by Karina Halle
I hope so too, dear Hanna, Pyry says with a bow of her head. They both stay silent, watching me pass with their faceless faces until I get the hint and leave the kitchen. I know Harma told me that she was an ally, but since she hasn’t said anything to me since, I wonder what that exactly is, and if Pyry is in the same boat as her. Could they be like Surma, patiently working for Death while plotting to overthrow him? Not that Surma outright said he was, but he definitely wasn’t on Death’s side.
I try to shrug it off. It’s nothing for me to worry about right now. I have other things to concentrate on, like trying to get enough vitamin D.
And no, that wasn’t a euphemism.
I step through the door and into the garden, blinking hard at the sunlight while I try to take it all in.
Holy hell, it’s like stepping into another world, one so different from the interior of the castle. The place is gorgeous, with rows of the biggest roses I’ve ever seen, the blooms the size of dinner plates, their colors lush and jewel-like, while bushes of blue and pink hydrangeas reach for the sun, and twisted vines of wisteria hang in the sky like purple fireworks. Butterflies dance in the air, their wings shimmering in shades of cerulean and marigold and amethyst, the sight magical.
Beyond the array of flowers there are tidy rows of vegetables and herbs, as well as fruit trees and a whole variety of vines, plus other plants—trees, bushes, flowers—that don’t exist in the Upper World. I could spend weeks learning about all of them and still I don’t think it would be enough. A botanist would have a field day here, this place being their literal Amaranthus.
And in the middle of all this is Sarvi. I don’t see the unicorn that often, so to see it’s big dark form in the middle of the garden takes me by surprise.
Did I frighten you? Sarvi asks, turning to see me. I suppose you may have frightened me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I gesture around me, hoping I’m not going to get in trouble for being here. “I’d never been to the garden before. Thought it was the best place to enjoy the sunshine.”
Sarvi lifts its head to the sky, closing its one eye, seeming to relax. It is a blessing to have Death happy enough for this to happen. Then its eye fixes on me. I hate to be presumptuous, but would you happen to be the cause of all this? If so, might I suggest you keep it up?
There’s a knowing tone there and I find myself blushing. Basically, keep screwing Death so we can get some sunlight. He doesn’t sound much different than Bell with her talk of blowjobs and sunshine.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say. I then clear my throat. “So, what are you doing out here?”
Sarvi nods at a patch of ice-blue pumpkins. They’re my favorite. Ice pumpkins. I returned from the Frozen Void a while back with some of the North’s local delicacies, hoping to grow them here.
“Does anything from the realm grow in the garden?”
The unicorn does a shrug of sorts, briefly lifting its bat wings and showcasing the row of exposed ribs below. There is magic here, of course. Death has made the land especially fertile and Pyry has been enchanted to become the perfect cook. But when it comes to using magic, it’s best to use it sparingly, especially when it comes to food and drink. Magically induced food has zero nutritional value. Over time, it may actually diminish the use of magic in the consumer.
“Interesting,” I muse, reaching out and touching the leaves of the snowbeans growing on the nearest vine.
Here, let me give you a tour, the unicorn says. We walk along the flowers and plants and Sarvi starts pointing items out with its horn, explaining what they are and where they come from. Meanwhile, butterflies continue to fly to and fro, much to my delight.
One of them even lands on the tip of Sarvi’s iron horn, slowly fluttering its wings which glow blue and pink.
This is a moon butterfly, Sarvi informs me. They only live during a full moon, so you’ll see them fly around for a couple of days on either side of the celestial event, then they die.
“Wow,” I say breathlessly. “It’s so beautiful.”
Sarvi suddenly waves its horn, causing the butterfly to take flight. Then the unicorn lunges forward, teeth bared, and snatches the butterfly out of the air, swallowing it down whole.
Beautiful and delicious, Sarvi says.
My eyes go wide. I guess Death did tell me that the unicorns could be nasty.
Sarvi chuckles, noting my expression. They’re a delicacy. More so than the bloodmoths, but you should be thankful I enjoy eating those as well.
“Do I want to know why they’re called bloodmoths?” I ask warily.
They’re like oversized mosquitos, Sarvi explains. And they swell up with blood as they feast. But I happen to love blood, so they make a tasty little snack.
The unicorn licks its lips with its black tongue and I try not to cringe.
Eventually Sarvi goes back to tending to some of the vegetables, while I lean against the stone wall that surrounds the garden and close my eyes to the sun, breathing in deep, and trying to forget all this talk about blood-sucking moths.
I hate to say it but, when it’s like this outside, I almost like it here. The relentless moody weather would get to me, but when the sun is out, it feels invigorating, and head-clearing. And for once, I’m not trying to use my clear head to try and plot my escape.
Then the air changes, a gust of cold along with the sun, and I know that Death is in the garden, too.
A thrill runs through me before I even open my eyes.
“There you are,” Death says to me, and I look over to see him appear at the garden entrance. His face falls in the dim shadow of the castle towers, exaggerating the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the strong cut of his jaw. His beard is thicker now, somehow making him even more manly, as if that were possible. A breeze picks up, tussling his long dark hair that’s loose around his shoulders, and rays of sunlight make his visible runes gleam.
Our eyes meet and he smiles at me. He fucking smiles and I’m suddenly struck dumb by how handsome he is. It’s not just that I’ve spent so long not knowing what he looks like, that he’s actually fucked me good while being completely unknowable, it’s that he truly is gorgeous. A real, true God. And this is the first time I’ve seen him outside, a light that is sometimes unforgiving and yet here he shines. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, not just as the God of Death who has taken to my bed every night, but as something more.
But then guilt drives into my heart at that thought. The idea that I could be more to him. That’s what I’ve wanted, that’s part of the plan, and yet for once I don’t want to think of the plan. I just want to be here, feeling the adoration in his eyes, and the affection in his smile. I know how rare it is, rarer than the aurora stone.
“I like this look on you,” he murmurs as he comes over to me, his tall, wide body looming over mine. He gently reaches out and runs his gloved thumb over my chin. Today he’s wearing gloves made of black feathers and his touch is soft and seductive and my eyes flutter closed. I absently wonder if the gloves are made from the swan I murdered.
I swallow, my throat feeling thick. “What look?”
“This one.” He gestures to the air around me with his other hand. “The sight of you outside here in the garden, in the fresh sea air. I don’t think you’ve ever looked so lovely, little bird.”
His eyes then darken. Literally. The gray turning a tarnished pewter, matching the color of his runes. “It makes me worry that you might catch a gust of wind coming from places unknown to you, that it may make you curious enough to try and spread your wings. That you’ll fly far from here and never look back.”
He cups my face now, his thumb gently brushing over my lip now. I lean back against the wall, feeling the cool air sweeping over the sides, ruffling my hair in tendrils that dance around my breasts.
“I’ve become quite fond of you, Hanna,” he says in a low murmur, his eyes searching my face. “I’m not used to feeling anything of the sort. You’ll have to forgive me if my fear makes me do
foolish things.”
“What foolish things?” I ask.
He gives me a small knowing smile, making him look positively roguish. “You will find out soon enough,” he says.
Then he straightens up, his hand dropping to my waist, and he looks over at Sarvi who is nibbling on some grass, like a straight-up normal horse.
“Sarvi,” Death says. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”
Sarvi raises its head, then nods, tail swishing. Of course, sir. Is there something you’d like me to do for you in the meantime?
Another dark look passes over Death’s eyes, his black arched brows furrowing. “Yes. Fly to the City of Death. To Inmost. Tell the dwellers that there will be a Bone Match next week, and for them to put forth their best fighters. There will be ten different rounds, running all day long. Each winner will receive sanctuary at Shadow’s End as one of my royal guards.”
Yes, sir, Sarvi says, though it sounds hesitant. May I ask why we’re having such a big competition?
“Because I want everyone to know that I’m strengthening my army,” he says gruffly, and though he may not have a skull or crown on his head at the moment, he sounds very much the king. “I want the word to spread far and wide, throughout the city factions, throughout the realm itself. I want it to reach the bogs of Star Swamp, and the shamans of the Upper World. I want them to know that any uprising will be met with a reckoning.”
That little speech shouldn’t turn me on but it does, heat flaring between my thighs. Apparently I’m a simp for power.
Yes, sir, Sarvi says, eye gleaming. Sarvi seems to like it too.
“Invite all the Gods and Lesser Gods,” Death goes on. “Tell them it will be the first formal appearance of the new Goddess of Death.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, what?”
I beg your pardon? Sarvi snorts in disbelief at the same time.
Death glances down at me, his eyes tempestuous. “You’re to be my bride, Hanna. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”
Well, I don’t mean any disrespect, sir, but it’s a most shocking development to me, Sarvi says.
“And me!” I tell Death. Good lord. “What do you mean, your bride? Since when…we’re not married. We are so not married.”
Unless…Oh shit, is there some weird custom here that when you have sex with the king, you automatically become the queen or something?
“We will be married, soon,” he says, his nostrils flaring in defiance. He looks at Sarvi. “There’s nothing you need to do about it. It will be a civil ceremony, with Kalma officiating. You will be there as witness, that’s all. I know Lovia will be disappointed there isn’t a big party, but after Surma revealed his intentions, I don’t think waiting will help anything. This world believes in the prophecy; it’s the only hand I have right now.”
I shake my head. This is moving fast. Way too fast. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
He grins at me, looking more wicked than handsome now, a truly devious king. “It was your suggestion, fairy girl. Don’t you remember what you had first put on the table? You told me you would marry me. You said I could make you my bride.”
“If it came to it,” I protest, feeling panicked.
“Well, it’s come to it,” he snaps, his eyes taking on a harsh glint. “As you know, I am not someone who goes back on my word. I let your father go, I cured him, not because I wanted to, but because I promised to. You must keep your word to me, Hanna.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You will,” he says, his hand coming to my chin again and holding my face, his grip tighter now, his gaze hardening. “You have no choice in the matter. Unless you want me to do to you what I did to Surma.”
“Are you threatening me?” I practically sneer at him. He wouldn’t dare!
“Does this surprise you too? For shame, fairy girl. So much naivete.” With his hand still on my chin, he glances at Sarvi. “Off you go now.”
Sarvi nods. Giant black leather wings unfurl and the unicorn leaps up into the sky, flying away, leaving Death and I alone in the garden.
I watch as Sarvi’s dark shape in the periwinkle blue sky disappears and then I feel truly afraid.
“You’re angry with me,” Death muses, his gaze roaming my face.
“I’m always angry with you.” Frustration rolls through me and I try to whip my face from his grasp, but his grip is strong.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Not always. Not when I’m giving you release. When I’m making you come. You’re beautiful when you give in, when the pleasure overrides your desire to be in control, when it makes you surrender. There’s no anger there, just you at your purest self. Is it any wonder I’m addicted to making you feel that way? It’s like a gift, from you to me.” He pauses, giving my chin a hard squeeze. “Your soul on a platter. All for my consumption.”
I refuse to back down from his eyes. “I’m not giving you anything,” I deride. “Not on a silver platter and most definitely not my soul.” To give him my soul…would mean death, would it not?
“You give me your body every night,” he says, his hand releasing my chin and trailing down to my breast where his thumb slowly grazes across the fabric, my nipple hardening under his touch. “I don’t even have to ask. You just give it to me, begging for me to take you anyway that I can. You want to be consumed, little bird. You want your feathers plucked, your wings clipped.”
He leans in and kisses my neck and I fill with the smoky sweet bonfire smell of him, mixing with the bracing sea air. “But perhaps,” he murmurs against my skin. “It would be better if I did ask for your hand in marriage, instead of taking it.”
His tongue licks up the side of my neck, breath hot beneath my ear, and I hate the way my body automatically responds to him, like a puppet on a string. My eyes fall closed and I try to suppress a moan, a useless attempt.
“If I did ask,” he goes on, taking my lobe between his teeth and tugging lightly, his breath heavy, “would you say yes?”
“I would say no,” I whisper as I try to find my resolve. “My answer would be no.”
He growls, the sound making me shiver.
“Then it’s a good thing I take and never ask,” he snaps and suddenly he’s reaching down and hiking up my dress, his hands gripping my ass and lifting me up, pressing me against the wall.
My legs automatically wrap around him, my boots digging into the firm muscles of his ass, pulling him against me. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m mad as hell at the idea of being forced to be his bride, no planning, no discussion. I know it was the end goal, at least the one that Bell had put into my head, but I didn’t think it would happen this fast and I didn’t think it would be non-negotiable. I thought there would be a proposal and fanfare, that Death would marry me because it was something he wanted, because he loved me, maybe, or at least saw me in some sort of romantic light. That there was some kind of meaning behind it all.
In the end though, it’s all just a political move. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different.
It doesn’t seem to matter much anyway, when he’s about to fuck me senseless against the garden wall.
Death lets out a moan that I feel to my toes and reaches down, swiftly unbuckling his pants while he continues to bite and suck at my neck, leaving bruises and marks.
“I’m going to make you my bride,” he says gruffly. “But first I’m going to make you come. Fuck you so thoroughly, you won’t be able to walk for weeks.”
He covers my mouth with his, his tongue violent and searching. His cock presses against the spot where I’m already wet, and when I shift slightly, it slides inside me with delicious ease.
God, I hate how much I love this, how much I need this.
He lets out a jagged breath and starts thrusting into me as I stretch around his thickness. I never imagined I could feel as full as I do with him, this feeling of being totally and completely whole. I moan lightly, feeling him everywhere inside me, each nerve glowing with desire.
He’s so hard, thick and stiff, shoving into a place so soft, raw and tight. Every muscle in me is tense to the point of shaking and each thrust undoes another part of me. I feel like I’m made of glass and I’m close to shattering, and that there’s a chance I may not be able to pick up the pieces after this. I may not want to.
He groans loudly now as he drives himself in harder, making me choke on my breath.
“Do you know that you’ll be a queen?” he rasps, delivering another rough, bruising kiss. “Do you realize you’ll wear a crown of crimson? You’ll be the wife of Death, revered and feared throughout the land.”
“I’m just a mortal,” I manage to say through a ragged gasp. “No one will fear me.”
“They will, Hanna. They will. Just you wait and see.” Then he bites my neck, sending shockwaves throughout my limbs. “You have no idea what you’re capable of but I’ll be the one to show it to you. Show you who you truly are.”
I whimper in response, my body so greedy and crazed for him and when he pulls his head back, he’s staring at me with so much intensity that I know he’s feeling the same way for me. He has to be.
It’s almost scary how raw this all feels. We are lost to our most basic instincts, sharing this primordial, animalistic desire to make each other come like crazy, to be so deep inside each other that we don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
It’s only when he’s fucking me that I stop feeling like his prisoner.
It’s only now I truly feel free.
Each powerful pump of his hips, each time his cock drives in deeper into my slick heat, each breathless gasp I make, each hungry groan that he makes, and I’m falling.
Cracking.
Breaking.
The glass shatters.
I give in to him.
Give myself to him.
Soul on a platter.
Ready for him to consume.