Page 22 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

The soft pitch carried a tune. Steadily lifting until it matched the rhythm of a familiar song, one written by the ancient skalds.

Village poets no longer wrote about the Gods, but this melody was old, as old as Sol herself.

The pitch that climbed higher and higher represented the rising morning light as the God of the sun drove the chariot that carried it across the sky .

I closed my eyes, listening to the tune I hadn’t heard since my mother sang it to help us sleep.

Embla no longer looked as stricken after I stopped inundating her with questions. Brushing and twisting my hair clearly brought her peace, and I was honored she kept to the Skaldir style without a fuss.

I didn’t have time to sit with her for too long, but I enjoyed every minute of her presence. Though she was a young woman, maybe eighteen or twenty, her wide eyes and blond curls sparked thoughts of Alva.

How had Embla come to serve in Mara’s Keep? I couldn’t imagine this gentle girl causing bloodshed, and felt none of the crackle beneath my skin that I came with being in another witch’s presence.

Perhaps she was another unknown. Villagers often explained away those who vanished by insisting that a wild animal had dragged them away. But those who were bolder, hinted that they were taken, either by monsters or other people, I didn’t know. Nobody would ever clarify what they believed about it.

What if the same happened to Alva someday?

I gritted my teeth, suddenly set on getting to know Embla. If I could make her life even a little better here as the queen, it would be enough reason to take the title.

Once my hair was set, she helped me into the courtier’s garb. The icy blue silk nearly matched the shape of the silver nightgown as it held tightly to my hips, my shoulders, my breasts. It dipped lower in the front than the dresses I wore in Skaldir.

The king wanted to parade me as his prize, or a well-dressed prisoner. I still didn’t know where I stood with him.

Embla pointed to the mirror and then gestured for me to turn around. “Do you approve?”

“It looks just like my Skaldir braids.” I gave her a gentle smile .

“Look again.”

I furrowed my brow and turned, twisting to see as much of the back of my head as I could reflected in the mirror. A shimmer caught the glow of the room’s candles from between my braids. I reached up to feel cold hard silver buried in my thick hair.

“My Y Tree,” I whispered. She hadn’t just returned it, she’d tucked it safely in the weave of my braids so that only a sliver of the top poked out.

There were no pockets in this new dress with which to hide it, but Embla had found another way.

I turned to cup her hand in mine, but she’d already slipped away to stand by the door. “Thank you.”

Without another word, she opened the door and waved for me to exit.

In the hall, Embla trailed at my heels, silently pointing which turn to make next in this labyrinth of cold stone. I scanned every inch of the ground and walls in case there was a hint of blood, or anything that would clarify Freya’s vision.

The Gods spoke cryptically, not because they wanted to play with the people of Midgard, but because riddles and challenges were the language of Asgard. It was all they knew, according to my mother.

I blew out a breath.

Mara’s Keep gave me nothing. No hint of identifying markers on the doors, no peculiar sounds, and definitely no blood. The castle was so vast, I could spend a decade searching for the records and still not find them.

But I had King Drakkar to follow. He was the single clue in Freya’s cryptic language.

With every turn, my heart beat a little faster. The next time I saw him, I’d be sober, wearing this . A blush bloomed over my chest where the skin was bared above my breasts. Do you want someone inside of you? I laid a hand over my red skin to tame the heat .

Why had he chosen to marry me? Could he somehow sense this sick and twisted attraction I had for him?

Now with a head clear from the shock of his proposal and the wine that flowed afterward, dozens of questions took my mind captive. I didn’t have time to consider them in depth before Embla pushed through the double doors of the throne room.

Yawning ceilings stretched above us and ornate tapestries decorated the walls. For the first time, I was really seeing the details of the throne room. The room that housed the one and only true throne in all of Vylheim.

King Drakkar’s throne.

I avoided looking in that direction until the warm flush of my skin was no longer visible. Taking slow breaths, I tried to will the heat away as I focused on the rest of the room’s features.

Just like last night, the vast space was filled with courtiers and commoners alike.

Tables full of soaked breads and hard cheeses, stuck pigs and berries of every color lined one side of the room.

On the opposite end sat King Drakkar in his styleless throne, all gaudy bronze with wide armrests and pointed tips at the back twice as tall as the king.

Now that the heat had subsided, I marched directly toward him. I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest as his eyes fell on me. I was here because I wanted answers, not for him to look at me in this damn dress.

My heart skipped at the lie I told myself.

I seethed as the flushed heat slowly simmered again. Later, when I was alone in the bed that nearly swallowed me, I would relieve myself of this tension. Pleasuring myself would surely release this twisted craving and I’d be free of the depraved thoughts for a man I should have let Ragna kill.

King Drakkar turned at my approach, his mouth slicing into a crescent. With the eye patch removed now, his gaze roved over me, pausing too long at my bare collarbone .

His injured eye had entirely healed to its former glory, the color of ice reflecting a clear sky. Those in Mara who practiced salves and the work of healing must have been wildly skilled. He looked as if the witch had never attacked him at all.

When I was within reach, he snaked a thick forearm around my back and hooked me into him. “My wife.”

“No.” I didn’t know why I still denied it. Even after hundreds of congratulations and commoners calling me their queen, this reality hadn’t sunk in.

His brows peaked, not unlike when he came for me in Skaldir. Then, I’d run. I didn’t feel the need now. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t be parading me around as his betrothed.

Hopefully.

“No?” he said.

“We’re not married.”

“In three days, we will be.”

“Three? Approval, appointing, then application?”

He laughed, the sound of it sending ripples through me.

“Something like that.” With his free hand, he brought a goblet to his lips and tipped it back.

The dark liquid stained his teeth red for a moment before his tongue swiped it away.

I stared too long at his mouth, perhaps influenced by his behavior already.

He really should get his staring problem under control. “It can do more than lick my teeth.”

“What?” I blinked at him.

“My tongue, it can do a lot more.”

The blush burned across my chest again. The last time I felt a tongue between my legs was more than a year ago. Bjorn was patient, skilled even, but my release had always required more, and more was what King Drakkar had promised.

I bit my lip hard enough to break through this depraved lust. Blinking again, I tipped my chin up. “What is this approval?” I’d start there with my questions. “Isn’t it clear your people already see a future in our betrothal?”

Hand still gripping the goblet, he ran his knuckles along my jawline. “Eager to make this official, are we?”

I frowned. At least my face obeyed while my traitorous thoughts dipped into a darker realm.

Once we were wed, he’d touch so much more than just my chin.

My husband-to-be was just like the warriors in the sagas I craved, skilled with a sword, powerful, dangerous.

The kind of man my mind always conjured when I slipped my fingers between my legs.

Strong in both will and form.

I wasn’t short like my mother or slim like the women of his court, but he’d just as easily tossed me onto his horse as if I were the weight of the goblet in his hands.

How quickly could he throw me on my back?

How easily would he flip me so that he could sink his fingers into the softness of my waist as he did during our ride?

“We don’t have to be married to do what you’re thinking,” he said.

I looked away, feigning sudden interest in the courtiers who eyed me.

With this blushing distraction, I hadn’t even noticed their harsh stares.

Each icy glare served me well as it cooled the heat that’d flushed over my skin and built between my legs.

Cooling now, the blush faded and King Drakkar would stop guessing at my thoughts.

“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” I spoke through a frown.

“That the courtiers don’t approve.”

I snapped my eyes to him. He’d never taken his gaze off of me.

“You see beyond a person’s surface.” He said it as if he’d known me for years.

“And?” I challenged him. If he was so skilled at observation, what else had he learned about me? Did he know I wanted to find Ragna and free my mother? That I considered him the key to passing my trial from Freya?

“And that’s what makes me fascinated with you.”

“You know nothing about me.”

He laughed and took another drink, emptying the goblet. When he stretched out his arm, a servant materialized from the dim shadows of the crowds, courtiers talking in muted tones, commoners dancing and eating recklessly.

The young woman did not fill his goblet from the bronze pitcher in her hand. Instead, she took the cup away and reappeared moments later with it full.

“Silver, I think you’ve forgotten we spent several days in deep conversation. That you slept beside me at the camp, your body curved into mine?”

“For warmth. That is what everybody does during winter travel.” It was nothing more than survival.