The Valkyrie's Bond (Halfblood Rising Book 1)

by Lucy Roy

No, she wouldn’t fail. Not at this. She and Aerelius were connected on a level that most could only wish for. As individuals, they were strong, but as a mated pair, they would be unbreakable. Neither would allow the other to falter or flounder.

  And that thought, that fact alone, put her at ease.

  When she saw Byrric, wings hovering at his shoulders, waiting outside the door to the palace’s chapel, she steeled herself for a new list of dos and don’ts for walking down the aisle.

  Instead, her father smiled warmly, a sight so shocking she nearly stumbled.

  “Well that’s something you don’t see every day,” Lea murmured.

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Ana replied, laughing. “We’ll see you inside, dear,” she said as two guards opened the doors for her and Lea to pass through.

  Lea gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and followed Ana into the chapel.

  “Freya,” Byrric said quietly once they’d gone. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a tight smile.

  He patted her shoulder. “Try not to worry. Just focus on your prince and you’ll be fine.”

  “Fatherly advice,” she said with a nod. “That’s twice in the past two months, I believe.” She grinned. “It might be a record.”

  He gave her a withering look, but the corners of his mouth tilted slightly in amusement.

  Once Ana and Lea had stepped aside and Kallan ensured the train of her dress was flowing properly behind her, Rini did a final check of her makeup, hair, and wings.

  “Perfection, my lady,” she said with a sure nod. “Your prince is sure to swoon.”

  Taking a deep breath, Freya straightened her shoulders and smiled up at Byrric. His dove-gray wings dwarfed hers and he stood nearly a foot taller than her, but she knew, side-by-side, they showed the strength of the Balthana line, a clear indication to any naysayers of what Freya would pass down to her children.

  Byrric gave the guards at the door a curt nod, and the doors swung open, revealing hundreds of guests, all turned to face her.

  “Holy hells,” she breathed. She shifted her wings, holding them just a bit higher at her shoulders.

  The chapel was a dream. Pixie lights dotted the aisle and hovered in clusters above the guests who were seated in long rows. Roses and lilac hung from the crystalline windows, filling the room with their sweetness.

  “Smile,” Byrric murmured. “And look at Aerelius.”

  She forced her lips to curve upward as she sought out her prince.

  When she found him standing at the end of the aisle, his own grin expectant, it was just as Lea said.

  Poof.

  He looked more beautiful than she’d ever seen, in black pants with a pale green brocade vest with gold and opal fastenings. His pale gray mantle trimmed in white fur, the one that matched the one she’d soon wear, hung from his shoulders, brushing the backs of his black pants just below his knees.

  If it hadn’t been for Byrric’s hand on her arm, she would’ve sworn they were alone, just her and her mate in a beautiful room filled with the scent of flowers.

  Hurry up, Aer seemed to say, his eyes filled with pride and anticipation, twinkling the knowledge of the secret they shared. I’m waiting for you.

  She grinned, sharing a smile with him that was only theirs, one only they knew the meaning of. In that moment, Byrric was no longer her escort. He was simply a hanger-on, an interloper that she wished to shed so she could run to her mate, onlookers be damned.

  Instead, she forced her steps to remain slow and even, matching her father’s pace as they traveled the endlessly long petal-strewn aisle until, finally, finally, they reached the altar. The prince wasted no time in holding out his hand for hers.

  “My lady,” Florian said. The poisoner had donned a black robe embroidered with whorls of onyx and gold, his white hair slicked back. His eyes, cunning as ever, met hers, a small smile gracing his lips. Freya’s discomfort at the fact that he was the one to officiate their marriage still lingered, but something about the way he looked at her told her she had nothing to worry about.

  He gave a small nod to Byrric, who took Freya’s hand and placed it directly into Aer’s.

  “Byrric Balthana, do you give your daughter to his highness Prince Aerelius of House Harridan of your own free will?”

  Byrric nodded. “I do.”

  Florian shifted his black eyes to Freya. “And do you, Lady Balthana, come to your prince of your own volition?”

  Taking a deep breath, she smiled at Aer. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then let us begin.”

  Florian droned on for a good while about the sanctity of a mating bond and the importance of a strong marriage. He talked of past kings and queens who’d strengthened Lindoroth by absorbing and respecting their bonds. A sign of a truly strong monarchy, he said, would be indicated by the strength of its monarchs, the depth of their devotion to one another, and the vows they swore on their wedding day.

  When at last he turned his attention to Freya and Aer, she was nearly out of her skin wanting to get on with it.

  “His highness has explained your… situation,” Florian murmured, low enough that he wouldn’t be overheard. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

  She gave him a nod of thanks.

  He looked at Aer expectantly. “Your Highness, her mantle?”

  The gray mantle Kallan had created for her was folded in the waiting hands of a nearby page.

  When Aer beckoned him forward, he lifted the soft material and turned to Freya. It was a beautiful piece crafted from the same smoky gray velvet as Aer’s, with patterns of leaves and swirls woven with glittering threads of silver.

  Straightening her shoulders, she turned to face their guests. It was a struggle not to let the small, restrained smile she wore shift to beaming as she retracted her wings, allowing Aer to fasten the mantle around her shoulders.

  “As you take on the mantle of House Harridan, so, too, do you take on the weight of its legacy,” Florian intoned.

  “I accept it with an open heart and with no ill-intent,” Freya replied. She faced Aer once more and took his hands.

  “And now, please repeat after me.”

  They repeated the words they’d said last night, replacing the words “accept this offering” with “accept this new offering.” If the guests picked up on the slight deviation in verbiage, she didn’t know, but even if they did, there was little within the addition of a single word that would indicate they’d done anything inappropriate. The magic that a vow renewal sent through them was strong, but not nearly enough to elicit the same reaction as last night, so their parents’ concerns in that regard were eased.

  Florian had hardly finished his declaration that their bond was complete when Aer had her in his arms. He smiled broadly, then gripped her chin in one hand and kissed her in a way that was, to her mind, a bit inappropriate for mixed company.

  Cheers rang out around them from their families and friends and from the hundreds of subjects whom they would soon rule over.

  “I love you,” Aer breathed against her lips. “Princess.”

  “So, nineteen years later, and here we are,” Aer murmured as his hand curved around Freya’s back, resting on the bare skin at her waist. The musicians began to play a slow, lilting waltz that was tradition at Harridan weddings, and slowly and smoothly, Aer began to lead her around the dance floor. “Did you know there was a time I thought you might never return?”

  Freya gave him a shocked look as he spun her past their guests, who stood in a wide circle around them. “But I promised you I would. Even if I didn’t have a duty to my kingdom, I would’ve returned, Aer.”

  He sighed, then gave her a quick spin before pulling her back against his chest. He cradled their joined hands beneath them and rested his cheek against her hair.

  “Are you happy, Freya?”

  It was the second time he’d asked her since she’d returned to Iladel, but the question carried much more weight now. When he’d asked her
at the ball, she’d only just found him again, had only begun to dip her feet back into life in the capital. Her betrothal, a thing that had hovered in the back of her mind for years, had just been pulled front and center once again and she hadn’t been sure she still knew the male she was going to marry.

  Now, months later, after spending time rediscovering each other, she couldn’t imagine finding anything or anyone that could make her happier.

  “I love you,” she said simply. Tilting her face toward his, she took in his expression, the hard lines of his jaw, the deep chocolate hue of his eyes that was encircled with just a touch of green. “Nothing about you could make me unhappy. I would’ve been just as content without the trappings of tradition to make that apparent.”

  “I think you should let me kiss you,” he murmured, smiling when she titled her chin up just a bit more, her lips slightly parted. He leaned closer, and when his lips were just a breath from hers, he whispered, “Nothing about you could make me unhappy, either.”

  The kiss was outwardly chaste, appearing to those who stood a dozen feet away as a simple kiss between husband and wife, a bit of a show to put on for their guests. They didn’t see the slow brush of his tongue over her lower lip or the way his hand clenched against her back when he pulled her harder against his body, the way the thumb of his right hand, which was still wrapped around hers and cradled between them, brushed along the bare skin just below her collarbone.

  “Scandalous,” she whispered when he released her mouth, a bit breathless.

  “What do you think they would do if we disappeared now?” He laughed quietly. “All the rest is for them, anyway.”

  “I think we’ve defiled tradition enough in recent weeks, so perhaps we should stay the course just this once.”

  “Indeed.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then touched his lips to her ear. “I thought you should know that I managed to steal a few moments with my cousins and Collin,” he whispered. “They’re going to be on the lookout for anything… questionable.”

  Freya bit her lip, closing her eyes and smiling as though he’d just whispered the most romantic words. “Has there been any indication something might happen?” After being held hostage by Kallan and the pixies for half the day, she’d hardly had time to worry about sneaking humans or devious plots, nor had she had a chance to check in with Aer to see if he’d found anything since he’d left his room that morning.

  “No, and I’m certain my parents intend for it to stay that way. Even still, our friend makes me a bit edgy. I thought additional eyes might put me at ease.”

  True enough, Freya thought. She’d been turning over her conversation with Reginald in her mind most of yesterday, and despite the instances where she knew he was being untruthful, nothing about him rang false. While she was no mindreader, she’d always been a good judge of character—her father and mother wouldn’t have allowed her not to be—and something told her he wasn’t an enemy. If anything, he’d come off as just the opposite.

  “He gave me no indication of animosity yesterday,” she said.

  “Which is all the more reason to be wary, I think. You are a good judge of character, certainly, but he could be just as good of an actor.”

  “Perhaps I’ll strike up another conversation, then.” When he didn’t immediately reply, she sighed. “If our parents are insisting on putting us on a ship for Edhil tomorrow, we should know before we depart what political problems might await when we return. I don’t doubt their ability to handle problems that may arise, but you and I should be as prepared as possible if there’s the potential for anything to go awry.”

  “Oh, I agree, Valkyrie.” The song ended and he smiled down at her. “Let’s just see where the night takes us, shall we?”

  Chapter 47

  While they received guests at the long head table set for each of the royal families, dozens of servants began to file in, each bearing plates laden with food to the guests’ tables. Freya and the queen had decided on seven courses of Allanorian dishes—chestnut soup, roasted potatoes, carrots and squash steamed with lindberries, braised pheasant, and cinnamon and apple tarts, to name a few. Each would represent Freya’s heritage.

  As the spicy-sweetness of the roasted vegetables and savory smells of chestnuts and game wafted through the room, Freya was transported back to Watoria and her childhood home just on the outskirts of the city.

  By the time plates were set before her, her throat burned after talking to one guest after another, several of whom would’ve sat and chatted all night if it hadn’t been for Byrric hovering nearby, shooing off anyone who overstayed their welcome at her side.

  When she saw the food the kitchens had prepared, she struggled to maintain the proper facade of a princess as it all but demanded she dive in.

  From start to finish, dinner took nearly four hours, for which Freya was grateful as it gave her time to digest a bit between courses.

  “You chose your menu well, Your Highness,” Isadora said from beside her. She gestured toward her empty dessert plate. “I thought the apple tarts of Teid were the best to be had, but I’ve never tasted something so divine as this.”

  “I’m so pleased you’re enjoying it,” Freya replied, then leaned forward so she could speak to Willem. She’d hardly had a chance to converse with him since the humans had arrived, and whether it was intentional on his part or not, she wasn’t sure. “How are you enjoying your meal, Your Majesty?”

  He gave her a tight smile. “Delicious, Princess. I’m not sure my own chefs could hold a candle to yours.”

  Freya laughed. “Well, Maghda would be delighted to hear such high praise.” Then, noting the empty chair beside him, she asked, “Is your brother unwell?” It was highly improper for anyone to leave the table before the monarchs had excused them.

  “Reginald can’t sit in any one place for too long,” Willem said, hardly hiding his annoyance at that fact. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “He’ll be along any time now.”

  Freya let her eyes drift over the room searching for Reginald’s pale hair but saw no sign of him.

  They talked lightly of other topics, of travel plans for the remainder of their stay in Lindoroth, and if they planned to make a return trip at any point. Despite Willem’s aloofness, Freya couldn’t help but be thankful she’d been placed beside the human monarchs instead of Lessia, who sat several seats down at Ordona’s left. Willem might be standoffish and a bit odd, but it was far preferable to Lessia’s calculated ways.

  Once dinner was over and guests were encouraged to mingle, Freya and Aer found their friends and spent the next hour dancing. They’d agreed ahead of time that neither wanted to spend their wedding night intoxicated, so while Lea, Laz, Collin, Jonas, and several of their friends from Aldridge proceeded to drink themselves silly, Freya and Aer just let themselves enjoy celebrating.

  After some time and citing pained feet, Freya stepped away from the revelers and took a seat at a nearby table, smiling as she leaned back in the chair and watched those around her as they enjoyed the party.

  Someone sat down beside her.

  “This is quite the party, Princess,” Reginald said.

  She blew out a breath. “It certainly is, although I don’t quite know how I’m going to function tomorrow. I’m exhausted already, and no one seems to have any interest in making it to bed.”

  He laughed. “I take it you haven’t been to a wedding in some time?”

  “More than fifteen years. To the best of my knowledge, I spent most of the night asleep on my mother’s shoulder.”

  “Well, the benefit of being the prince and princess is that you can both leave whenever you’d like and no one would bat an eye.”

  Laughing, she turned to face him. “Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?”

  His answering smile was a bit wary. “I’ve heard rumors of Lindorothian revels but wasn’t expecting something so… energized.”

  Frowning, Freya looked around the room, trying to see it from
the perspective of a human and an outsider. The Lind’s were a raucous crowd, certainly, but aside from the amount of alcohol her people liked to consume at parties, she didn’t see anything remarkable.

  “There’s a good deal to celebrate when a royal wedding comes around,” she told him. “They only happen once every few centuries and it means a new king and queen will arise soon.” She smiled softly as she looked at her guests, her future subjects, as they leapt about the dance floor and streamed in and out of the open veranda doors. Servants brought in several more casks of wine and mead, replacing the ones that had been emptied several times over already. No one seemed to have any plans of stopping soon.

  “It’s nice to have a reason to celebrate, isn’t it?” he murmured.

  Freya couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though a hint of sadness tinged in voice.

  “You say that as if you don’t often find cause for celebration in Dystone.” She let the statement hang, hoping he might take it as a bit of bait.

  He laughed. “Humans find a way to celebrate any damn thing, Princess. Should you and your prince ever come to Dystone, I’ll be happy to show you.”

  “His highness and I would appreciate that.” she replied.

  Lea appeared then, her cloudy eyes telling Freya she’d been at the wine table a fair number of times, and set her goblet down on the table, taking a seat beside Freya.

  “My lady,” Reginald said with a nod. He stood and gave Freya a bow. “Princess, it’s been good talking to you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  After Reginald walked off, Lea turned to Freya, wide-eyed.

  “So did you uncover a devious plot?” she whispered.

  Freya rolled her eyes. “No, but perhaps if you’d come along a bit later…”

  Lea waved off her insinuation with a huff. “You, my dear, look half-asleep on your feet. If you and Aer slip off now, you’ll be long gone before anyone notices.”

  Freya scanned the room, then nodded. She’d felt as though she’d been holding her breath all evening, waiting for some invisible shoe to drop. They knew Reginald had ill intent toward his brother, but if he hoped to pull off anything tonight, devious or otherwise, it seemed poorly planned, as the casks had been replenished every half hour since they’d arrived and there wasn’t an empty hand in the room.