Page 37 of Vow of the Undead
“I am neither your wife nor capable of jealousy when it comes to a man I hardly know,” I said, frowning to offset his curious smirk.
“Then why do you ask about her?”
“Because if you are to marry me, I won’t have you distracted. And didn’t you promise protection? In Skaldir, distraction leads to death.”
He studied me, nearly as entranced, but without the unblinking stare. One of amusement. “Silver, I can’t protect you until you say yes.”
“You never asked.” I set my jaw.
He turned and took a seat on his throne, his legs spread wide, one hand on his thigh, the other perched on the dull bronze of the throne’s arm. “Sit,” he said, all patience gone from his voice.
“Where?”
His eye flickered to the leg free of his hand and a faint twitch curved the edge of his lips as he looked back up at me standing helplessly before him. “You’ll do what I say when you’re in my castle, Silver. Sit.”
“Is that what kind of wife I’ll be forced to become?” I couldn’t tamp down the fire raging within me. None of this iswhat I expected, and instead of succumbing to my nerves, I let anger flare. It felt safer to be outraged, as stupid as it was to argue with the king. But he said he valued truth, so I’d give him the truth—exactly what I thought.
“You won’t be a wife at all until you sit down and say yes.”
“To what proposal?” I snapped. Since he hadn’t immediately called forth the executioners, I’d become too bold.
When I made no move to obey, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down. He only afforded me a moment to adjust my skirts and maintain my dignity before his hand found my bare collarbone. He gently traced the bone with his fingers until his hand momentarily slipped over my neck, as if to grab me by the throat.
In reaction, I reached for the silver tree in my pocket. When his fingers found their way to my jaw, I loosened my grip on the necklace, leaving it still buried in the fabric of my skirts. He tipped my chin to face him.
“You’ll be my wife, Silver?”
“Is that a question?” It sounded more like a statement.
“It is.”
I rubbed the pointed end of the silver pendant, letting the sharpness dig into the soft flesh at the center of my thumb. I could accept him, or I could continue trying to protect myself. No other man could offer what a king could give me. Times of peace bred gentle men, men I was friends with and cared for, but not men with true power.
“I know what you need,” he said, prompting me to give him the yes he longed for. “Remember, Silver, Iknowwhat you did.” His eye fell to my hidden hand. To my pocket. To where I kept the weapon I’d used to kill two people from this very court.
My throat squeezed tighter than if he’d wrapped his fingers around it. Dread crawled over my skin as I remembered their boiling flesh. It seemed my own body bubbled and bloated until I was forced to push out an answer. I had adozen reasons to say yes, protection from the shadows, an excused execution. The trial was the most important, but it wasn’t until he pushed the reminder of what I’d done on me that I finally formed the word…
“Yes.” I said, as if this betrothal—this sacrifice—would wipe it all away.
“Yes?” He wanted more.
I tried to swallow but my throat was too tight. “Yes, I’ll be your wife.”
He pressed a palm to my stomach, lifting me from his lap and to my feet as he stood with me. Instead of forcing his hand in mine, he offered his arm to me. All harshness had melted from his eyes and the wicked grin shifted to a peaceful smile, like an icy stalactite that’d melted in the warm sun. Like he was two different people.
The change was so odd, and yet I found it easier to take his arm, even with every muscle in my body fighting it.
He tugged me forward. His mere presence, having returned to standing now, quietly demanded the room’s attention.
As dancing ceased and laughter silenced, King Drakkar lifted his chin, glancing at me before sealing my fate in front of hundreds of witnesses. “I’d like to officially introduce Mara’s Keep to my betrothed. Silver Norn Quinn is to be my wife.”
Iwoke to the roaring crackle of a fire. Rolling my head to the side, I found the source of the heat pulsing through an unrecognizable room. Flames licked high up into the flue above the fireplace, erasing my body’s memory of winter in Skaldir. For once, my hands weren’t painfully cold.
Too dizzy to move, I lifted my hands up to inspect my fingers. My skin glowed with a rare but healthy pink, even if I felt horrible.
Too much wine left me waking with throbbing at my temples. After the announcement, hundreds of villagers descended upon us, each clambering to grace us with their congratulations. Some I’d thought I even recognized.
Had one of them been Ragna? Impossible, she wouldn’t congratulate this corrupt betrothal. But I’d seen her face in the crowd, I could swear it on Odin’s eye. Shouldn’t she and the other witches have been taken beyond Mara and to the wasteland?
