Page 59 of Blood Vows
“That wasn’t my bed,” he replied, after shaking his head. The quiet authority in his tone stopped my turbulent mind in its tracks. I blinked, my mouth parting as I tried to catch up.
“What do you mean?”
He took a step toward me, his movements slow, as if he was afraid that any sudden action might drive me away.
“What you heard… that woman… who do you think she is?” he said carefully.
“I thought I heard the witch,” I confessed, and he looked shocked.
“The witch?” he repeated as if needing me to confirm my assumptions. I frowned, my heart pounding faster, though I couldn’t explain why.
“If not her, then who is she?” He hesitated, and for the first time, I saw something flicker behind his eyes that looked almost like guilt… or maybe sorrow. His fingers flexed at his sides, his control visibly slipping.
“She doesn’t belong to this world anymore,” he said quietly, before adding,
“And she hasn’t for a very long time.”
I stared at him, my mind reeling.
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re not meant to,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the truth was too heavy to look at.
“Not yet.” I shook my head, telling him without words that I still didn’t understand.
“I told you once this house holds things better left unseen,” he said, and again, his tone was low, almost a whisper. He looked up then, and for the first time since I had met him, I saw something unguarded.
“And she is one of them,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly.
His words lingered in the air, dark and unfinished, and the unease twisting in my stomach told me that whatever he wasn’t saying was far worse than anything I could imagine. I straightened slowly, my hands wringing in the hem of my top.
“You’re going to have to explain this to me,” I said, my voice trembling but firm.
“All of it. Because I’m done guessing.” His eyes flicked up, the faintest spark of amusement behind the exhaustion that lingered there.
“Explain what exactly?”
“What happened?” I pressed, stepping closer.
“What tore your family apart? Why do you hate your brothers so much? And why…” I paused and swallowed hard before meeting his gaze.
“…Why do you want the dagger so badly?” At that, he scoffed quietly, the sound sharp in the hush of the room. He turned away from me, one hand dragging through his damp hair, before gesturing vaguely toward the chair beside the fire. Onehe ignited with nothing more than a nod of his head, quickly making it roar to life. The flames couldn’t chase away the chill his words had left behind
“Sit,” he said, his tone rough but not unkind.
“If I’m to relive this story, we might as well be comfortable while doing so.” I hesitated for only a moment before taking the seat opposite him. He stood for a time, his gaze lost in the dancing flames, before finally speaking.
“In my family…” he began slowly,
“… Like I told you, the dagger is more than an heirloom. It’s a symbol of power. Whoever holds it is not only the head of the house but the ruler of our sector. It was forged centuries ago, blessed, or cursed, depending on your perspective, by the blood goddess herself.”
His voice grew quieter as he continued, a strange reverence threading through it.
“For generations, it has passed from father to son, from king to heir.” He finally looked at me then, and the weight of his gaze pinned me in place.
“It had nothing to do with choice or opinion; it was birthright. We were triplets, but I was the firstborn, and that made all the difference.” For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him.
“Triplets?”
