Page 55 of Vow of the Undead
Darius jumped to his friend’s defense. “My king, you can’t treat Vigg like this.”
Vigg nodded. “I’m Ylva and Darius’ guest, invited by the council?—”
“Call my wife rude again,” King Drakkar snarled.
Vigg grit his teeth. “The council will make you pay for this.”
“Say. It.”
Breath went stale at the back of my tongue. The music and blur of dancing kept most of the people oblivious to the scene, but several courtiers and a few commoners stopped to watch.
Vigg frowned at me. “She’s rude.”
The king shoved Vigg back, releasing the man before curling his fingers into a fist. The thick thwack of his knuckles across Vigg’s face drew more onlookers. A yelp escaped me as I found myself sinking to perch at the edge of the throne. Vigg tumbled to the floor, smacking his ass against the black stone. He fell at the feet of the gawking dancers.
Blood poured from his broken nose, dripping down his chin and over his wrinkled cream tunic.
King Drakkar stepped over him, a spot of red dropping from his knuckles onto Vigg’s forehead as he passed by.
Follow the blood he leaves behind.
Ylva materialized from somewhere beyond the crowd and shadows. Fury twisted her features and her mouth dropped open like a skeleton who’d wasted away to nothing but bone.
Looking from the king to Vigg, her eyes narrowed. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” she asked, between her teeth. “He’s bleeding.”
“And I’m the king.”
“There are still laws.”
Forgetting about Vigg, both Darius and Ylva flanked the king. His guards made no move to step in. King Drakkar twisted to meet my gaze, he shoved past them and put his hands on either side of me, leaning against the tall back of the throne. His entire body caged me there where I sat at the edge of the throne. I rolled my neck back to look up at him.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Eat and enjoy some wine for me.” Dropping his voice, he dipped his mouth to my ear. “If he calls you rude again, you have my blessing to gut him. I know you have it in you.”
My lips parted and breath escaped me. When he pulled back, we locked eyes until he turned and stalked out of the throne room after Ylva and Darius and three other members of the council. My eyes trailed them until the heavy doors groaned and sealed shut in their wake.
I had it in me to attack, that much he knew, and maybe his fascination finally made sense.
The darkness in me called to the monster in him.
I should cut this thought out of me before I took pleasure in it, but he saw—he saw the real me.
For once, I wanted him to call me his wife again.
After the guests realized King Drakkar would not, of course, pay too heavily for his crime of bloodshed, the celebration continued. The people of Mara danced, and stuffed themselves with figs and wine until they were laughing and sweaty.
I gave Vigg a wide berth, which was easy enough since he’d limped to a group of courtiers who eyed him hungrily. I didn’t want to know if they were about to choose him as their next vessel.
Slipping from the throne room only minutes after the council had guided him out proved effortless. The door fell shut behind me.
Servants passed through the hall, but I was mostly alone with the draft sending goosebumps over my bare arms. I scanned both sides of the hallway until a spot of red caught my eye. Hurrying toward the drop, my heart thumped faster and faster.
Freya’s trial was finally surging forward.
I crept down the hall and stopped where another corridor forked to the right.
Another drop of blood guided me to this new section thatbranched off. Like all the others, this hall stretched into what felt like an endless abyss. With no end in sight, I kept walking, walking, walking until all sounds of the celebration faded completely.
There were no doors, no new corridors splitting left or right, just a straight forward stretch of deafening stone. If I’d gone the wrong direction, I would have lost half an hour already, but the last blood drop was in this hallway, so I stayed the course.
