Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“Well, shall we announce this and set the maidens free to woo you?”
He gazed at his queen’s upturned chin. She expected one answer, and more, he sensed she would be puzzled—and angry—not to receive it.
Was she a threat to Emilia?
Gods, he could hardly believe he was thinking in these terms, taking the side of a vampire he’d known for mere weeks over the queen who’d avenged the murders of his and Torben’s families.
Yrsa was the protector who’d helped him overcome his fear of the monsters that haunted the dark.
“Your offer is generous,” he said carefully. “But you know me. I am painstaking in all decisions. I need time.” She’d given him no choice before and had made a hasty mistake; now she would be forced to allow him leeway. He’d trapped her, and they both knew it.
She flashed him a cagey look. Then another forced smile emerged. “Painstaking. Judicious. Which is why you are my finest shield—the ideal foil to a queen’s follow-her-heart impulsiveness.” She tilted her head. “But I believe relinquishing Emilia to her people is the right course. Do you still trust your queen, Arctos of the Wintry Eye?”
The chamber seemed to tilt. The currents between them churned like the Ravinelun River in flood.
Lie and she would know. Speak truth and he might lose everything.
The ruler he’d served—the Yrsa of old—seemed a far distant creature. “My queen would never give me cause to doubt her. And she would want me to make a decision that would benefit my future. Perhaps your earlier decree wasn’t flawed.”
Thinned lips. “Very well, my gods-son,” she said calmly, even as her eyes flashed silvery with stirring Berserkerage.
A breach. As deep as the one between him and Torben.
Except this one might prove deadly.
Chapter 53
Torben
When the guards broke up the tenth fight of the night—more brawls than any feast in living memory—Torben told Dagny in Old Norse, “We’re leaving.” He rose and offered her his hand.
Brows lifting, she replied in the same tongue, “Now? The dinner isn’t even over, and I haven’t finished visiting with my new friend.”
“It’s getting too dangerous. The mead must be stronger tonight.” Frustration coiled inside him, a restless anger, even though he hadn’t touched a drop. “Or maybe it’s the moon. But, Dagny, if one stray hit caught you…”
She chewed her lip. “Yes, you’re right. We’ll leave when Arctos returns.”
His gaze slid to Emilia, who picked at her trencher. “If she’s to be part of the clan, she can stand on her own among them.”
“What is wrong with you?” Dagny demanded with her own frustration. “She’s not immortal yet.”
He gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Now, mate.” He spotted Arctos then, weaving back through the unruly crowd. His cousin looked as impassive as ever, but Torben doubted the queen had warmed him with friendly conversation.
Now will you see? Tomorrow he would press Arctos again.
Dagny told Emilia, “I need to go instill some manners in my husband. Will you be all right?”
“Oh, yes,” Emilia said quickly, having also spotted Arctos. “Thank you.”
Dagny squeezed the vampire’s shoulder, gentle despite the tension. “We’ll talk later then.”
Outside in the frosty air and howling winds, Dagny adjusted her cloak with jerky movements. “The hells was that, Torben?” she snapped. The storm seemed to mimic her feelings.
“You’re angry that I wanted you and our child out of danger?”
“No. I’m angry that you were rude. Truly, absurdly rude!”
He had been rude. He wasn’t polished on his best day—an admitted hothead—but tonight had been worse.
Back in their den, she threw her cloak aside. “You’ve been horrible to Emilia and to Arctos!”
“Oh, I’ve been horrible? If only you knew…”
“Then tell me!”
When he hesitated, she gave a growl. “Stop treating me like I’m breakable. I am strong, and I’ve faced countless foes. Pregnancy is nothing compared to a dozen strigoi attacking as one.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not you I’m worried about.” His gaze dipped to her belly—large, taut, full of the life he’d been terrified to hope for. “We’re so close.”
“So now you admit to worrying about the babe? You wouldn’t before. I saw you meet gazes with Hulda tonight. She feigned a smile for you. Feigned it, Torben!” Dagny was usually slow to anger. The pregnancy must be affecting her. Or maybe she’d been moonstruck as well.
He tried for lightness. “For all we know, Hulda was suffering heartburn from all the mugs she quaffed.” One time, out of sight of Dagny, the woman had slid him a look, a godsdamned sad look. Recalling it made his fury spike even more. “She shouldn’t even have been there! And she never should have hurt you with her words. Her little ‘foretellings’ were a curse!” When Dagny’s eyes went wide, he forced himself to breathe. “Look, it’s done, and we’re almost home, just days from meeting our child. We need to be rational about this.”