, and he had no qualms over spilling blood to prevent them, but that didn’t mean he wished for her to see it.

Curious murmurs echoed from the court, no one sure why they had all been summoned. The king had been gathering his court much more often than usual, and so they no doubt expected another unprecedented announcement.

However, the whispers abruptly ceased when the prisoner was led in.

With hands shackled before him and a thick iron collar circling his throat, the spy was led forth into the center of the basilica.

The guards held him by flexible staffs inset on the collar.

When they stood before Vallek and Ravenna and the traitor wouldn’t kneel, pressure was exerted on the staffs, bending the orc to his knees with a grimace.

Upper lip peeling back, Vallek bared the full lengths of his tusks at the traitor. He recognized the orc, a berserker. One of his own most trusted warriors.

Although he’d needed reminding of the warrior’s name, Byrk, the male not having distinguished himself within his service, to know that one of his own elite warriors was the culprit struck deeply.

He could rationalize, even expect betrayal from an ambitious paladin or even just a disaffected orc looking to make a sack of coin.

But his own berserker?

Unforgivable.

If he couldn’t trust his best warriors to keep him, but more importantly his mate, safe, who could he trust?

The question soured his stomach. In that moment, he hated this orc.

For betraying him. For endangering Ravenna.

For undermining his trust. Every warrior, from seasoned berserker to fresh recruit, would need to be investigated again.

There was never just one spy—they coiled together like snakes for warmth, hiding in shadow.

A single orc had made the whole of Vallek’s city unsafe for him and his mate. Such treachery had to be dealt with swiftly and brutally.

Rising from his seat, Vallek took hold of the newly repaired Hormhím before descending the dais steps.

Mattias met him at the basilica floor, the captain’s disgust for Byrk Broad-Back pulling down the edges of his mouth. Bowing his head in shame, he handed over the gorget that had once hung from Byrk’s neck, a sign of his status as the king’s warrior.

Vallek folded and crushed the soft gold in his fist, letting the mangled gorget clatter to the flagstones.

“Byrk, you have been brought before your king, accused of the crime of treachery. How do you answer this charge?”

The orc snorted. “Guilty.”

The court gasped, whispers rebounding between the red limestone columns.

There was no reason to lie; he’d been caught in the act of selling secrets, followed to a remote lakeshore beach on the Spearhead where he’d meant to meet a small boat of fae scouts. Eydis’s people had given her their sworn testimony, and a raid of Byrk’s home had revealed a stash of fae silver.

His betrayal had gone on long before Ravenna was revealed as Vallek’s mate, but the timing of his most recent journey to the Spearhead was telling. Different friends and kin had differing stories on where he was, none of them matching and none the truth.

Ever efficient, Eydis had laid out the evidence before him. Allowing Vallek to render an equally efficient verdict.

Pulling a small sack from his pocket, Vallek strode to where Byrk knelt.

“You would betray your oaths, your honor, for a few fae coins?” Lifting the sack, he upended its contents onto the ground. A dozen silver coins clinked onto the floor. “Are you really so cheap?”

Byrk’s nostrils flared. “It’s nothing personal, my king. A man has to make a living.”

Vallek slashed his tusks through the air. His men were generously paid, and what was more, enjoyed the highest reputation within Balmirra.

A reputation now tarnished by one orc.

The flippant excuse didn’t ring true, but honestly, the real reason for his betrayal didn’t matter.

Hormhím nearly vibrated in his hand, thirsty for blood.

“You are a traitor to your kind and your king. The only sentence to give you is death.”

The guards braced themselves as Vallek closed the distance.

He’d heard that humans preferred beheadings for their executions, but orcs found this far too messy and imprecise. Deaths in one blow were honorable, and if a chieftain was to sentence death, it was he who would carry it out. It was a mark of honor, of strength.

Hefting Hormhím onto his shoulder, Vallek waited for Byrk to bow his head. Most did.

However, the disgraced warrior kept Vallek’s gaze, defying him one last time.

If Byrk thought this would unnerve or sway Vallek, he was sorely mistaken. His swift, honorable death was for the benefit of Ravenna. Had Vallek gotten his way, Byrk’s death would have been slow, agonizing, his blood painting the wall of the citadel for a fortnight.

Cold rage coiled round his heart, Vallek smirked down at the traitor, relishing when fear passed over his eyes.

I am Vallek Far-Sight, king of kin, mate of Ravenna. And today, I am your death.

In one heavy blow, Vallek brought Hormhím down in a wide arc. The blade caught Byrk’s face, splitting his head in two.

It took only a blink, a moment, and the traitor was dead, his blood and brains soaking the basilica floor.

The corpse slumped forward, lifelessly crumpling into a heap.

When Vallek pulled Hormhím back from the traitor’s head, blood and viscera streamed down the blade. Running the flat of the axehead on his palm, he smeared the blood across his hand, raising it for all to see.

“So is the fate of any who would betray their kind and their king!” he roared. “We are one kin, one kind, and we are stronger together. His treachery isn’t just against me but us all.”

The court looked on with wide eyes, only a brave few daring to look at the pitiful sight of Byrk. An array of expressions met his declaration, from grim understanding to nervous respect to poorly disguised disgust. He could handle them all—he would convince those who doubted.

What he wouldn’t stand, though, was betrayal.

That thought stuck starkly in his mind, even as his blood ran hot from the violence.

It clanged like a solitary bell in his mind when a reckless fool stepped forward and said—

“So we aren’t to speak to the fae, but it’s all right to fuck them?”

The basilica went utterly, preternaturally quiet.

Vallek slowly turned on his heel to face the accusation.

Grogar met his cold stare with an impetuous false bravado. Looking down his nose at Vallek, the stupid young paladin took another step forward. “How can you say we’re one kin when the whore beside you has no orcish blood at all?”

The fool was goading him. Vallek knew it. The court knew it.

Even his beast knew it.

But that day, Vallek hadn’t just brought Hormhím with him. He’d brought his days of concern over Ravenna, compounded now with new fears over keeping her safe within his own citadel. He was tired, angry, and his sympathy only extended so far.

A flash of his tusks was Grogar’s only warning.

Vallek flung Hormhím at the paladin, end over end, aiming for Grogar’s head, just as he had for Byrk’s.

The court hardly had time to gasp as Hormhím whooshed through the air.

They gasped again when the axe stopped in midair, the blade suspended a mere inch from Grogar’s nose.

The paladin let out a choking sort of cry, his trembling knees buckling as he fell back into the crowd.

Hormhím shuddered before floating back to hang in the air before Vallek, waiting for him to retake the hilt.

Before he could, Ravenna entered his vision.

“There’s been enough blood for one day, my love,” she told him gently.

Vallek reached to take Hormhím, feeling her magic fall away from the axe once he had hold of it. Frustrated bloodlust, fears over her, and a sharp lust to see her wielding her magic were a potent mix inside him.

He felt his pupils dilate as he watched her come round to stand on his other side.

Looking out at the gathered crowd, Ravenna spoke in a clear, calm voice.

“I may be part fae, but I was raised as a human. I’ve spent more time amongst you than I have my father’s people.

I have no love nor loyalty to the Fae Queen.

” Wrapping her hand around Vallek’s arm, she said, “My love and loyalty belong to Vallek Far-Sight, your king, and therefore, to you.”

Vallek’s attention narrowed to only her. It wasn’t how he’d expected to get the words, and he’d certainly ask for them again later, in private, but his chest swelled with a painful, overwhelming pride. Gods, she was something to behold.

“The word of the queen,” Vallek announced, although he couldn’t tear his gaze away from his magnificent mate. “Let all here remember it—and her mercy.”