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)
He turned. An exhalation escaped him.
Emilia stood framed by the doorway, firelight curling around her silhouette. Her expression was lively, her cheeks flushed pink by the hearth’s glow. She’d braided her raven hair into a crown in the old style of the Berserkers. The glossy coils caught sparks of light like woven night.
Taking her with me is a fucking fantastic idea.
He coughed into his fist, buying a heartbeat. “You look well.” His voice was gruffer than intended. “And much like a Berserker.”
She wore a kirtle of shimmering golden fabric that made her amber eyes gleam with a honeyed sheen. A wide belt cinched her waist, engraved with the clan’s Channeler Stone. The fitted bodice framed her pert breasts; the skirt fell in elegant lines over the curves of her hips. A bone-bead choker circled her pale throat—unexpectedly striking.
How had he not noticed her quiet beauty until now?
“Thank you!” she beamed. “That’s a compliment. Dagny deserves all the credit.”
Dagny had sent the garments, along with a note to Arctos requesting to be seated beside Emilia. An arrangement sure to be tense, considering he and Torben had not yet made peace over Yrsa’s troubling behavior.
Arctos would observe the queen tonight. Watch. Measure. But for now, all he could do was brace for the evening.
“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” Emilia said softly.
“You’re welcome.” This was happening. Truly happening. For better or worse, he was taking his “wife” before the clan.
Her smile faltered. “Arctos, I don’t ever want to embarrass you. Or burden you. I don’t want to impose on you again.”
“You work hard,” he said simply. “I cannot ask anything more than that.” A beat passed. “Mayhap Yrsa saw something in you that I did not at first.”
Emilia’s mouth parted, her expression softening with wonder. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Her voice dropped, thoughtful. “And it must be true. Why else would she have wed us?”
Why indeed.
***
Lia
Candles. Sconces. Roaring firepits.
The great court glowed with golden warmth, chasing shadows up the craggy walls. Furs draped hard surfaces, softening the space more than she remembered.
How different it looked from the cold vault she’d first entered. Less tomb, more celebration. Progress!
Berserkers milled about, pounding mugs of honey mead, laughter booming as they turned curious eyes toward her. Lia offered a tentative smile, self-conscious under the scrutiny.
Arctos guided her through the crowd to a table near the queen’s dais. With quiet courtesy, he pulled out a chair for her. “Normally we would dine with Yrsa in a place of honor,” he explained, his voice low and even, “but tonight a contingent of noble Fey have arrived. Their wise counsel is valued, and I gladly gave them our seats.”
Sharp-eared Fey occupied the long table on the dais, cloaked in deep green jackets and gowns that called to mind the leafy lands of Faeholt.
“I’ve only seen them from a distance,” Lia murmured. Months ago, emissaries had visited Bloodreach, where King Neculain had openly debated whether to drink their blood or dye thread with it. They’d left with a single warning: You’re on your own now.
A hush swept the hall as Yrsa entered, dressed in a dark-purple kirtle, bear-bone crown resting atop her long mane of hair. Regal. Resplendent. And yet…something about her appearance unsettled Lia. She couldn’t name what.
Everyone rose.
Lia glanced to Arctos. His gaze was fixed on his queen, expression unreadable—a complicated layering of awe, confusion… Perhaps even resentment.
Is he in love with her?
He never spoke much of Yrsa, no matter how often Lia asked. Maybe in time, if they became friends, he would confide more.
Yrsa reached her chair and spoke, her voice carrying across the court. “Tonight we hold a feast to welcome our newest clan member: Emilia.”
The hall erupted in cheers. Mugs banged the tables. Lia’s face burned, but she managed to wave. She made a mental note to practice more dignified waving.
“They’ve accepted you,” Arctos said, a rare ease in his tone. “They see your effort. Iron will earns respect among my people.”
If Coștin never finds me…if I never succumb to the drive…if I never, never drink blood…I can build a life here.
To thunderous applause, Yrsa called, “Enjoy the feast and the bounties of mighty Ravinelun!” Then she sat and turned her attention to the Fey.
“What did we miss?” came a cheerful female voice. Torben and Dagny approached, the latter radiant and very pregnant. “Sorry we’re late.” Dagny laughed. “I couldn’t get my dress over this bump!” She sank into the chair beside Lia, then promptly pulled her into a hug.
Lia froze, startled. My first hug? Of course it would involve surprise and witnesses. She awkwardly returned it—only to find her mouth inches from the woman’s clean-scented neck, her thudding pulse.
Oh no.
But the ache never came. No tingling. No urge to pierce flesh.
When Dagny drew back, both Arctos and Torben glanced sharply at Lia’s mouth. She smiled reassuringly, and the tension eased from their faces. I passed the test. I’m done with that part of me.