by Bec McMaster
“Merchant?” It hadn’t escaped her notice that he seemed to have a collection of… interesting friends around the world.
The devil had a smile like that. “Technically, he sells things. I just didn’t say how he came about them.”
A smuggler in Morocco. A black-market trader in Kristiania.
And always a “friend” who seemed to know some sort of information she—with all her legal avenues of information traders—couldn’t seem to get her hands upon.
“Just what was it you spent ten years doing?” she asked.
Árdís suddenly looked very interested.
“A little of this, and a little of that.” Marduk shrugged uncomfortably. “I can fight if need be—Father’s arms tutor saw to that—but I’m better with my tongue.”
She had the sudden impression of his mouth moving over hers as he pinned her to the floor of her bedchambers that one time….
“Not like that, Solveig,” he purred, as if he could read her thoughts. “I meant I’m good at talking to people and making friends, though I am excellent at using my mouth for other purposes.”
“I keep hearing about this wicked mouth and its skill,” she replied sweetly. “Though I often find when one spends so much time enhancing one’s own abilities, it’s often just… talk.”
“Anytime you want to test my claims—”
“No!” Árdís said, holding up her hands. “You two will have a room to yourselves tonight. You can test such things there. I don’t need to hear about it.”
Solveig had been so caught in the intensity of his stare that she’d almost forgotten the princess was there. “He’s not testing anything except for the calluses on his own hand.”
“No, no, no, no, no!” Árdís plugged her fingers in her ears. “This is my brother, I am not even entertaining such notions. That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Oh, please.” Frustration momentarily turned Marduk into Solveig’s ally. “You drag Haakon into every secluded nook at court. I nearly walked into the both of you the other day.”
Árdís smiled a toothy smile at him and waggled her fingers as in, I-can’t-hear-you.
“Silence,” the Blackfrost snapped as he peered intently into the mist. “They’re coming.”
Solveig ground her teeth together. It was something she should have been aware of. Marduk distracted her. Always.
She set her hand to the hilt of her sword. The wind whispered through the mist, stirring little eddies within it.
“I can’t see anything,” Árdís grumbled.
“You never were much of a hunter,” her husband muttered, stepping between her and the mist, his hand dropping to his sword. “They’re there. Watching us.”
And then a series of dark shadows appeared within the fog.
Nine enormous warriors, clad in leather armor and armed to the teeth as they strode toward them.
The precise number of their own party, which had to be deliberate.
Dreki courtesies were intricate at best. Tradition dictated that guests must both take and be met in mortal form in order to avoid draconian clashes. In their dreki forms, with full mastery over the elements, such a meeting risked setting off storms that would ruin the entire coast.
A tall woman appeared in the lead, gowned in a chartreuse silk that set off her dark skin. A heavy fur cloak obscured most of the gown and her black hair was braided into a coronet with little gold chains woven through each braid. Intricate, elegant, and effortless, by the look of her. Aslaug would have died of jealousy.
This must be the Ethiopian princess.
“I am Andromeda of the Zilittu clan,” the tall woman announced. “And we have been awaiting you.”
Árdís inclined her head. “I am Árdís of the Zini clan. My felicitations on your recent mating.”
The two of them clasped forearms, the pretty blonde princess forced to look up into the other woman’s dark eyes.
“My sister.” Andromeda bowed her head, resting her forehead against Árdís’s. “You bear the gift of the goddess.” Her gaze slid toward Ishtar, her eyes widening slowly as she moved toward Marduk’s twin with her hands outstretched. “My sister.”
Árdís smoothly intercepted her, her body between them protectively. “This is my younger sister, Ishtar.”
“Of course.” There was a natural warmth in Andromeda’s smile as she bowed her head politely. “You shine like the sun. You are truly goddess-blessed.”
Greetings went between both groups.
“A little unusual that the queen greets us,” Marduk whispered in Solveig’s ear, his hands coming to rest upon her hips like an amorous suitor as he stepped up behind her. “When it should be the king.”
Solveig turned into him, rubbing her cheek against his and caressing the other side of his face. “I thought so too.”
But this conversation needed to be taken to another level.
Solveig opened her psychic senses, and Marduk accepted the link.
“She’s a powerful Chaos-wielder,” she mused. “I think they sent her because they knew your sisters were coming. I also think this King Draco didn’t wish to alarm you, so he presents the softer side of the court.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Zilittu I know.”
“It does when they want something,” she pointed out, her gaze sliding to Ishtar. “Just how powerful is your sister?”
A minute hesitation went through him. “Very.”
And then he withdrew from her link, which was a little telling in itself. This time, it was he who put his body between the Zilittu and Ishtar. He offered his sister his arm, and their eyes met as if he was communicating privately with her.
“Come. Let us guide you to the castle,” Andromeda called.
And then she turned and strode directly into the mist, which parted as though someone swept aside a curtain.
“You are allied with the Zini?” Andromeda asked as she rode side by side with Solveig.
The mist unnerved her.
The Zilittu had brought horses for them, but it felt like riding beneath a tunnel of fog. Anything could be hiding out there. The damp weight smothered all sound, and Solveig’s knuckles remained tight on the reins even as she flared her nostrils.
Sound could be obscured, vision could be cut, but smell rarely betrayed her.
“A mating alliance,” she replied. “As is yours, I have heard.”
Andromeda gave her a regal look. “Yes.”
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Interesting.
“Your mating must be very new, for Draco overthrew his father but recently,” she continued, because there was more to this story she suspected. “Though I was surprised to find you accepted the hand of the younger brother, and not Scorpius, who was heir at the time.”
“You are well informed. It’s been a year.” Andromeda’s gaze shifted toward the front. “And Scorpius has chosen exile.”
It wasn’t an answer. “I make it my business to be informed.”
“So do I.” Andromeda gave her that smile again. “You are newly mated also, but three months past, though I am afraid I do not understand why Marduk returned to his clan so soon upon the ceremony? You are the crown princess of your clan, are you not? Should he not stay with your court and forsake his own? Forgive me if your customs are different to mine.”
“He returned to his family after the recent discovery of his sister, Ishtar, though he intends to reside at my court once this matter is finished. And our match is political.” There was no point trying to pretend. She wasn’t that good of an actress.
“Political?” For the first time, Andromeda arched a brow. “He is rather attentive for a political match.”
Solveig couldn’t help herself.
She looked back at Marduk, only to find his amber eyes locked upon her.
Solveig returned her attention to the mist. “We have known each other many years. Do you miss your country?”
A light sprang to life in the oth
er woman’s dark eyes. “More than anything.” She shivered. “It is always cold here, and the food so tasteless.”
They made light conversation, with Solveig probing the other woman for weaknesses. Andromeda missed her home clan and her people; the landscape she described was a world away from the one Solveig knew, and she found herself quite charmed about tales of hunting ibex, which seemed to be some sort of goat-like creature, and baboons, which she couldn’t possibly fathom.
It was most likely the point.
A medieval castle appeared in the mists ahead, and Solveig fell silent as they approached. Most dreki clans coexisted with the human world, but here, in the mountains of Trollheiman, the Zilittu had closed themselves away from the world. Their magic and mists misdirected travelers, and it was quite possible no humans even realized what lurked within their local mountain range.
Her gaze raked the castle’s defenses. Old stone gave way to newer stone, and even brick turrets. It looked like an amalgamation of castles; each dynasty building onto the previous, until a formidable fort remained. Narrow windows. A stark, imposing wall.
And a male dreki resting both hands on the castle battlements, watching as they arrived.
There was a certain kind of reserved grace to the other woman, and as they rode beneath the battlements of the Zilittu castle, Andromeda glanced up from beneath her dark lashes and locked eyes with the male above them.
The king.
Draco Stormshadow, so named because the night of his birth the storms had been so violent that some dreki whispered that the gods were warning them of who was about to be born.
Solveig couldn’t make out much about him, but even from this distance she could sense the power he wielded.
This could be an opportunity for her learn more about the threat the Zilittu formed.
There was certainly no weakness to be found as the Zilittu king jogged down the stairs. He towered over almost all the dreki in the yard.
Draco had overthrown his father and twin brother, and Solveig saw echoes of his uncle imprinted in his face. A certain coldness was chiseled about his mouth, and his eyes were glacial.
He was… gorgeous.
Ice-blond hair. Gray eyes. A firm, stubbled jaw that hinted that the male himself would be no easy spirit to tame.
But all she could see was his uncle.
All she could hear was her mother screaming.
Her dreki surfaced.
Kill him, it whispered.
Not now, she replied, trying to force her knuckles to remain lax on the reins of her horse.
This was merely a habitual reaction to a male who reminded her of her mother’s killer. It wouldn’t rule her. She could contain the hissing snarl within her chest.
“The Zilittu court offers welcome to its cousins,” called a young woman who sauntered out of the castle to stand beside Draco. Viveka of the Northern Mists, if she wasn’t mistaken. Draco’s younger sister.
A handsome blond warrior moved to stand beside the king. Rune, by her guess. The younger brother. Interesting that the three of them stood together against Scorpius.
And there was their warlord, Talon, scowling moodily at the Blackfrost and Marduk, as they entered the bailey.
A full Stormshadow accompaniment.
“I am Draco,” the king said, moving toward her with eerie intensity as if the rest of them didn’t exist. “Welcome to the Zilittu court,” he purred, capturing Solveig’s hand and lifting it to his lips. “You are most… welcome.”
Once again, the killing edge arose to choke her.
10
Solveig watched the king like a hawk as Draco moved around the dining hall, greeting the members of their party with urbane charm and offering them the delights of the Zilittu banquet table.
“Do you want me to fetch a shovel?” Marduk whispered in her ear, deliberately stroking her hand. They sat together in a corner of the hall, and while he’d finished his entire meal, she’d barely had the appetite for hers.
Solveig blinked back into the here and now. “What?”
“The way you’re looking at the king makes me think I might need to start digging a grave for him. I’m not certain whether to be jealous or not. You’ve only ever looked at me that way before.”
“It’s nothing.” Solveig swiftly glanced down at her plate. The roasted quail had tasted delicious, but she couldn’t for the life of her stir any interest in it, even as she stabbed a piece of it with her fork. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.”
“Someone you disliked?”
There was a hard lump in her throat.
She didn’t want to do this right now. Putting her fork down, she scrunched her linens into a ball and looked at him. “What is this sudden interest in my life?”
“It’s not sudden,” he replied, reaching over to steal a piece of carrot from her plate. “I’ve always been interested in you. You’re a mystery, Solveig. I want to solve it. I always have.”
Oh, that was a lie. “So you can use it against me? I think not.” She smiled coldly. “Knowledge is power.”
He stared at her for a long time.
“Knowledge is a powerful thing,” he conceded. “To know someone so truly is to understand them. To connect with them. Tell me a secret. Something you’ve never told a single dreki before.”
Solveig drained her glass of wine. “Why would I? You’re my….”
And then she stopped, because she wasn’t quite certain what he was anymore.
“Enemy?” Marduk suggested, reaching for the flagon of wine and refilling her cup. “Nemesis? Lover?”
She raised a brow at him, and he smiled.
It felt like the sun rose.
It wasn’t fair. Marduk alone—with those chiseled good looks—was breathtaking. It didn’t matter where they were, he could stride into a room and suddenly every dreki male around him vanished.
And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Female heads turned—sometimes males too—and eyes stopped and lingered on those cut-glass cheekbones and intense golden eyes. He was not just dreki, not merely a male warrior in his prime, but a prince, and he moved as though he’d been born with the notion that everything would move out of his way.
His smile should have been considered a dangerous weapon that he could wield at will.
It bothered her how much it still affected her.
“Lover?” she repeated, disdain dripping from her voice.
“Well, I’m not entirely certain what you want of me. Sometimes you look at me like you want to cut my heart out of my chest and put it in a box, and other times you look at me as though you want to shove me back against the wall and kiss me until I can no longer breathe.” His eyelids grew lazy. “And then there was that moment in your rooms after our mating ceremony. You definitely weren’t thinking of me as your enemy then.”
“I had a knife to your throat.”
His smile softened as if he was remembering it. “I wasn’t really focusing on that, since you also had your thighs around my hips.”
Solveig growled, though her skin suddenly felt several sizes too small. “It was a sharp knife and I was going to cut your throat with it.”
“I was between your thighs,” he replied with a shrug, “and you tasted like apples and cinnamon. If you say there was a knife, there was a knife, but I was a little distracted at the time.”
“I thought getting between my thighs was a certain death for a male. Something akin to… sticking your cock in a bear-trap?”
The words cut his smile from his face. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought him bothered by the past. “I said I was sorry. I should never have spoken those words.”
Solveig swallowed the sudden murderous urge to reach for her knife. She forced her fingers to rub the stem of her wine glass between them, instead. “It doesn’t matter.”
Silence broke between them.
Oh, the hall was merry enough, but she could feel Marduk’s eyes upon her, as if he considered her a mystery, on
e he was intent upon solving.
He leaned toward her, and his hand slid over hers, trapping it against the table. “I think it does matter. You wouldn’t have had me kidnapped and threatened to kill me if what I’d said didn’t get beneath your skin.”
She jerked her hand from beneath his. “I don’t allow anyone to disrespect me, Marduk. Don’t think I cried tears over you into my pillow every night.”
“Tears?” A snort. “Not tears. But anger. You funneled that hurt into rage, the way you always do.” He gave her a considering look, opened his mouth to speak, and then shook his head.
“What?” she demanded.
“It’s nothing.”
She picked up her fork and waved it at him threateningly. “Oh, please. Don’t bite your tongue now. Not for my sake. There’s nothing you could say that could infuriate me any more than what you’ve done.”
It had bothered her at the time to hear the song he’d sung in the tavern that night and realize he’d fled the court. It was everything she’d wanted of him. Freedom. No more of this nonsense of mating. No more of the threat in his eyes when he’d looked at her and she’d known he was considering her. But there was also an ugly, twisted shard of hurt within her. She didn’t care. She shouldn’t have cared. Her mother had always warned her that there would be males in the world who would not understand her, or the path she chose to tread.
But the knot in her chest—the one fueled of a dangerous attraction to him—had felt utterly rejected by his words.
You didn’t see me. Not truly. You said you did, but you lied.
Marduk captured her wrist, holding the fork away from his vulnerable areas, but it was the look in his eyes that made wariness envelope her.
“I was just wondering who hurt you.” He sounded the words out, as if trying to be careful of his placement of them. “Because you were angry with me from the first moment we met, and you wear it like a mantle, as if it can protect you.” His thumb caressed the inner slope of hers. “Hurt manifests in many ways. And armor can be both offensive and defensive. And I think that you wield your rage like a shield. Because if no one can get close to you, then no one can ever hurt you again.”