Page 35 of Bought by the Broken Beast
Her words are a balm, a shield against the crushing weight of my own insecurities. She sees me. Not as a symbol, not as a human, but as the woman who loves her son.
The time comes. Two guards in the golden armor of the King’s Guard appear at the door. My heart begins a frantic, hammering rhythm against my ribs. It is time to face the world.
The walk to the Grand Plaza is a blur of marble corridors and bowing servants. But as we step out into the sunlight, the din of the crowd hits me like a physical blow. The plaza, the very ground Malacc intended to soak with the blood of the innocent, is a sea of faces. Tens of thousands of them. Vakkak, Zotkak, Fiepakak, all crammed together, their eyes fixed on me.
I can feel their stares, a thousand pinpricks against my skin. I see the awe. I see the curiosity. And I see the lingering prejudice, the cold, hard glint of resentment on the faces of the more traditionalist Vakkak lords. This is not just a mating ceremony. It is a trial of a different kind.
Kor and the surviving hunters and gladiators form our honor guard. They are magnificent, their scarred, battered forms clad in new leather armor bearing the Saru crest. They walk with a pride I have never seen in them, their heads held high. They are no longer the forgotten dregs of the city. They are the heroes of the rebellion, the loyal brothers of Lord Saru. Kor gives me a slow, reassuring wink from his one good eye, a silent promise that he is here, that I am not alone.
At the far end of the plaza, on a raised dais, two figures are waiting. The Zusvak, his form still gaunt but his presence radiating a renewed strength, stands beside a formidable Fiepakak priestess. And beside them… Votoi.
My breath catches. He is a god. He is clad in the formal, black-and-gold armor of his house, his father’s ceremonial axestrapped to his back. The sun glints off his polished, unbroken horn, and his splintered one is no longer a mark of shame, but a symbol of his sacrifice, of his victory. His amber eyes find mine across the sea of faces, and the world, with all its noise and all its judgment, fades away. There is only him.
I walk toward him, my steps steady, my head held high. Lady Saru was right. This is for them. He is for me.
I reach the dais and take my place at his side. He takes my hand, his massive, calloused fingers lacing through my own, his grip a warm, possessive anchor in the storm of my nerves.
The ceremony begins. It is a blend of two worlds, a tapestry woven from threads of ancient tradition and new beginnings. The Fiepakak priestess lights the sacred brazier, the smoke of the burnt offering—a blend of rare woods and sacred herbs—rising to the heavens, a prayer to the Lady of Light. She speaks in the old Minotaur tongue, her voice a deep, resonant chant that speaks of honor, of loyalty, of the sacred bond between lifemates.
Then, it is my turn. The human custom. The exchange of vows. This was my request, my one condition. A symbol that I am not just a passive recipient in this ceremony, but an active participant.
Votoi turns to me, his amber eyes soft, his gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch. “I, Votoi of the House of Saru,” he begins, his voice a deep, booming thing that needs no magical amplification to reach the farthest corners of the plaza, “take you, Bella, as my lifemate. I swear to you my strength as your shield, my name as your honor, and my heart as your home. Before the gods and my people, I am yours.”
My own voice, when I speak, is a trembling, reedy thing, but it is clear, and it is true. “I, Bella, formerly of nowhere, take you, Votoi, as my lifemate. I swear to you my mind as your counsel,my loyalty as your anchor, and my heart as your home. Before the gods and your people, I am yours.”
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. A human, speaking of being a Minotaur’s anchor, his counsel. It is a radical, world-altering idea. I can feel the weight of their judgment, the sting of their prejudice. My courage falters. I am a fraud. I am a child playing at being a queen.
Votoi must feel the tremor in my hand, must see the flicker of doubt in my eyes. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, possessive rumble that is meant for me, but is heard by all.
“You are my home.”
The words are a shield. They are a promise. They are a declaration that silences the last of the murmurs, that silences the last of the doubts in my own heart. In front of the entire kingdom, he has not just made me his mate. He has made me his world.
The priestess raises her hands. “The bond is sealed! The union is blessed!”
The roar that erupts from the crowd is a single, unified, deafening wave of pure, unadulterated joy. It is the sound of a kingdom, reborn.
28
VOTOI
The door to our chamber clicks shut, and the world, with all its noise and ceremony and expectation, ceases to exist. There is only the soft glow of a dozen candles, the scent of sea salt drifting through the open balcony doors, and her.
Bella. My mate. My wife.
She stands in the center of the room, a vision in shimmering silver, her small frame radiating a light that has nothing to do with the candlelight. The weight of the day, of being a symbol, a spectacle, has left a faint shadow of exhaustion in her eyes, but it cannot dim the fierce, beautiful fire of her spirit.
I am home. Not in this grand chamber, not in this restored estate. Home is the small, human woman who holds my entire world in her gaze.
“You are staring,” she says, a small, shy smile playing on her lips.
“I am memorizing,” I correct, my voice a low, rough thing. I move toward her, my limp a dull, forgotten ache. “I am memorizing the sight of my wife, standing in my home, on the first night of our forever.”
I stop before her, my hands coming up to cup her face, my thumbs stroking the soft, delicate skin of her cheeks. “Today, you stood before my people, and you were a queen. You did not flinch. You did not falter. You are the strongest person I have ever known.”
“I was terrified,” she whispers, her hands coming to rest on the hard plate of my armor.
“I know,” I murmur, leaning down to press a soft, reverent kiss to her forehead. “That is what makes you brave.”
