by Bec McMaster
Outside, three enormous claps of thunder echoed through the glass.
The goddess approving this mating.
Marduk collapsed atop her, his mind reeling. He could feel her soul entwined with his, and it was… so peaceful. As if he’d spent a lifetime roaming the world restlessly, looking for the one piece of his soul that he knew deep down he was missing, and finally finding it here within her.
“What just happened?” Solveig rasped.
She looked so adorable, but he could feel the shock rampaging through her.
She hated surprises.
“You just accepted the mating bond. I could feel you lacing yourself around me, opening up to me, and then it just snapped into place.”
“Mating bond?” she blurted. “But you couldn’t feel me…. It’s not real. You’re not my soulmate.”
“We are. It was you. It was always you, but I couldn’t feel it.” He captured her face. “Ishtar knew. It finally makes sense. She was trying to tell me she’d somehow stolen you from me.”
Solveig scrambled off the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. “That makes no sense.”
And he saw the nervousness within her.
It’s not the bond she’s afraid of.
No, that was just the excuse.
Marduk rolled onto his knuckles, watching her back away from him. “It makes all the sense in the world. You were made to be mine.”
There was no surprise in her eyes.
Only defiance, as she tipped her chin up. “If I was yours, you would have known first. You would have known.”
And suddenly, he understood everything.
Solveig’s heart skipped a beat as Marduk slipped from the bed, his eyes locked on her like a prowling wolf scenting its prey.
“I finally figured it out,” he told her, stepping closer. “Why you hated me from the first second you saw me. You hated me the moment you saw my face. You hated me without even giving me a chance to speak.”
Again her breath caught. She didn’t want to do this. She’d made her peace with the concept. Marduk was the other half of her soul, but she would never be his. This bond between them was a tether. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“They say males always know first,” he said, and all the warmth drained from her face. “But this one time, it was you.”
His thrust went straight through her armor, and she was left defenseless and weaponless.
She took a step backward, but he came after her, his eyes dangerously intent.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Marduk said softly. “You knew the moment you saw me that I was made for you—”
“I didn’t—”
“You took one look at me and you were all twisted up in knots. Oh, you didn’t know what was happening to you. You only knew my presence made it all worse, and you didn’t like the way it felt. Raw. Vulnerable. Defenseless. And if you let me get close to you, then I was the one dreki who could ruin you.”
Her chest heaved, and her back met the wall. “She told you?”
The gold in his eyes turned molten as if he’d finally caught her out, and Solveig realized she’d made a mistake.
“If you’re referring to Árdís, then no. She told me to stop being an idiot and start using my mind.” Something softened in his face. “And I know you, Solveig. I know that every time I start getting close you push me away. What is the one thing a woman like you would actually flee? Because you’re not afraid of me, but you keep running, so there’s something about me that you’re running from.” His brow twitched. “The only thing you would fear would be if I was the one dreki destined to be your ultimate weakness. And so, you never gave me a chance to slip under your skin. You fought me and you hated me and you even tried to kill me—but in the end you couldn’t do it.”
“I….”
Surrender is the greatest power we have, Árdís had said.
But how did she force herself to give up control?
A fevered light came into his eyes as he pressed both hands on the wall on either side of her hips. The heat of him filled the inch between their bodies.
“How long have you known?” His voice roughened. “Truly known what it all meant?”
Solveig closed her eyes, the fight leaving her. “Árdís saw it first. She guessed and…. It was like all the pieces finally fit together. It finally made sense.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked up at him, her heart in her throat.
“Ah.” His thumbs softened on her jaw. “You’re afraid the bond isn’t real. No.” He was looking right through her soul, and maybe he could sense her doubt in his head, the way she could sense his sudden certainty. “You’re afraid that what I feel for you isn’t real.”
Solveig captured his wrists, resting her head against his forehead. She didn’t want to see the answer in his eyes.
There once was a princess, her heart so fierce,
That true love’s arrow, should never pierce….
But it had been pierced.
She had fallen for him like a girl seeing her fairy tale prince come to life. His smile had struck her mute. His laughter had cut through the cold front she presented. She had wrapped herself in her icy mantle, even as he teased her out of it. To see him with his arm around her sister’s shoulders had made her rage, but it wasn’t merely Aslaug she was trying to protect. No. He’d slipped within her guard. He’d made her think, just for the barest of seconds, that maybe there was a love out there for her too. The kind of love her parents had shared.
And she hadn’t understood any of it, until it had been too late.
She had found herself alone, choking on the realization that she was in foreign territory, with no way back. She had stood in her castle, listening to that wretched song work its way up the stairwell, her feet rooted to the floor, and her hand locked on the bannister as she froze.
And more words came.
“The prince is gone…. Fled…. Unlovable….”
Unlovable.
It was that last word that bled her dry.
If she was so unlovable, then she would rule the word. If she was so fierce, then she would name herself thusly. She would throttle the tremulous hopes that had breathed life into her chest, crushing them beneath her heel. So she had locked her heart away, arched a mocking brow at the world, and never, ever let her guard down again.
But now that was what he was asking for.
“That fucking song,” Marduk cursed under his breath. “Don’t. Don’t go back there.”
“It’s not the song,” she admitted. “It was never the song.”
He froze.
To be bound to another was to share your heart and soul with them. But she was still holding back from him, still locking herself away.
Be brave.
Her mother’s words, carved into her heart.
But bravery was not just a weapon to be used in battle.
She opened herself up to him, finally letting the link between them flourish. And there lay her heart, splayed bare for him to see everything.
“The first time I let myself feel, it was you. I was a broken mess, trying to hide the damage my mother’s loss had done. If I didn’t let anyone in, then it wouldn’t hurt again. I was cold, and I was ruthless, and nobody came near me. Nobody dared. Except for you. You pushed me. You scaled my walls. Every time you smiled at me, my heart gave a little squeeze, and I started to believe—despite the words I said—that you might be the one.”
Marduk sucked in a sharp breath. “And then I betrayed you.”
“You left me,” she whispered. “You said you saw me—the real me—but then they sang that song. ‘Her kiss, so cold. Her heart, so cruel; That she made of him a terrible fool….’ And I knew that you hadn’t seen me at all.”
He shook his head. “I did. I did see you. But we were both too young, both too broken, to be ready for this.”
She swallowed. Hard. “I’m not cold.”
“I know.” His voice roughened.
/> “I’m not cruel—”
“I know.”
“And I do have a heart, though I’ve never dared offer it again, and—"
He stole the words from her lips, and Solveig whimpered as he kissed her, hard and demanding. I know, that kiss said.
They broke apart, and Solveig forced himself to look at him.
“If I give you my heart, will you break it again?”
“Never.”
She bit her lip.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he said, swinging her up into his arms and turning back to the bed. “If I had your heart, Solveig, then I would guard it like a dreki with his hoard.” He laid her back on the bed, his eyes glittering as he lowered himself over her. “I would ruin anyone who sought to harm it. I would bring myself to my knees for the chance to win it. I’ve never had a treasure to protect. I’ve never wished for anything to cherish. But if you gave me your heart, then I would hoard it for the rest of my days.”
Solveig’s hand brushed against his chest. She couldn’t say it.
But he must have sensed the truth within her.
Marduk swooped down, capturing her mouth with a sweet kiss. “Mine,” he said fiercely, and this time she knew he wasn’t talking about claiming anything.
But the heart she barely dared offer.
Sirius slowly mounted the steps to the courtyard garden, after spending an hour arguing with the Zilittu king. He’d finally broken away, insisting he needed to speak to his king, before he could come to blows with Draco about precisely which clan was going to own the emerald dagger with Queen Amadea’s soul trapped within it.
Maybe he should have come earlier.
Rurik looked like he’d slid down the wall, staring with unseeing eyes at the garden and despite himself, Sirius couldn’t help swallowing the bitter pill of empathy.
All those years he’d spent hating this bastard, and yet he wouldn’t trade places with him right now for all the crowns in the world.
To find one’s true mate was both a blessing and a curse. It was a gift beyond measure, a means of happiness Sirius had never expected to find.
But to wind yourself so closely around another’s soul meant that losing your mate was more than a shocking loss. It was a slow death spiral, rarely avoided. Soulmates who lost the other half of them rarely lasted more than a year.
“Rurik,” he murmured.
There was no response.
“Rurik. Here.” Sirius reached out his arm, offering his hand. “Let me help you stand.”
Rurik lifted his blank eyes toward Sirius’s face. “It feels like my heart’s been torn from my chest. I can’t think. I can’t… breathe. She’s gone. She’s gone, and there’s a hole within me that can’t be filled.”
Rurik wasn’t going to accept his grasp. He probably wasn’t even going to stand.
Sirius hauled him to his feet. “Aye. Freyja’s been kidnapped. But she’s not dead yet. Can you feel her at all?”
Rurik shook his head, his weight leaning on Sirius’s shoulder. Then he paused. “There’s… something there. Maybe the bond’s not completely shattered, but it’s so faint, I might as well be reaching for the stars. I don’t even know if it exists.”
“It exists.” He squeezed the king’s hand. “And as long as it exists, there’s still a chance. You need to sit down with Draco and Harald and—"
“I don’t think I can be king right now,” Rurik whispered.
A sliver of cold worked its way down Sirius’s spine. “Don’t speak like that.”
“We need strength. We need focus. Not just to protect the court, but to start this war.”
“And we have it,” Sirius argued.
Something came over the king’s face. “A weakened dreki king is a court at the mercy of any who seek to take it.” Their eyes met. “I can’t hold this court together. Not right now. Not like this. Árdís is with child. Marduk’s allegiances are shifting.” Rurik tipped his chin up. “You’re the only one left with the strength to weld us together.”
“Don’t you fucking dare—”
“I hereby renounce my—”
Sirius clapped a hand over his cousin’s mouth and shoved him against the wall. Once upon a time, he’d yearned for this. He’d longed for the power and hungered to be the one all dreki feared.
And then Malin had stormed into his life and turned everything on its head.
But she wasn’t the sole catalyst for his change of heart.
Rurik could have had him executed for the death of his father, King Reynar. He could have exiled the pair of them. Sirius had heard the whispers around court—some of the Zini had argued for it. They wanted no part of him and the shadow of the previous queen’s reign.
But he hadn’t.
He’d pardoned Sirius. He’d offered Sirius a chance he’d never had before, and in that moment, Sirius had realized power wasn’t the reward he’d yearned for.
Acceptance was. The chance to be a part of something that was so much bigger than he was.
And even if Marduk got on his nerves and Árdís drove him crazy in the council chambers, there was the growing feeling this was the sense of family that had always been missing.
Nothing was going to take that away from him. Not now. Not ever. Even if he had to storm Álfheimr itself.
Or hold Rurik together with his bare hands.
“My apologies for laying my hands on the king,” he hissed, “but if you complete that sentence, I’m going to have to hit you. Hard. You are not stepping down. You are not going to crawl off into some mountain somewhere and hibernate again. We need you.”
“I can’t—”
He had two fistfuls of Rurik’s shirt. “Yes. You. Can. You want to play these games? Fine. Then name me regent. You focus on getting your wife back while I hold your court together. But the second the queen is back, you are going to sit your ass on that cursed throne and you are going to stay there. And I will go back to glaring moodily at everyone who dares threaten you.”
There was a defeated look in Rurik’s eyes that nearly broke him. “If we get her back.”
“I know how you feel right now.” When Malin had been attacked during the court uprising, his heart had been in his throat the whole time, and the very idea that maybe he’d be too slow next time kept him awake at night. “But your court needs you to hold yourself together. You promised Freyja you would build something special together. You gave her your oath. And she might not be here on this world right now, but she’ll expect you to uphold that oath. No matter what.”
Rurik collapsed against him with a gasp, gripping his wrists. But he finally nodded. “I need to get her back. Promise me we’ll get her back.”
Sirius couldn’t look him in the eye.
Because dreki couldn’t lie.
And he didn’t dare give that promise, in case his magic twisted the words and he cost Rurik the chance to ever hold his wife again.
“If I need to break apart Álfheimr piece by piece, then I will do so,” he compromised.
“Without Ishtar….” Rurik’s voice trailed off to a whisper. “Or the key….”
Without Ishtar, there was no means to open the gates from this side.
“As I said, we need to sit down with Harald and Draco. Árdís doesn’t have the training to open the gate. But the Zilittu do. We have the key. And Andromeda is the only one with the power to maybe do it. We need her. We need the Zilittu.”
Rurik breathed out a bitter laugh, but his spine was slowly stiffening, a bit of his old self coming into his eyes. “The only problem is… will Andromeda risk it?”
30
“The gates are closed, and Ishtar is gone,” Draco said. “To even speak of trying to open them again…. I know what you have lost, but are you out of your mind? We risk war. And this is not like the wars of the past. Now each dreki court stands alone, and who knows what sort of army the King of Álfheimr commands, or how organized they are?”
It was playing out almost exactly as Solveig had predi
cted.
Marduk leaned forward, a dangerous edge in his eyes. “They have my sister, and with her, the ability to open the gates from their side. War is coming, whether we will it or not.”
“And when it comes, we will be ready,” Draco grated out. “Our mists protect us.”
“So you will hide in this castle and let them burn the world until it comes time for them to storm the Zilittu court?” Sirius sneered.
Solveig watched the byplay from beneath her lashes. With every word, the body language between the three males was growing more and more dominant. It was the first time she’d ever seen Marduk and Sirius working together.
“And what do you propose?” Draco snarled.
“Simple.” Sirius steepled his fingers together. “Your Chaos-wielders work together. We’ve seen what they can do when they’re linked. Maybe they’re not Ishtar, but together, using the diminished power of the key, they might be able to open the portal long enough for a small party of dreki to slip into Álfheimr. We rescue Freyja and Ishtar, and return before they’re aware we’re even there. They’ll never expect it. And if we rescue Ishtar, then they’re trapped forever.”
“Except,” Draco said coldly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “that even if my Chaos-wielders had the strength to do what you ask, the portal must remain open long enough for you to get into Álfheimr, rescue the two females, and then return. Time moves differently in Álfheimr. We can’t open the portal twice in a row. We can probably barely hold it long enough for your party to cross worlds. And the chances of the portal remaining undiscovered are slim.”
“Then send us through,” Marduk countered. “Ishtar can bring us back.”
“No,” Draco said. “It’s too great a risk.”
“Please,” Rurik said, and Solveig could see how much it cost him to plead.
The room fell silent.
Rurik looked like he hadn’t slept a wink since Freyja had vanished. Draco hesitated to reply, as if even he felt some sympathy.
Andromeda pushed to her feet and crossed to Rurik’s side. “I am not Ishtar, born to Chaos, but what small skills I have are yours. Your wife saved my life, and for that I owe her a debt—”
