A Vow of Thorns (Blackest Gold Book 3)

by R. Scarlett

  Fallen’s fingers paused, and he straightened in his chair. A silence passed, Fallen and Tensley staring coolly back at each other.

  He wasn’t backing down. He’d give Molly his name, his power, and protection above all else, and all of this would be behind them.

  “I will agree,” Fallen began, his voice so loud compared to the dead silence before. One finger lifted. “Only if you wed here. At High Court, amongst the court, with our traditions.”

  Tensley inhaled very slowly, his chest expanding, his hands curling a little at his side as he looked at his king.

  Traditions. The night of cruelty—the last night of a man’s singlehood and entrance into marriage.

  “Agreed.” He had sealed his fate with the king, but he had saved them.

  “Excellent. It will give the court entertainment. We’ll begin planning the wedding for tomorrow. I think in my throne room would be lovely, don’t you?”

  Tensley frowned. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Fallen stood and passed by Tensley. “You must pack—the groom is not allowed to see the bride until the wedding ceremony. I’ll have my servants arrange everything for tomorrow. Tell your bride the news.”

  Tensley bowed, backing away, his fingers itching to wrap around the king’s neck. He moved through the hallway, early light of the sun streaming into the grand hallways of marble and gold. His shoes thumped on the floor like a war cry, a wild drum signaling an oncoming battle.

  Tomorrow?

  Fucking tomorrow?

  Once he reached their bedchambers, he paused, sucked in a deep breath, and entered.

  Molly stood, her back arched as the servant tightened her corset. Her dress a deep purple was cut high on her right thigh, tempting and seducing.

  Molly’s head twisted to see him standing there, her crown of blonde locks pooling down her bare ivory back.

  “My lord,” the servant addressed, pausing. She curtsied, but Tensley shook his head, his focus entirely on his bride.

  His bride.

  Tomorrow, his wife.

  “Leave us.”

  The servant bowed again and moved fast out of the room.

  He watched the tops of Molly’s breasts heave, slow but deep.

  “Tensley?” Molly’s pink lips pulled into a frown.

  “Turn around,” he commanded, voice low but soft.

  Molly gave him a long look, and after a second, she turned and gripped the banister of the canopy bed.

  Tensley marched over, his shoes loud thumps in the silence between them, beside her hushed breaths. His hands found her waist, so small, so fragile, and moved up to the lace of ribbon.

  “I saw the king,” he whispered and yanked the lace tighter, so Molly gasped, jolting against his frame.

  “And?” Molly turned her head, giving him a sight of her breathtaking side profile, her nose straight and delicate, her lashes resting on her ivory cheeks, a hint of blush on the apples of them.

  He yanked again.

  She gasped.

  “He agreed,” he said and focused on the pink lace, tying it tight. “As long as we wed here. Tomorrow.”

  He watched her spine straighten, the bones tensing under her skin. “Tomorrow?”

  His eyes examined her face, her teeth chewing on that natural pout and the crease between her brows.

  A pinch of fear and agony seized him. Maybe she didn’t want to marry him, carry his family name.

  “I want you safe,” Tensley murmured. His thumb trailed dangerously along her bare shoulder blade, watching the bone roll under his touch.

  Her piercing eyes met his, shining bright, her hair glowing from the spilling morning sunlight. “I just always imagined my wedding with friends and family, in a church in Manhattan.”

  He turned her fully, his hands on her hips, and with one finger, lifted her delicate chin to look straight into heaven. “I promise you when this is all over—I will marry you again. The way that pleases you, the way you want.”

  He’d be a subject to her, he’d bow for her, and he’d expose his neck, and kiss her holy feet. His loyalty was to her above all else.

  A tiny smile played on her lips, and she blinked up at him. “I only want you.”

  He sighed, pressing his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes. To feel her, to sense her—before he left.

  “There’s another thing,” Tensley told her and straightened, stroking her soft cheek.

  Molly blinked up at him, her brow furrowing again. “What is it?”

  “We can’t see each other until the ceremony,” he told her. He instantly saw the tension in her shoulders build. “We both will perform traditional wedding preparations. You will spend the time with Lilith and her ladies, preparing for the ceremony, and I will spend my last night with the men of the court. Hunting, drinking.” He paused, gripping her hands in his. “A man’s last feast, but I won’t devour any women they present to me, dolcezza. My thirst is for you only.”

  Molly rolled her bottom lip into her mouth and shakily breathed out. “I know, I’m just—this is happening so fast.”

  He nodded and stole one last kiss. “Tomorrow, between thorns and blood, we’ll be wed before the crown and court. I will be aloof, I will be cold and vicious, but I’m your beast. Only yours.”

  He moved back, but she gripped his cheeks and shakily kissed him. Harshly, viciously—and he growled, knowing he wasn’t the only beast.

  She was a beast, and she was all his.

  Lightning flashed across the night sky as Tensley stood in front of the Temple of Solonios, his slain mountain lion in his bloody hands. A gift to the gods, to the court, to the crown, and to his oath tomorrow.

  The temple of stone, sculpted with marble pillars holding up a canopy. Sheer fabric draped over the building, used to protect the outside forces.

  Thin, tall candles lit along each column, fluttering in the coming storm. Brutal and vicious.

  Like him.

  The men—suited in furs and golden armor—chanted and cheered with ale and mirth. With a garland of dead rosebuds on their heads, they hunted the strongest mountain lion and struck him down with an arrow.

  Now the mountain lion gripped in Tensley’s hands was presented to the god of the sun. A statue of the god, seated on his marble throne, the surface of his knuckles and his features peeled from years of wear and weather.

  Tensley laid the dead mountain lion, its dark fur thick and wet from his blood, and bowed to the statue.

  Fallen clapped his hands, summoning servants with bowls of fruit and bread, fresh and warm. Tensley sat down at a wooden table along with the other men.

  Loud laughter and chatter filled the temple as the men conversed about politics and old tales.

  Tensely swished his ale, glaring at the murky substance. All day, within the forest, surrounded by riotous men, he thought of only one woman. He was marrying her tomorrow. Tomorrow.

  She wouldn’t be his fiancée or his bride.

  She’d be his wife, her stomach round with his child, and her neck bearing his sacred mark.

  Completely his.

  But under Fallen’s eyes.

  Tensley glanced up to see Fallen watching him from the other side of the table, his cheek resting on his hand, a smile of threat.

  A few seats down sat the prince, his hair combed loosely back into a ponytail, and with one single glance, Tensley’s fist clenched.

  Give him the king’s head.

  He needed to make it through the next twenty-four hours without an issue, and then he’d be able to protect Molly with his name and power.

  Molly Knight.

  The carrier of his vicious heart.

  “A toast,” the prince said, raising his goblet toward Tensley—a dangerous gleam in his eyes. The rest of the men raised their goblets. “May Solonios ward off the darkness, may your bed be filled with pleasure, and her thighs be opened wide.”

  Tensley gnashed his teeth, calming himself before he smashed the prince’s face to the table.


  The men chuckled at the sexual joke.

  “May she bore you sons of strength and skill and daughters of beauty and grace,” the prince continued, a memorized poem of sorts. “May she lick your wounds, among other things of pleasure.”

  Again, a hoot of laughter erupted in the men.

  Tensley let his thumb rub along his goblet, focusing on the ridges rather than how good it would feel for his knuckles to hit the prince’s crushing bones.

  Tensley cleared his throat and stood, raising his goblet. “She will bear me sons and daughters, powerful with those vivid eyes, and she will kiss my wounds only to strengthen me beyond my threshold, and I will please her—with my mouth, with my tongue, with my teeth,” he said, his teeth flashing as a warning.

  The prince sat back, his features darkened.

  “The daemon is a worthy mate—a precious bride, and a powerful wife,” Tensley said, raised his goblet and downed the ale, the smoothness fueling his anger. Then he lifted his goblet higher and roared. “A goddess.”

  The men cheered, throwing back their ales and chattering loudly, wildly.

  But as Tensley fell back into his seat, he felt the eyes of two powerful men—the prince and the king.

  Tensley was a threat to them, and if Fallen had not been so traditional and set on respecting his own laws, either of them would have eagerly found a way to shackle her to them.

  But Molly was his.

  The drinking ensued, the laughter too loud, too chaotic.

  The prince claimed the seat beside him, lounging with his toned legs far apart.

  He grinned at Tensley. “Your last night as a cruel bachelor. Will you be a cruel husband?”

  Tensley licked at his teeth, refusing to meet his gaze. “Cruelty is a demon’s nature, is it not?”

  The prince cupped his chin and hummed. “I believe you’re crueler than most of us but weak for one blonde.” Tensley tensed, his muscles tightening to balls of fire. “I let you marry your daemon, but don't you forget our bargain. I want the throne, and you will get it for me. Wife and children or not.”

  “Servant!” Fallen snapped, silencing every single man in the room.

  A servant rushed over and bowed, leaning into him. Fallen whispered, and then the servant vanished.

  “Entertainment for the evening,” Fallen said, taking a large gulp of his drink. He grinned at Tensley.

  Tensley scowled, and a moment later, several women clothed in sheer gowns strolled into the temple, their hips rolling, their breasts visible under the thin, transparent fabric.

  Tensley fisted his hands on his thighs.

  “There is the groom, ladies,” Fallen said, gesturing to Tensley. “He’s too sour for his bride. Make him sweet for her. Remove the tension from his loins.”

  The women giggled, their luscious hair long and wild, helping to cover their nipples.

  “Since I’m bringing you your father’s head, do me a favor,” Tensley hissed lowly so only the prince heard him.

  The prince cocked a brow and then took in the ladies making their way over to them. “With pleasure,” he said, a smirk warming his wicked lips. The prince stood, raising his arms slightly as if to welcome them. “Ladies, join me.”

  The women paused, glancing at each other, but soon smiled, moving to the prince and bypassing Tensley.

  The prince looked back at Tensley, a grin of mischievousness, of corruption. The prince had taken the attention from him.

  Tensley stood violently, pushing back his chair, and left, with the rest of the men, including Fallen, too invested in their new toys. Lightning flashed across the darkened sky, no stars visible, and he walked down the grassy path to the dark pond.

  Shredding his high-court clothes of high waist black trousers and a white shirt tucked in, he walked into the cool water.

  The smooth current calmed his raging beast, and he looked up at the sky, standing naked in the water.

  Tomorrow, he repeated to himself.

  Tomorrow, his vicious heart belonged to his beauty.

  Not the court, not the crown, not himself.

  But to the woman with the vivid, powerful eyes of storm and ice.

  His blessing and his curse.

  Damned he was.

  MOLLY GASPED as the cool water touched her skin, jolting upward.

  “Sit down,” Lilith commanded.

  Molly, completely naked, sat back down into the large bath, surrounded by strange women cloaked in white robes of silk.

  Each woman held a towel or a perfume bottle. Each had sprayed her nude body from head to toe of the different fragrances, each saying a blessing in an unknown language.

  Being woken up at the crack of dawn by a room full of strange women she had never set eyes on wasn’t the best introduction to her preparation before the wedding that day.

  At least, as she bathed in the water, her mind wasn’t on the fact she was getting married today.

  From such a young age, she thought of her wedding day. Her dress, her venue, her father walking her down the aisle, to see the rugged, handsome face of the love her life.

  Childish, naïve, and not at all like the wedding of her five-year-old mind.

  “To cleanse your body before you are reborn in your marriage,” Lilith said, standing by the bath, her head held high.

  Molly gave her a long look but stopped herself. She could burn the queen to ashes. Today, though, she had to stay obedient and patient.

  With a long breath, she ducked her head under the water, eyes squeezed shut, and let the perfume, the purified waters consume her—before she walked down the aisle to meet the demon.

  Fully dried, clothed in a white gown of lace and sheer, exposing far too much of her naked skin beneath, tight to her breasts and her hips, flowing out to a long train. The women worked hours on her hair, curling it to loose ringlets, her cheeks rosy and cheekbones highlighted, and her lips swollen and colored with berries as a deep dark red.

  Lilith watched every single touch, commanding the ladies when the dress wasn’t tight enough or a curl too tight or too loose. She barked, she snapped, and Molly seethed silently.

  Her nerves were getting the best of her. She fidgeted with a piece of lace on her thigh, twisting the black trimmed engagement ring on her finger. Soon to be joined by another more important ring. Palms sweaty, the room too hot, filled with too many women touching her and picking at each detail on her body, of her dress.

  She bit back a hiss when a woman pinched her waist, tightening the dress even further.

  A few more hours, then you’ll be his, and this will be over.

  Soon, the women stood back, each one admiring their work over the course of three painful hours.

  Molly gazed at herself in the mirror.

  An ethereal glow took to her ivory skin. The white flowed off her limbs, the lace a beautifully simple design of chaos. Her hair smoothed down her back in gorgeous waves of silk and ringlets, so glossy and with lily of the valley as a crown upon her head.

  Her fingers ran along her berry-stained lips—a violent red of blood against her porcelain skin.

  A violent reckoning.

  A violent kiss of death.

  Lilith’s clapping hands jolted Molly from her thoughts, and she turned to see the ladies rushing out.

  Once they had left, Lilith strolled up, a lacy veil in her hands. She draped the veil of lace with tiny diamonds sewn in over Molly’s crown of hair, fitting it, hiding most of her features.

  “A veil was said to protect brides from evil spirits,” Lilith whispered, her eyes tracing Molly’s thin frame of white and lace. Then her eyes lifted, a fierce glint there now. She smirked, and Molly’s heart grew wild against her ribcage. “But that won’t protect you from your groom.”

  Molly took in a shuddering breath and straightened, gazing down at the queen of demons. A soft smile took to her red lips. “I’m not afraid of his venom.”

  The queen’s mouth twisted ruefully, but she held her tongue, focusing on the veil and Molly�
�s gown.

  “It is time, my queen,” one of the girls announced to her.

  Molly swallowed thickly and nodded.

  Another girl took Molly’s hand and helped her through the bedchamber and into the hallway. Lilith walked beside her, their shoes clicking and their dresses swishing through the gleaming gold and white halls.

  Molly ran her sweaty palms down her sides carefully, her heart battling in her chest.

  The paintings of Fallen, of Lilith and the prince, of each drapery of battles and victories, sent her closer and closer to the hall where the court waited, where Fallen waited, and where Tensley stood.

  Music of flutes drifted off the walls, growing louder with each step.

  The golden bronze doors were closed to the hall, and Molly paused before them, taking a deep breath to ease her nerves.

  But she couldn’t stop shaking.

  Lilith stepped close, smoothing down her dress, and fixing anything else, but only to say one final word.

  “You may be the daemon,” Lilith hissed into Molly’s ear, her fingers biting into her bicep. “But I am the queen.”

  Molly gritted her teeth, glaring under the veil.

  Lilith let go and nodded to the guards as they opened the bronze door, sliding into the hall of music and chatter.

  Molly, left alone, placed a hand on her pounding chest.

  Her heart wouldn’t calm, and she feared everyone would hear it.

  She breathed through her nose and steeled herself.

  “Ready, my lady?” a guard asked.

  Molly swallowed thickly, eyeing the golden trim of the blue bronze door and nodded.

  The doors opened, the brightness of the pure white and gold blinding her, and with one stuttering breath, Molly stepped into the heart of the beasts.

  HER HEART thumped so loudly Molly swore every single member of the high court heard it.

  She couldn’t look up, not at anyone, not even at the man at the end of the aisle. She focused on her breathing, begging for her powers to stay hidden and managed. She couldn’t risk her eyes glowing during her own wedding in front of touchy demons of the court.