“I’m s-sorry…my queen.”
Then he moved in a blur out into the cold, where the snowy gale howled in violence. She saw nothing as they flashed through the darkness, away from the camp. She couldn’t make out anything at this speed and in this storm, which seemed to breathe menace and violence, a pestilent air on the wind. Her hair, tangled by the gale, covered her eyes as Gavril held her in an iron-clad grip, speeding toward some unknown evil.
And yet, she knew what it was, who it was, before they even finally stopped on an outcropping of a cliff. Gavril halted so quickly she fell to her knees in the snow. He did the same but apparently of his own volition, as if in utter defeat, his chest heaving in great painful gulps of air.
They were in the foothills of the Novak Mountains, the northernmost point of Arkadia. Not far from the Glass Tower.
“Why have you brought me here?” she asked Gavril, whose shoulders slumped and head bowed.
Shadows materialized into men moving toward her on the snow-swept cliff. The largest of the figures sent her pulse racing in a maddening frenzy. He wore the pewter armor for battle, the red crest and black dragon emblazoned on the chest plate.
“No,” she gasped, looking up as he stopped before her.
“Yes.” King Dominik grinned in that feral way that had always given her shivers when he stalked her with those hungry eyes at royal assemblies. It wasn’t unknown to her that he’d watched her, tracked her like prey, even when she was betrothed to his brother. This man, this monster, obeyed no boundaries.
She was paralyzed, frozen from cold and fear, as he reached out and cupped her cheek roughly.
“Finally.” Even as the storm whipped around them, his black cloak billowing, he spoke in a low, commanding voice. “I like you on your knees, Vilhelmina. I’ll put you there often when we’re married.”
She jerked out of his grasp and glared at him as she rose to her feet, unsheathing her dagger beneath her cloak. She didn’t reach his shoulders, but she could aim well enough under his chin the way Mikhail had taught her, the way she’d killed that Legionnaire in the cottage in Silvane Forest.
“I will never marry you.” Disgust seeped from her every pore as she thrust up lightning-fast, his large hand clamping her wrist just as she nicked the underside of his chin.
He squeezed her wrist till she was forced to drop the dagger. His slash of a mouth broke into a cruel smile, canines thick and sharp. She flinched. His giant hand fisted in her hair at the back of her head as he pressed himself close. One of her hands flattened on his armor, cold and unyielding. The other grasped at his wrist, his ruthless hold stinging her scalp. She couldn’t look away from his eyes—those that had seen untold horrors done by his own hands. And would see more, she was sure of it.
He lowered his mouth almost to hers, his thunder-deep voice rumbling against her lips. “You’ll do whatever I want you to do, Princess.” He raised his brow in mocking surprise. “I mean, Queen Vilhelmina.”
Despite the sliver of dread and prickles of icy menace pouring through her veins, she glared back at him. “You have no idea what’s coming for you.”
Her dark prince.
He chuckled and pulled her head sharply to the right, finally dropping her wrist to clap his other beefy hand on her bottom.
“You have no idea what’s coming for you.”
“Ah!” She cried out at the stab of pain when he pulled hard at her scalp.
“You think I’m afraid of your little toy soldiers?” His mouth was at her ear. His tongue licked a slow line down her throat and back up. “You’re going to be my willing slave, Vilhelmina. Begging me on your knees nightly.” He scraped his sharp fangs down to her pulse.
“No!”
She struggled, powerless against a vampire as strong as him.
“Yes. Fight me, little dove. That feels so good.”
His rumbling laugh sent a spike of anger through her. She hauled back her hand and slapped him across his right cheek. Hard.
His expression darkened, hardened, shifted to more beast than man, his vampire eyes glowing like a burning comet.
“I think my bride needs to learn a lesson on who her master is.”
He opened his mouth wide and sank his fangs deep into her flesh, between shoulder and neck. She let out a choking scream, the pain so intense, sudden, violent. His elixir pumped hot and hard into her veins, flooding her, crippling her with his malevolent dominance and sinister control. Both her hands on his armored chest curled inward till she gouged her nails into her own palms.
He moaned as he suckled deep, his hand on her bottom squeezing and crushing their bodies together in some parody of a lover’s embrace. A tear finally slipped off her cheek, flaking to ice before it was swept away by the glacial wind.
“Please,” she whispered, the pain of his bite and elixir sending her to the brink of consciousness.
Groaning, he pulled his fangs from her flesh and licked the spot thoroughly. His touch making her stomach churn with acid.
“It seems my little dove has been at play,” he murmured in her ear, biting her earlobe till it must be bleeding. She gasped. He didn’t lick her wound this time to allow it to heal.
Rearing back to his full height, he glared at her accusingly.
“You smell of another man.” Crushing his lips to hers in a mockery of a kiss, he stroked his tongue in so deep, she gagged. Then he yanked back, nicking her bottom lip with a fang. Again, leaving the wound open. A drop of blood pearled on her lip. “But not for long.”
He let go of her so fast, she stumbled but didn’t fall.
“You are mine now, Vilhelmina. You will do as I command you to do.”
“No, I—”
Like a serrated knife gouging down her spine, the pain bowed her back in agony. She screamed.
“Just say, ‘Yes, master,’ and it will go away.”
“Y-yes, master,” she whispered barely above the wind.
A roll of pleasure washed over the pain as if it hadn’t happened. His elixir was frighteningly powerful.
“Louder, little dove.”
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. The fear of pain ripped a quiet answer from her mouth.
“Yes…master.” She may have said the words, but defiance burned brightly in her chest.
He grinned, for he knew it. “I’m going to enjoy making you say that over and over again.”
“Your Majesty! We should be leaving. Trackers will not be too far behind.”
“Yes, Kostya,” he said over his shoulder.
Without warning, he leaned down, gripped her hips, lifted her, and tossed her over his shoulder, keeping a firm hold across the back of her thighs.
“Your Majesty, what do we do with him?”
Upside down, she glanced toward the Legionnaires on either side of Gavril, who still kneeled in silence in the snow. His head cast down. Unmoving.
“Toss him over the cliff. If the fall doesn’t kill him. His blood brothers will.”
“No!” Mina screamed as they dragged a nonresistant Gavril to the edge and threw him into the cold darkness.
“Don’t worry your pretty head,” said King Dominik, gripping her thigh tightly. “I’m sure it was a painless death. Aye, men?”
“Aye,” replied the chorus of a dozen soldiers.
“Let’s get home.” He laughed, and his Legionnaires with him, as they flashed into the night, speeding away from Arkadia. Away from Mikhail.
Closing her eyes, she sent a prayer to the stars above, smudged out by the gray tempest, pleading for the answer she’d sought a short while ago in those flames to burn back to life inside her. There was a way out of this, a way of escape, a way to victory. But she couldn’t see it. Only feel it. She begged the fates to show her how, to guide her hand. And her heart.
“Please,” she whispered. The wind snatched the word and swallowed it like a ravenous monster.
Still, she held onto hope. No matter that the devil himself held her captive in his hands. No
matter that she knew his intentions were foul and twisted. No matter that the queen had even more diabolical plans for her. It was hope that flew on the wind next to her, like a gale-swept lark, tattered but fighting to stay alive. Never giving up and staying with her till the end, even when its wings were frayed and torn.
Mina closed her eyes and cradled that hope within her chest, not allowing fear to destroy her now. Her prayer took on new form as she whispered so softly that only she could hear the mantra that gave her strength.
“Mikhail…Mikhail.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mikhail shouldered into the wind. It had picked up speed as he’d made his way along the southern perimeter of camp to the western edge, where he’d spent some time chatting with each guardsmen and even longer speaking to Gregory about provisions some of the men had picked up before leaving Arkadia. All was quiet, except for the howling wind. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
He headed up the incline, where a hill protected their encampment from the harshest winds. Katya stood like a solid tree planted in the ground on the ridge. She spun at his approach, dagger drawn.
“Hold, sister. I’m not the enemy.”
Her eyes were all that were visible, her head hooded and face shielded by a kerchief like his. She rolled her eyes at him. “Dammit, Mikhail.” She dropped the captain title when they were alone. “This wind is playing tricks on me. Messing with my senses.”
“Aye.” He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and standing in the wind to block her as best he could. “Mine, too.”
She crossed her arms in a similar fashion. “I know what you’re doing. I don’t need you to shield me from a little snowstorm, Brother.”
He scoffed. “Katya. You’re the toughest, meanest, hardest woman I know. You’ve proven it, aye?” He nudged her with his elbow. “But you’re still my baby sister.”
Her indigo eyes crinkled with her unseen smile. “All right then. I’ll allow it.” She sighed. “To keep my big brother from feeling insignificant.” Her eyes narrowed mischievously. “Though I believe someone else has convinced him of his significance.”
He stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”
Another roll of those eyes. “Please, Mikhail. The whole camp knows you and the queen are smitten with each other.”
“Smitten? I’m the Captain of the Bloodguard. I do not get smitten.”
She laughed. “Liar.”
He smiled beneath his kerchief and shrugged. “So I am.”
Katya sobered. “You’d be right to marry a queen, Brother. It would be fitting. Don’t you think?”
He glanced down, unwilling to travel down that path again. He made a promise to Mina, and he would keep it. He’d never leave her. Never. But he wasn’t sure how he’d fit in her world exactly. Time would tell. Rather than answer his sister’s question, he noticed her gloved hands trembling as she gripped her crossed arms. “You’ve been out here long enough. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll take your place.”
“Are you sure? I can remain on duty longer.”
He chuckled. She’d always been stubborn beyond reason. Even as a small girl, she’d face off with the biggest bully in the schoolyard. He didn’t stand a chance in convincing her to stay home with their mother after their father died and he set off to form the Bloodguard. She swore she’d just follow if he and Dmitri left her behind. So she’d become the one and only female of their band.
“Go. But before you do, go ’round to the eastern perimeter and tell Gavril to break now and tell his replacement to relieve him. I didn’t make it to him.”
She nodded and flashed away.
Mikhail faced into the wind, away from the encampment. He conjured images to keep him warm. Alabaster skin. Ardent sighs. Soul-stealing promises. Sea-blue eyes.
He smiled, a curl of contentment warming him from the inside out. This wasn’t the plan. She wasn’t the plan. So far from it that he chuckled at his own lack of foresight. The man who strategized every maneuver, rethinking every possible outcome before he took steps. She’d stepped directly in front of him. In his mind, she’d been the means toward their victory. An instrument to destroy the old monarchy and bring in a new one. A just one. He’d never calculated the possibility that the princess he awoke with a blood kiss would ensnare him so completely.
A distant thrumming sounded on the wind. Coming from the northeast. He stared into the darkness, knowing there was an open plain in that direction, though the snowstorm blocked him from seeing far, even with his vampire sight. The repetitive thrumming morphed into the recognizable thud of hooves. He drew his sword, double-fisted the hilt, and stared into the gloom, awaiting whatever threat drew nearer.
He inhaled deeply, unable to smell anything but ice and snow. The riders materialized, four of them, just off to the left. He lowered his sword as the distinctive red cloak of the female rider, and their familiar scents washed over him. He raised a hand in the air to get their attention.
Nikolai saw him first, jerking his mount toward Mikhail. The other three following, galloping right up to him. Nikolai leaped from his mount and shot to Sienna, lifting her from the saddle before she’d had a chance to dismount. Sienna pulled down the white scarf she’d wrapped around her face, her breaths puffing out white clouds.
“Nikolai. Sienna. What’s wrong?”
Sienna’s expression appeared desperate.
“Captain, we must see Mina right away.”
“Tell me what this is about.”
His gaze shifted to the other two riders. One was Dane Godric, the hart wolf, who rode in his human form, his amber-gold eyes shining like burning suns in the dark. The other man, hooded but without any shield over his face, which revealed the hard countenance of a dangerous vampire, a patch over one eye, a vicious scar trailing from beneath.
Nikolai noticed Mikhail’s discerning observation of the men. “This is my cousin Riker, back from Cutters Cove.” The vampire with the patch nodded.
Mikhail remembered the tale Nikolai told of his cousin who’d been tortured at the Glass Tower for information on himself, Sienna, and the Black Lily. The man had been battered and gouged with blades of gold to be sure the scars would remain. Apparently, they had.
Nikolai nodded to their other companion. “And Dane came along as well. We rode hard to get Sienna here as quickly as we could.”
“Please.” Sienna stepped forward, a wisp of her red-auburn hair caught on the wind, an urgent plea in her eyes. “I must see her.”
“What’s happened?” Foreboding dripped in the air like a black pestilence.
“Can we get inside, Captain?” Nikolai glanced around. Even as he spoke, the wind died down from the constant roar it had been for hours.
Before Mikhail could turn and lead them away, Sienna gripped his forearm with a gloved hand. “Two nights ago, I had a dream. A premonition.” She glanced sideways at Nikolai.
Nikolai stepped closer. “The hartstone is speaking to her again.”
“Go on,” Mikhail urged.
“I dreamed of a great hall in a beautiful castle. The white dragon sigil of Arkadia hung behind the throne dais, where a king sat near the cradle of his babe. Queen Morgrid was there, demanding the babe be given to her youngest son in marriage when she was of age.”
Mikhail frowned. “This isn’t a dream. This is the true story of Mina’s birth.” Why would they come all this way to tell him a tale they already knew?
“Yes,” said Sienna, still clutching his arm. “But listen. Queen Morgrid cursed the babe and left. Then the white witch came and gave her blessing.”
He nodded. He knew all this. What was going on?
“Do you know what the white witch decreed?”
“Yes. She will become queen and save them all. I don’t understand why this is so urgent.” Mikhail’s agitation prickled along his skin.
“No,” said Sienna, shaking her head. “She said, ‘You will drink fire into your soul and awaken the beast of vengeance and righteousnes
s.’ This is what will bring about the victory.”
Mikhail glanced at Nikolai then back to Sienna, at a complete loss why this was important.
“Hear me, Mikhail.” Sienna pressed close, gripping him with both hands, a desperate urgency vibrating in her voice. Her green eyes glittered with sparks of gold. “I am the fire Mina must drink. The fire magic that races in my blood. I saw it. In the vision, I lifted the babe in my arms from the bassinet, then she transformed to herself as Mina is now. We were holding hands then she drank from my throat.”
Mikhail couldn’t help but wonder if this was all some effect of living within the Silvane Forest too long. So strange. And surreal.
Sienna seemed to see his doubt. She edged closer, intimately so, and cupped his face in her hands.
“This is no figment of my imagination, Captain.” Her palms heated against his skin, sending a tremble of energy into his mind. He saw the vision unfold.
Mina drinks from Sienna’s throat. A blast of white light. A field of dead soldiers dressed in black-and-red livery. Dominik’s army. And finally the tall green banner bearing the Arkadian sigil, the white dragon, whipping in the breeze in victory.
When he snapped from the vision, stepping out of her grasp, his heart pounded like a battle drum.
“This is urgent, Captain. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. The magic has been pushing me hard since I awoke with the vision.”
“Come,” said Mikhail.
The other two dismounted, leading the horses by their bridles down the hill into the encampment.
Katya appeared at the bottom of the hill, wide-eyed and breathless. Not from fatigue. From fear.
“Mikhail!” She rushed to him.
“What is it?” He gripped her shoulders.
“Gavril is gone. He’s not at his post and there’s—there’s blood in the snow.”
A sudden blast of dread ripped through his body. The timing of this storm with the coronation and the intense darkness that swept over the land with it. The erratic wind hindering his vampiric senses. The constant nudges to his psyche that something wasn’t quite right.
The Emerald Lily Page 23