Page 29 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

L ively music and the warm scent of honeyed mead greeted me upon stepping into the throne room. Commoners danced, their ignorance a type of wild bliss.

North of Mara, winter already raged. Here, they still enjoyed flourishing crops late into autumn, but Mara couldn’t sustain all of Vylheim.

How long until starving villagers from Stormdal, Torsholt, Einnland, Daganfold, Myrr, and Skaldir flooded Mara?

How long until their bliss ended in a desperate war over food and warmth?

The Dawn of the Exploration Age was supposed to solve this problem, but it’d only send thousands of people to their deaths when witches, like my mother, could yield successful crops if they weren’t bound to hiding or exiled to the wasteland.

For some reason these vampires didn’t like witches.

They buried us and our beliefs, deeming our existence and the Gods fake, but to what end?

To hide their true nature? Clearly, they didn’t want the people of Vylheim to know they were vampires.

Belief in monsters, based on the sagas, would have villagers suspicious—perhaps suspicious enough to cut them down.

What human wanted the undead to lurk among us?

Hiding witches must be motivated by self preservation.

But with the history, with the witches help, Freya would undo it all.

My gaze sliced from the dancers to the throne. King Drakkar sat with one ankle propped on his knee, his hands relaxed on the armrests. Two courtiers kept him engaged in conversation, but he still slid his eyes to me as if he sensed me watching him.

I didn’t blink, instead, soaking in his gaze as it raked over every inch of me. Heat reddened where my chest was bared, and he instantly took notice. My lips parted. I sucked in slight breaths until I snapped my eyes away.

It was too easy to fall into his gaze, to want him to look longer. King Drakkar played the man of my dreams. Dressed like a warrior, powerful, dangerous.

I scanned the crowd of servants, of commoners, of vampires playing at being courtiers. Where was Thora? She’d been as pale as Embla, as quiet and discreet with her movements, but instead of Embla’s long hair, Thora kept hers shorter than her earrings.

Had King Drakkar gifted her with jewelry? Bitter jealousy sloshed in my gut. With a thought like that it was almost as if I wanted to be his vessel. As if I wanted him to sink his fangs into me like there was dignified intimacy in being fed on.

But there was nothing dignified about it.

Vessels were innocent humans being used, and I was fucking insane to entertain the thought of becoming the king’s.

And yet, the weight of him watching me wrapped around me, like his hands encompassing mine when he saw my fingers were blue.

Comforting. His behavior—and this feeling that came with it—didn’t make sense.

Why had he claimed he was fascinated with me ?

Worse, why did I still want him to be?

Vampires had no souls, no connection to the Gods, and they denied witches a free life. I should hate him as much as I hated myself for the warmth that pooled between my legs when I felt his gaze on me.

When we weren’t together, he was just a distant king, but as soon as I became aware of his presence, my body and mind both betrayed me. Perhaps because he’d stopped my execution—the warrior who’d saved me. It was the dream of a foolish girl.

A selfish girl.

I dared glance at him again. He stood, eyes still on me, and my pulse flickered when he marched toward me, striding with purpose and a hurried eagerness I’d never seen from him. Heat built in my chest again. I swiped my hand over my breasts so my icy fingers would cool me.

He didn’t miss a beat. His mouth sliced into a wicked grin.

When he reached me, he took both of my hands and examined my fingers as if he’d read my thoughts from across the room.

His icy eyes ticked up and he gently cupped my hands in his.

“You’re cold again.” I merely nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Does your handmaiden not keep the fire burning in your bedchambers?”

“She does.”

“The dress then,” he said, “we’ll have you wear a cloak over your shoulders.” His eyes dipped to my bare skin.

“No,” I said, too fast. I didn’t need him to admire me.

I was already bound to marry him, a vampire, a monster, the creature who exiled my mother.

I didn’t need him to stare at my bare skin, but I wanted it.

Especially after watching that damn sparring.

He’d become the warrior I fantasized about my entire life.

Everything was in Freya’s hands now, if I didn’t fuck this trial up with these depraved thoughts.

“Whatever you want, my wife.” He dipped forward, brushing his lips across my shoulder. A tendril of dark hair escaped the knot at the back of his head.

Desire unfurled low in my belly. When he tugged me toward the throne, my thighs rubbed together, slick with my body’s betrayal. I couldn’t want him—a king of monsters.

When a servant with cups passed by, he lifted one from the young man’s hands and offered it to me. I stared at the liquid. This definitely wasn’t the blood I suspected had been in the goblet he often drank from. I took a whiff of the sweet wine and I was suddenly thirsty for a sip.

Taking it from him, I tipped the cup to my lips. He waited for me to finish, before palming my lower back and guiding me to his heavy bronze chair.

At the throne, he hooked his hands over my hips and gave me a slight lift, propping me on the throne’s wide armrest. Swiveling to take a seat, he smirked up at me, his bride.

I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, with my mouth. Shit. I was in deep. Too many months passed since I enjoyed Bjorn, that was all this desire meant. Nothing less, nothing more. King Drakkar didn’t need to be the one to release this pent up energy simmering between my legs.

He lifted his hand to toy with the ends of my heavy braid where it sat just at his shoulder. What would it do to my depraved thoughts if he pulled it? A man like the king, someone wielding his sword with the skill I witnessed the other night, was a man who wouldn’t be afraid to yank on my braid.

Having his fingers in my hair was dangerous territory, like crossing the border from Skaldir into the forest alone at night.

All it’d take was one little tug and I’d be begging for more.

Bjorn had always been too cautious. If I told him to dig his fingers into my hips or nip at the sensitive buds of my breasts, he’d pretend he didn’t hear me.

He refused to hurt the Vyl’s daughter. But I wanted a little pain with my pleasure, and that was just something Bjorn could never give me .

“One more day,” King Drakkar said, carving through my thoughts with a husky voice.

I stared down at him, searching his icy eyes for any indication of why he wanted to marry me.

As a witch, I was the enemy. Or perhaps it was all about control, I had the gift of visions after all. Those visions gave me insight into the history he and his king had buried, but he didn’t know.

“What is it, wife?” he asked after taking a sip of wine, the bronze ring on his finger clinking against the cup.

“I’m not your wife.” I said it more to shut down my lust than as a reaction to his words.

He handed the empty goblet off to a servant with short black hair. She disappeared into the crowd.

Thora.

When she returned a moment later, the cup full of red liquid, my stomach turned. I pinned her with my gaze but she didn’t seem to notice as she turned away and let the party swallow her.

I flicked my eyes to him, watching every time he took a sip. Watching for a spill. Watching any drop of what was surely blood inside the goblet.

He shifted in his throne to face me. “You can avoid the question, but your eyes are speaking for you.”

I lifted my brows. “And what are they saying? That I want you?” It was what I expected from his arrogant lips, so I threw the suggestion out there before he could take control of the conversation.

The curve at his mouth spread wider. He gently picked up my wrist from where my hand rested.

He pressed the soft pad of his thumb against the beat of my pulse, the blood pushing through thin veins at an erratic rate.

“They say you’re curious, excited, intrigued.

Can I claim victory for inspiring such feelings, or is there something you haven’t shared with me? ”

I shifted my jaw, considering his offer to speak freely as I ground my teeth. I drew in a slow breath to calm my heart. It did no good because the thought was already committed to my mind. “Why did you mention monsters when you asked me to be your wife?”

Would he dare admit what he was? We would be married soon, I’d have to know.

The grin wiped from his mouth. He gripped my wrist and tugged me hard enough that I lost balance and fell into his lap.

Before I could get to my feet, he whispered in my ear. “Because they’re everywhere, Silver.”

I drew back far enough to examine his face, but his eyes flicked to the people celebrating.

I followed his line of sight. The celebration was a revel, a blur of fine fabrics the color of wine and the colors of the fjords in the summer, rich blues and greens.

Men and women holding tightly to one another glided together, some in scripted dances, others shifting slowly with hands all over their partners’ bodies.

I turned back to King Drakkar who was observing me silently. “You believe in monsters?”

His throat bobbed with a hard swallow, and he dragged his gaze back to me where it landed heavy on my eyes until it slipped to my lips. “You see the truth already, my wife. Look a little longer. Look in a mirror. There is no need for belief when there is truth.”

My heart skipped, shooting sharp pains across my chest. Were his words another reminder of what I’d done? Of the fact that he claimed to be like me? That we’d both spat on the sanctity of life and killed? “What are you suggesting?”