Page 52 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

I tracked the vision, slipping into the throne room through the king’s entrance so that I’d come from behind the throne. Though none of this made sense. Why would King Drakkar be sitting alone in an empty throne room?

It was not for me to question Freya’s visions. She’d led me this far. The Gods had given me an escape from this marriage and a way to save my mother and all witches.

The stake had become loose during my fall into his mother’s room, but it didn’t matter because I pulled it out from beneath the chain and wrapped my fingers around the end. With the weapon in my hand now, I was emboldened.

I moved as silently as possible, my eyes scanning every inch of the room.

Bronze candelabras suspended above me with low candles flickering. Wax dripped to the smooth floor, spotting the polished black stone with dots of beige. The mess was a sure sign the council had taken their vessels—many of the servants—with them to the shore at The Sea of Skalds.

While his council forced exiles and half the Grimward to set sail, the king sat on his throne, being fed blood in a goblet.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the stake in my fist harder.

I was ready to sink it into his chest, to end his reign the way I should have let Ragna end it weeks ago.

Without the king, chaos will unfold, just as Loki would want it.

In the interim, I would be ready to hunt each member of the council and then the courtiers until Mara’s Keep was stripped of vampires and the people of Vylheim took back their safety.

This was the duty of the huntress.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

I twitched and sucked in a sharp breath as I drew closer to the throne. The massive chair sat only a few steps from the servant’s entrance that came directly from the hall across the kitchens. From here, a whiff of charred sour bread stung my nose.

Silently, I crept forward, the vast space threatening to catch and carry every scuff of my boots.

The dim room looked entirely new and yet almost comforting in its familiarity.

It felt like years ago when I’d flooded into the throne room with my father flanking me and half of the people of Mara’s Keep scrambling to get a glimpse of the king and his council.

Like that first day, the faint whiff of sweet wine filled my nose along with a sickening tang.

Blood? I’d never smelled the thick liquid in King Drakkar’s goblet before, but now it surrounded me and curdled my stomach more and more with every breath.

A bang radiated throughout the room and sent shocks through my skeleton.

I froze and didn’t dare breathe until I identified the source of the sound.

The king had slammed his goblet down on the throne’s armchair, sending the clang echoing against the tall ceiling.

He released an exaggerated sigh with a quiet string of curses.

I drew careful breaths and tried another step forward.

If I rounded the throne, I wouldn’t be able to reach him fast enough.

I wanted to get in front of him in order to compel him.

The only compulsion I’d done without looking into the vampire’s eyes was waking them, which was so much more exhausting and difficult than simply speaking right at them.

I had to see him first.

And thankfully, he wanted to see me.

I’d approach as his betrothed, not his huntress. Lying came easy for me. Way too easy. And as long as I didn’t desire him, my thoughts would stay hidden.

Pausing halfway to the throne, I lifted my skirts and tucked the stake between my leg and the chain again. I brushed my braid and the remaining loose hair over my shoulder. Straightening, I swallowed the bitterness staining the back of my tongue.

I had to lie.

This was a good lie. If that were possible.

My father said the lie I’d been telling my whole life was a good lie. But my father wasn’t a good man.

I had to either lie to get in front of the king, or risk him attacking me. If I didn’t manage to compel him first, I didn’t stand a chance.

It was always lie or die.

My pulse thudded faster and faster. Fuck. This wasn’t the time to spiral. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt every aching beat.

Don’t think about it.

Except I couldn’t stop. King Drakkar already knew the truth. You sure like to lie, Silver. Want to share your real name?

I was Silver. This Call from Freya and Odin proved it. Gold and silver, pure metals were weapons against the undead. I was a weapon.

I am Silver.

I am his betrothed.

I want to marry King Drakkar.

The lies stacked in my mind like cuts of wood ready to be incinerated in a fireplace. King Drakkar sighed again. The goblet clinked against the bronze throne as he picked it up again. From my angle, I saw only his hand as it swiped the cup.

This was for Ragna, for my mother, for the witches and all Exiles. I straightened and forced myself to round the throne.

He sat low in the chair with his legs spread wide. His eyes sliced to me and he said nothing as I took light steps to stand before him. The flat line of his mouth ticked up ever so slightly.

Since I wasn’t running and hiding away from him, he likely assumed I was here to accept his hand.

I dropped into a faint curtsy, not low enough to dislodge the stake from my thigh. Dipping my head, I offered feigned respect.

“Silver.” His voice pulsed around me. “I knew you’d come back. Can I finally call you my wife without you biting back at me?”

The lying started now. My blood turned to ice.

I straightened and met his eyes, as cold as my chilled veins. Swallowing, I lifted my chin. “Yes.”

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t blink. He didn’t meet my acceptance with an arrogant smile as expected.

In another breath, he bolted forward. I gasped when he was already upon me, his hand at my throat, cutting off the air I grasped for.

I scrambled to reach for the stake beneath my skirts but King Drakkar was faster.

He snatched my wrist in his hand and tugged my arm behind my back.

The hem of my dress fell to the stone floor at our feet as I struggled to free myself from him.

Still, he was faster, grabbing my hand and pinching it into his other hand behind my back.

Dark corners cut his face into a mask. His mouth curved like the smooth edge of one of the rose carvings. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

I was a damn good liar, and I knew he couldn’t read my thoughts when I wasn’t heated for him. This was bait. I had to keep playing along.

I tried to twist my head into a slight shake. “No,” I breathed. I only had to get him to release my throat. Then I could whisper each sensation and take control of myself and the vampire in front of me.

His smirk spread into a wicked grin. “Oh Silver, I know you better than that by now. The woman I proposed to would immediately correct me.” His grasp on my wrists tightened as he pulled my arms lower where his knuckles pressed into the swell of my behind.

The hold forced me to arch my back, driving my torso up and closer to his body.

“Because even if you were accepting my hand, we wouldn’t be married yet and I have no doubt that little side of you that has to be perfect all the time would tell me that you’re not my wife yet. ”

With his hand still on my mouth, his thumb stretched, brushing soft sweeping gestures across my cheek. “This is how this is going to go, when I let go of you, you’re going to tell me the truth. Because we both appreciate the truth. Don’t we, Lux?”

Goosebumps spread over every inch of my skin. My nerves went raw with the sound of that name on his tongue.

This couldn’t be real.

Lux?

Lux.

Fuck.

I wouldn’t think about it. I wouldn’t let the thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind take control of me.

It didn’t matter who Silver or Lux were. I was the huntress.

As soon as he released my throat, I gulped for air.

He tilted his head, his icy eyes intense as they raked over me, perhaps trying to understand why I’d returned. “So, what are you really doing here?”

I squirmed against his hand gripping my wrists but he only tightened his hold, pushing his body flush against mine, squeezing my wrists raw, his fingers pressing harder over my lips. He dipped so close the only thing separating our mouths was his hand. His eyes narrowed as he took me in.

The truth. My heart thumped harder and harder. At one time, I’d do anything for answers, for another piece of the sagas, for remnants of our ancestors, our history. Now, I had to trust that I’d receive enough of that from my mother. King Drakkar couldn’t tempt me.

I couldn’t speak yet, so he filled the silence.

“Your body is so warm, and yet, this room is so cold. How is it that you’re burning up?”

Because I was enraged, ready to fight and kill him. Because I’d climbed the hill that led to this wretched castle. Because my heart betrayed me as each beat skittered too quickly from one to another.

What could I do trapped in his hold? I can’t do this. I was just that little girl again, screaming Freya’s name, getting distracted and failing the task entrusted to me.

I couldn’t fail. The Gods had chosen me. I had the power to raise monsters from the ground, then to compel them.

I barely put a voice behind my whispers. “I see ice in his eyes. Feel his hands on me…”

He chuckled, the sound low and taunting as it seemed to stretch down the tunnel with the sweeping wind. My eyes flew open. “I feel you, Silver.” His gaze glazed, but he fought it, blinking rapidly. “I feel you trying to take hold of me.”

A crease formed between his brow as he resisted the power slipping into his mind, my gift from Loki. My gut sloshed with a sudden heaving sickness. It cracked my concentration as I swallowed the stinging bile back down my throat.

I hadn’t felt it before, but I hadn’t experienced a vampire trying to fight the compulsion either. Something about the flicker of wetness in his eyes, the pain that lanced across his face with each twitch of his brow struck me. Why should I care if it hurt him?