Page 28 of Vow of the Undead
Expose King Drakkar.
Four days of pelting rain had me grateful for the furs over my head and shoulders. Since I sat in front of the king, sharing in his horse, I was at the front of the entire party. He’d insisted I ride with him so that whenever the storm lightened, he could test me while the guards kept their eyes on me.
At least that was how his questions felt, because I had no clue what else their purpose would be.
What would he stand to gain from asking me about how I dealt with jealousy? And, what did I consider the definition of chaos?
I answered each one through my teeth. At first I thought he’d purposely waited until the rain fell in sheets to speak to me, like the storm provided some sort of privacy. Then I thought that maybe he expected a cold and miserable witch would be easier to bait into some sort of a confession.
He never stopped interrogating me long enough for me to consider the vision from Freya and how I might track a king’s blood, and maybe, after all, that was his intention. Though he’d have no way of knowing about the trial granted to me. He didn’t even believe in the Gods.
King Drakkar released another string of prying questions as the rain eased. These were more personal, which made it even more impossible to identify a pattern to his seemingly random interrogation.
Did I want to give up or work harder whenever I lost a race? Why had I never taken a husband? He asked if I preferred women, and then said that if so, he wouldn’t blame me.
“Women have a way of drawing everybody's attention.” His hand brushed against the bend of my torso but did not linger. “Your curves are a place of rest and comfort.”
“I prefer men,” I said.
I felt his smile in the silence that followed. I didn’t mean that I preferred him.
“Have you ever wanted revenge?” he asked. It was another question vastly different from the last to throw me off guard, and it worked.
“I have,” I said. The answer slipped from me so quickly that I didn’t have time to swallow it.
The revenge I wanted was against him. Sendhimto the wasteland for ten years and see if he survives.
A low rumble built in his chest and was felt through my back. His laugh was surprisingly warm, but his amusement made my blood boil.
“Good,” he said.
Was this all a game to him? Toy with the servant witch who saved his damn life?
If I wasn’t tied up, I might have slapped him. The exhaustion of travel and endless rain, and the nerves about the unknown life ahead left me raw and impulsive, stupid even. Or perhaps it was the darkest part of me tempting me to attack him.
“I should have known,” he said. “You’re not the first person to want to gut a courtier.” He leaned closer and my heart skittered. “You’re just the first to succeed.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. This was another bait.
Two of his courtiers were missing but that was likely all he knew. How many other witches did he try to draw a confession out of? This was a calculated witch hunt. Of course he blamed us, because this was another excuse to rid Vylheim of the women who proved authority more powerful than a king existed.
And anyway, what he’d said about me being the only one to succeed wasn’t true.
“Did you not dethrone the last king?” I asked. “I’d say that’s close to gutting a courtier.”
Another laugh rolled through him. I almost liked the feelof it. The movement warmed me. His body flush against mine was almost a small comfort, because when the horse cantered too quickly, I didn’t have effective use of my hands to hang on.
And when the horse picked up even more speed, King Drakkar gripped my waist. His fingers hooked into the bones at my hips.
“Almost like gutting a courtier,” he said. “True. But a king is not a courtier, and I didn’t gut him. In fact, he didn’t bleed at all when I snapped his neck.”
I bit my lip to keep my gasp muffled. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of my shock. Or was it curiosity? This was nothing new. I’d heard the stories of how King Drakkar overpowered the former king, ending his life without wasting a drop of blood, because somehow, King Roderic didn’t have blood at all.
That was the story anyway.
Why did my mind paint a picture of what he’d said? Why did I replay the flash of King Drakkar murdering the former king over and over in my head in the seconds that followed his words? And why did I like it?
Because we’re both corrupt.
