Grimhold

Here we are, at the last of four tales about brides who travel great distances drawn by hope, or driven by fear, and who find happiness in the arms of an alien, and a wolf, and a billionaire.

Now comes the warlord king.

The time is anotherwhen, a date unknown but in the midst of winter; the place is anotherwhere, a world unnamed but to the west of the Illwind Sea. And this story begins, as many stories do, with a lonely warrior wandering through a fortress guarded by mighty walls that are as thick and as hard as the walls around his heart. Surely only a brave bride—or a very desperate one—could scale those stone battlements…or any of the other thick and hard parts of him.

So we settle in for a midwinter’s spell—for that is all a tale is, words woven together in hopes of making magic. It matters not if you believe in such things. You must only believe this—

Love is magic, too.

* * *

Kael strode into the chamber that ought to have been filled with shackled prisoners and the beseeching cries of the penitent—and found it disappointingly empty. Frowning, he turned to the sentry posted beside the chamber doors. “Is this not the petition hall?”

The young guard’s only response was the metallic shivering of chainmail and a panicked hiss of breath.

If Kael asked the simple question again the boy might piss himself in fear. Frustration gritted his teeth. A flash of blue farther down the corridor caught his eye—one of the royal underministers, a woman he’d seen cowering in the great hall during his endless meetings with his advisors. “You there!”

The figure froze. A timid, “Yes, your majesty?” floated toward him.

“Is this not the petition hall?”

Though the underminister had the courage to approach him, she was trembling as hard as the sentry—but silently trembling, for her woolen robes didn’t jingle. “It is, sir.”

Just as Kael had thought. “Then is it not Petition Day?”

In each of his four kingdoms, anyone sentenced by local magistrates or whose complaints were unresolved had a right to petition the king for a hearing. Kael had only recently learned that a high magistrate had been overseeing the hearings in the petition hall each month, as had been established during Geofry’s reign.

Kael enjoyed few royal duties. It seemed that his every hour was filled with tedious meetings and pointless rituals. But he had looked forward to this day, when he might hear how his kingdoms’ laws were applied—and learned which of Geofry’s still needed to be struck down.

“It is,” she answered.

“Why is no one here, then?”

Her cheeks paled and she bit her lip. Her gaze darted to the sentry, as if searching for help, but the boy could hardly breathe let alone give Kael an explanation.

The underminister attempted it. “Because…I have heard…that is…” In a sudden rush, she got it out— “There are no petitioners.”

Kael’s frown deepened. “No petitioners?” He had seen previous dockets. Each month brought dozens of petitions. “Why?”

Mutely she stared at him.

Curse every breath that Geofry ever took. So frightened was she, Kael would have to pull her tongue from her mouth to get an answer from it—as Geofry had done in truth to those who’d said words he hadn’t wanted to hear. Too many silent servants roamed these stone corridors to wonder at her fear now.

If Kael wanted an answer, he would have to seek it elsewhere.

It finally came, however, from an unexpected direction. “The prisoners learned that you would deliver the new rulings, sir,” the sentry told him, voice little more than a squeak. “And decided to accept the sentences they’d received.”

Rather than risk worse from him? More fools they. Kael had been in a fine mood this day. Had been.

What his mood looked like now, Kael could not say, except that after braving another glance at his face, the underminister’s fingers shook ever harder as she pointed down the stone corridor in the direction from which she’d come. “I believe you are expected in the great hall instead, your majesty.”

Where a large number of people had gathered, Kael concluded by the noise coming from that chamber as he approached. And this was what becoming a king had made him—for many years he had been called Kael the Conqueror, yet at this moment he dreamt of finding a cupboard to hide in. Anything to avoid more royal pageantry.

His sour mood worsened when he stepped into the great hall and saw the cushion of woven flowers blanketing the golden seat of his throne. Over a year ago, he’d told the ladies of the court not to waste time on such frivolities.

He would not tell them again. Without a word, Kael drew his sword. The courtiers and servants within the opulent marble chamber abruptly fell silent. Some trembled and stumbled out of his path, but he paid them no mind. His grim gaze was fixed on the white roses as he stalked toward the dais.

From his left approached a scurrying figure in red silken robes and cap. Lord Minam, his royal chamberlain, scurried everywhere—as a mouse did. Or as a thief did.

Kael admired both thieves and mice. More than any other class of man or animal, they were likely to survive a calamity. Which was probably why Minam had so well survived the eighteen months since Kael had taken the throne.

And it was probably why Minam had survived the king who’d sat on it before him. Kael had never dreamed of ruling one kingdom, let alone four. But if ever there was a man who’d begged for a length of sharpened steel down his gullet, Geofry the Child-Eater was he—and Kael had always been generous with his blade. His steel had given Geofry’s gullet, balls, and brains a skewering before he was done.

Kael hadn’t intended to win Geofry’s crown in the killing. Yet win it, he had.

“My king,” the chamberlain came up alongside him, scurrying even faster now to keep up with Kael’s longer stride, and the lilting rhythm of all the four kingdoms in his voice. Even after so many years among them, to Kael’s ears their speech still sounded like a song. “With my own eyes, I inspected your cushion. This time it is free of thorns.”

“I care nothing of thorns.” Of all the things that had ever poked Kael’s ass, the least painful was a flower. “I care that anyone in this castle wastes time weaving unwanted cushions.”

“It is only because Geofry—”

“Wanted his ass perfumed?” With a sneer, Kael slipped the flat of his blade beneath the woven flowers and tossed the cushion to the marble floor. “More pleasant for you all to kiss it.”

Rare steel replaced the placating cadence of the chamberlain’s voice. “When Geofry ordered us to kiss it, my king, he would first sit in the blood of our wives and children.”

For that—and worse—Kael had destroyed him. So he replied with steel of his own, but his was hotter than the chamberlain’s. “I am not Geofry.” Yet still he was treated as Geofry had been. “I have no need to be coddled and flattered, or to sit upon a perfumed cushion.”

Minam sighed. “But that is what a king does, my liege.”

That is what a king does. In the past year and a half, Kael had learned to hate those words. For a king spent every day upholding the laws of the kingdom and protecting his people—not by his own sword, but by sitting on a pillow and consulting a parade of advisors, ministers, and officials. From the moment he woke until his despairing fall into sleep, it seemed Kael spent every day petted and led and fed, living more like a cow being fatted for slaughter than a king.

When Kael gave no reply, the chamberlain sighed again and bent to lift the blanket of flowers. “It took great effort to cultivate roses so near to Midwinter. The ladies only wish to please you.”

No. They only wished to appease him. As he sheathed his sword, Kael could see the women’s frightened gazes shifting from the cushion to his face. As if they expected Kael to behead them for growing and weaving the flowers.

He wouldn’t behead anyone. Not for such a paltry offense as that.

Still, seeing their fear fanned the frustration that had smoldered in his heart for the better part of his rule. He snatched the cushion from Minam’s grip and flung it into the center of the chamber.

“If you wish to please me, then spend your days weaving blankets for the children maimed by your putrid king! Waste them not with this foolishness!” Petals fluttered through the air as he bellowed, “And if you do not have business here, begone from my sight!”

A rush of sandals and silks followed. Heavily Kael sat upon the gold throne and immediately wished himself anywhere else. Geofry had been a tall man, a strong warrior, and this seat had been made for the Child-Eater.

It had not been made for a man of Kael the Conqueror’s great size, and he felt confined—imprisoned—in its golden clasp.

Yet he had not yet decided what to do with it. Gladly would he melt it into coins and distribute them throughout the kingdoms, but even a team of oxen could not drag the heavy gold throne from atop the marble dais where it stood. And the people of the four kingdoms—his people—seemed reassured by Kael inhabiting Geofry’s seat.

Hanging Geofry’s eviscerated and headless carcass from the fortress wall ought to have reassured them well enough, so that was the first thing Kael had done. Except not a day had passed before a mob had torn what was left of Geofry down, carried the corpse across the bridge to the center of the city, and burned it atop a bonfire. When the pyre finally cooled, they pissed in the ashes.

Kael had known they were truly his people then—but he still could not fathom why they had made him their king.

He still could not fathom why he had accepted.

“Your crown, my liege.” With a flourish, Minam presented the bejeweled circlet of gold nestled on a purple velvet pillow.

Gritting his teeth, Kael took the crown. This bauble fit no better than the throne did. Perched atop his head, it threatened to slide off with every nod. But his people were also reassured by seeing it—and Minam claimed that for official tasks it conveyed the proper authority.

Kael thought that any king who could not convey authority without a crown was not much of a king at all. But whatever reason they were gathered here, he must be needed to—

What reason were they gathered? Only the more fainthearted courtiers had fled at his command. At least fifty remained—which meant they believed they had business here.

Scowling, he looked to Minam. “What foolishness is…”

He was speaking to himself. The chamberlain stood a few steps away, engaged in a hectic, whispered conversation with the Minister of Wards. Their heads were bent together, the chamberlain’s red silk cap against the minister’s white, and Minam’s pale hands moved in short, agitated gestures as he spoke to the conjurer.

The Minister of Wards was the only spellcaster within the stronghold, and his single duty was to maintain the wards that shielded those living in the fortress from corrupt magic. Twice every day he solemnly reported to Kael that all of his runes were intact. As he had made that morning’s report only two hours ago, Kael doubted any magical disaster had occurred in that time.

Abruptly both men seemed to sense the weight of their king’s gaze upon them. They fell silent and turned to face him—Minam’s expression as innocent as any thief who had been caught with his hand in a sack of gold, and the minister’s eyes anxiously rounded, mouth pulled into a taut, pained smile.

Kael knew scheming when he saw it, and his fine mood returned. “Have you gathered to kill me, then?” With a sweep of his hand, he indicated the crowd. “Are you all carrying daggers to plunge into my heart?”

Such an attempt would surely be more entertaining than whatever Minam had been truly whispering about.

Expression aghast, Minam scurried back to Kael’s side. “You are our liberator, my liege! Never would we—”

“Then what perverted plot sends Lord Apel slinking away like a guilty jackal?” He indicated the minister, who was darting through the crowd. “Does he intend to use his magics to shrink me to the size of a flea? I warn you now, he will fail. I will be the size of a pig, at least.”

As if finally recognizing Kael’s teasing, the chamberlain’s tension eased. “Nothing of the sort. We have a guest, sir, and Lord Apel was uncertain whether the wards in her quarters would be strong enough.”

Kael frowned, his amusement gone. “A spellcaster visits?”

One more powerful than the minister? Lord Apel hailed from one of the high families of Ivermere, and few people possessed stronger magic than that realm’s nobility did.

“Yes, my king.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed. “An unexpected guest?”

He had hoped for a distraction in his royal routine, but a threat would not offer much of one. If this sorceress had foul intentions, he would destroy her before she could harm anyone under his protection.

“We expected her,” the chamberlain assured him, only to add, “though we did not expect her this day. And we did not know who she would be, or even if she would ever be—”

Kael’s deep frown brought the chamberlain’s confused ramblings to an abrupt halt. “Who is she?”

Was she a danger to his people?

The chamberlain lifted his chin. “Your bride, sir.”

“My bride?” Kael echoed.

“Your bride,” said Minam again, as if the problem lay in Kael’s ears and not in the sparse sense coming from his own mouth. “She arrived only an hour past.”

“My bride did.”

“Yes, my king.”

Bemused, Kael asked, “How long have I had a bride, Minam?”

A wry smile pulled at the chamberlain’s mouth. “For an hour, sir.”

Kael’s shout of laughter turned every head within the chamber, fifty pairs of wary eyes settling on him. That was not a sound they often heard from their king—nor was his wide grin a sight familiar to them.

By the gods, Kael had wanted a distraction and he had surely been granted one. “So you are not here to kill me, but to chain some unfortunate woman to my side?”

Smile vanishing, Minam insisted indignantly, “It is no misfortune to marry you, my king.”

That was probably how Minam had enticed her to agree—promising great fortune. Still, she must be brave. Or a madwoman. Or both.

Now he was intrigued. “Who is she?”

Proudly Minam announced, “She is Anja of Ivermere, eldest daughter of King Palin and Queen Dena. We have gathered here so that she might be presented to you…but there has been a complication.”

Kael was unsurprised to hear it. “She has decided not to sacrifice herself on the dark altar of my bed?”

The color in Minam’s face deepened until it matched the red silk of his cap. For Kael referred to the nights—and days—after he had killed Geofry and been named king, when the ladies of the court had shown him so much appreciation and rewarded him so well that he had not left his bedchamber for a full week.

Until he had overheard whispers that the ladies disguised their fear and faked their pleasure—and had only attended to him in hopes of keeping their new king so sated that he would not drag the young and innocent girls of his kingdoms into his bed.

Kael had not touched a woman since. He wanted no one who only kissed him out of duty or in fear—whether that terror was for herself or for someone else—or who felt she had no choice but to please her king. He was not Geofry…or any of the other tyrants in his past whom he had known and slaughtered.

“Princess Anja is willing, my liege, but currently—”

Willing. In an instant, Kael leapt from the prison of his throne, striding purposefully through the crowd. “Where is she?”

Scurrying after him, Minam replied, “Perhaps you should first visit your chambers to choose finer raiment, your majesty.”

Kael didn’t bother with an answer to that. They would truss him up like a roasted goose, then paste on the feathers. He preferred the easy movement of his loose tunic and leather breeches.

The chamberlain sighed. “Perhaps the princess will think you were too eager to meet her to dress properly.”

Then the princess would think rightly. “Where is she?” Kael asked again, this time not so patiently.

“In the warded quarters, but—”

“Where are the warded quarters?” The ancient king who built this mountain stronghold had included so many chambers, corridors, and stairs that any invader who managed to breach the battlements would be fated to wander, lost and despairing, until they succumbed to slow starvation. Only now it was Kael who might become lost within the maze of his fortress. Knowing a thousand unimportant words would precede the chamberlain’s answer, however, Kael pointed to a serving girl who was waiting on the courtiers, tray in hand. “You there! Show me the way to my bride!”

The tray clattered to the floor. The girl moved with such haste that even Kael was forced to quicken his long strides to keep her in sight.

The chamberlain puffed along beside him. “Your majesty—”

“From Ivermere, you said?” And a powerful sorceress if she hailed from the royal family, but she would soon learn the four kingdoms had little use for her corrupt magics. “Did you intend to strengthen the ties between our kingdoms? That is well done.”

“I cannot take such credit, my king,” Minam huffed as they raced up a stairwell, “for I didn’t know who would come in answer to our royal missives proclaiming that we had a king in need of a queen.”

“Whose royal missives?” Kael had not put his seal to any such missives.

“Letters were sent under my seal to every kingdom in every direction, my liege.”

“And this princess arrived first because she is nearest?” Only a forest separated Ivermere from Dryloch, his northernmost kingdom.

“No, my liege. We sent the first letters last summer, shortly after your abstinence began.” The red still had not left Minam’s face, but whether it was the effort of keeping up with the servant girl or the effort of conveying this information, Kael didn’t know. “I feared for your health, for a man with a constitution as, er…a constitution as…”

“Primitive?”

“With a constitution as passionate as yours to go so long without, er—”

“Fucking?”

“—without companionship, my king. But when our inquiries within the four kingdoms received no response, we posted to the four winds and to all the outward kingdoms.”

“You never thought to inform me that a bride might arrive?”

“I feared raising your hopes, sir. In truth, I despaired there would never be an answer, for many are frightened by your reputation—”

“As a ruthless butcherer?” A well-earned reputation.

The chamberlain appeared offended. “People within the other kingdoms do not know your heart as I do. And, as I know you have no great love for spellcasters, I initially sent no message to Ivermere at all. But when there was no answer from the rest of the world…”

He had been desperate enough to risk his king’s wrath.

But Kael felt no anger. The chamberlain clearly believed that Kael’s sullen frustration stemmed from his abstinence, not his irritation with the duties of a king. Or perhaps Minam well knew the truth of the matter, and of Kael’s ill-content. Whether to serve Kael or serve the people, Minam meant to ease his king’s unhappiness.

And taking a bride was not such a terrible thought. A princess would be familiar with Kael’s royal duties and share in them—and Kael might have warm arms and a warmer cunt to look forward to at the end of the tedious parade of meetings each day.

Ahead, the girl was still running down the stone corridor, passing beneath an archway marked by a faintly glowing rune—

“Halt!” Kael bellowed and the girl skidded to a stop, looking fearfully back. He reached her side and said, “If a spellcaster resides within, do not pass the wards without first announcing yourself. Just as in a healer’s square. You understand?”

Eyes wide, the girl nodded.

“Begone, then,” he told her gently, and as she raced away, he said to Minam, “Every servant and courtier within the fortress will need to be reminded of this. Put a sentry at this spot to warn everyone who passes this way.”

“It will be done.”

Kael frowned as the chamberlain continued with him. “You should also remain behind.”

“If you will risk her magic, sir, then so will I,” Minam replied bravely, then added, “Each of the chambers and walls within this wing are also warded.”

Providing layers of shielding until they reached the same room as the princess—or any other of her party. Everyone born in Ivermere was a spellcaster, though of varying talents. Kael thought it better that they didn’t use magic at all while in his kingdoms, but he had never known anyone from Ivermere who did not resort to a spell for the most trivial of matters. In all likelihood, his bride could not even get undressed without magic.

It didn’t matter if she couldn’t. He would undress her, instead.

The warded quarters were similar to the king’s private quarters, though not as great in scope. There were dining chambers and sitting rooms and parlors aplenty—all of which he expected to be filled with courtiers and attendants, as surely befitted a princess’s wedding party.

But perhaps he was mistaken. For certain he had never seen a princess’s wedding party. But as he could not even visit the nearby city without half the fortress’s residents accompanying him—for that was what a king did—Kael assumed the same was true of a princess. He frowned as they passed through yet another empty chamber. “How many from the Ivermere court accompanied her?”

“Only Lord Eafen, who is their Minister of Foreign Concerns, and three dozen soldiers.” Minam cleared his throat. “Lord Eafen has requested that we provide ladies-in-waiting to attend to the princess, which we have.”

So that she could ready herself? “Is that the complication? Her hair is undone?”

Minam hesitated before answering, “Not precisely, my king.”

Not precisely, because as they entered the next chamber and discovered a cluster of ladies hovering outside the entrance to a sitting chamber, it was apparent that they had not ventured beyond the next ward to help the princess fix her hair. It was not the princess’s magic they feared, however.

It was her sword.

Kael’s steps slowed as the ladies barring his path scrambled out of the way, allowing him a full view into the next chamber.

For the barest moment he thought the figure standing atop the lounging sofa could not be the princess, for her hair was not only undone, but as white as a crone’s—not a pale blonde, for there wasn’t a hint of gold, but a snowy white that tumbled down her back in thick waves. She faced away from Kael, her sword gripped in both hands and the blade angled out in front of her. Slowly she turned—following the slow path of a tall, dark-haired man wearing a finely embroidered tunic and a cajoling expression that matched the voice he was using to urge her down. Surrounding them in a wide circle were soldiers—though none of them with weapons drawn, and all of them looking helpless.

She was keeping the Ivermeren minister and soldiers at bay, Kael realized. Not attacking them, but defending herself—like a cat that had climbed atop a safe perch and swiped at anything that came too near.

Abruptly she shook her head and shouted at the minister, “Listen to me, you dogbrained fool! You will return me home now!”

Grimly, Kael said to Minam, “Willing, you say?”

“I swear it, my king! She has told me herself that she wishes to marry you. This is regarding another matter—she believes her mother is in danger.” The chamberlain barely paused for a breath before adding, “See how fierce she is? Does she not suit you? A man of your past cannot be content with a woman who easily submits. You surely long for a woman who must be conquered.”

A man of his past knew that a body could be conquered—but that a heart must be won.

But winning that fiery heart would be a challenge. And winning the body would be a pleasure, Kael decided, particularly now that he could see more of it.

Everyone could see more of it. Not only was her hair unbound, but she was clad in a white sleeping robe, its belt hanging open and the collar sliding down one pale shoulder. Beneath the robe was a silken red nightgown that clung to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist. As the princess turned, she weaved unsteadily, and when she suddenly shook her head again, it was not in denial as he’d thought before—but as if attempting to clear her mind.

Had she just risen from bed, though the sun was high overhead? And was she drunk?

Already Kael liked this bride. Very much.

His gaze never leaving the princess, he told Minam, “If any other brides answer the summons, send them away. I will take this one.”

In a voice faint with relief, Minam answered, “Yes, my king.”

“Stay behind the ward,” he warned the chamberlain before striding forward in the sitting chamber. Some of the soldiers were gesturing uncertainly at each other, as if half-heartedly developing some idiotic plan to knock the princess from her perch and take her sword—and cover her mouth to prevent her from chanting any spells, which would make her far more dangerous than her blade, even against these other spellcasters.

Strange that she wielded a sword at all. Sorcerers rarely did, preferring instead to attack with spells.

Let her. Kael did not fear magic. “Princess Anja.”

Her robe flared around her legs as she spun to face him.

He ought not be surprised that she was beautiful. Every spellcaster he’d ever met used their magic to reshape their appearance. Yet the current trend among sorcerers was a high forehead and large, rounded eyes set amidst thin and delicate features. But he was surprised, because she had not adhered to the current fashion, and her beauty was not only in her features but the way she looked upon him, proud and fearless. It seemed that every aspect of her face was designed to strike at his senses, to please and defy and arouse him—from the wide fullness of her lips to the imperious lift of her chin and the dark eyebrows arched above her narrowed, challenging stare.

Entranced by her bold beauty, Kael did not halt until the point of her blade met his chest—and then pressed closer. Immediately she relaxed her wrists, as he’d assumed she would, because if she had wished to harm anyone she would have been chanting a spell. But she had already told the minister what she wanted.

Listen to me.

She abruptly frowned, then wavered again on her feet before steadying herself, blade held between them. “It is you!”

“It is me,” Kael agreed, carefully watching her swaying frame. “Though you have come to marry me, you seem unhappy to see me. What upsets you, princess? Am I not handsome enough?”

“You are more handsome than you should be, brute. But I do not like that you are even bigger than is rumored,” she told him, and the waft of her breath was not laden with mead or wine, but another scent that reminded him of a mulled cider—cinnamon and cloves and apple. Yet whatever she’d imbibed must have been potent, for he could see the flush in her cheeks and hear the slurring of her tongue. She drew the blade away, keeping hold of the hilt with one hand and reaching toward him with the other. Her assessing gaze ran down his length, and her fingers gripped his biceps, squeezing the thick muscle through his linen sleeve. “Stronger, too, I think.”

By the gods, he prayed that she would be willing tonight. Such fire spread from her touch that he was instantly aflame.

“You are tall enough to take me,” he rasped softly. Standing atop the lounging sofa gave her additional height, yet she would have been tall without it. Her long legs would wrap around his waist and hold him tight as he pumped between her thighs. “Strong enough, too.”

For although she was slender, her arms were finely muscled—and she had no difficulty holding a heavy longsword one-handed. Again, unusual for a sorceress. Some of the Ivermeren soldiers appeared softer than she did.

“Perhaps I am.” She tilted her head, her full lower lip jutting out. Disappointment filled her voice as she said, “But you will not be easy to kill.”

He grinned. “Did you hope I would be?”

“I did,” she said, swaying toward him before catching herself. Gaze drawn to the luscious pout of her mouth, Kael ignored the agitated denials bursting from the Ivermeren minister. Her forefinger jabbed into his chest. “You are a ravening monster. Your sword hungers for blood and you rapaciously seek new kingdoms to conquer. Such a man cannot be long for this life. So I was certain that within a year you would be dead.”

Laughing now, Kael asked, “You would give me a year of marriage, though?”

He would take it.

She fisted her hand in his tunic and dragged him close enough to kiss. Instead of touching her lips to his, she said fiercely, “After a year, surely you would torture and kill me when I do not use sorcery to further your bloody campaigns.”

He would cherish her all the more for her refusal. And she was a powerful sorceress, indeed. No enchantment could bind a heart to another, yet she was already weaving a spell around his. Laughter fading, he told her softly, “I have no thought of killing you.”

Torturing her was another matter. But it would be sweet torture, he could promise her that.

“Because I will kill you first,” she vowed and pushed away, lifting her chin. “Perhaps while we are in bed and your throat vulnerable to a knife.”

Kael would welcome her attempt. Her blood clearly burned as hot as his. They would battle between the furs and find their pleasure at the same time. “Will this attack come on our wedding night?”

Her brow creased as she contemplated her answer. Finally she decided, “After we have made an heir, so I never have to marry again.” She swayed and this time the sword fell from her grip. For balance she clutched at his shoulders and leaned closer, her dark eyes locked with his. “But before I marry at all, I must return to Ivermere.”

Kael could hardly tear his mind away from a vision of his bride with swollen belly, carrying their heir. So much seed would he spill within her, it would not be long before her knife was at this throat. A delay seemed intolerable. “Why must you return?”

“To kill a spider in the queen’s bedchamber.”

“A spider?”

“A big spider,” she told him, and the mulled spices upon her breath heated every remaining inch of his skin that was not already burning. “As big as a cat. It has woven a web in the corner of the ceiling, high above her bed.”

An exasperated sigh came from his right. “Your majesty, please understand that we have already found an errant spider in the queen’s quarters and smashed—”

A single quelling glance from Kael halted the minister’s words. “Your princess believes otherwise.”

She drew his gaze again. “Because they do not see it. Only I do. Yet they thought it was only a virgin’s nerves and sent me here. But I had no doubts. I have every intention of marrying you and killing you.”

So he could see. But even the boldest sorceress would not announce her plans as she had. He might have thought it a joke…but for that spiced fragrance upon her breath. A grim suspicion of what it was began to enter Kael’s mind.

Her imploring gaze searched his face. “Will you help me return to Ivermere and save my mother?”

With another sharp glance, Kael silenced the minister’s protestations that started in response to her plea. To her, he vowed, “I will.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Should I trust Kael the Conqueror’s word? Do you swear it?”

“I do.” He caught her waist when she swayed again. “Now tell me what it was you most recently drank.”

She blinked. “Only water. I was so very thirsty when I awoke.”

And hungry. Her stomach gave a low growl that rumbled against the fingers spanning her waist.

Immediately he swept her into his arms and swung to face Ivermere’s minister. As if dizzied by the movement, Anja clung to his neck, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

Unlike his princess, Lord Eafen had reshaped his face. He wore a nose so thin and a mouth so small that it appeared as if they were sinking into his skull and pushing out his rounded eyes to make room for themselves.

But there must be plenty of room in that head, because for certain there was no brain in it.

“You gave her the kissing potion,” Kael said flatly.

Which had earned its name because the potion caused such a deep sleep that, for days or weeks, the sleeper did not eat or drink. So another person would give them sustenance by placing their lips together, filling the sleeper’s mouth with water or broth, and coaxing them to swallow. But there were darker reasons for the name—that sometimes when women awoke, they were with a child they had no memory of conceiving.

“The queen gave it to her,” the minister explained. “The princess announced that she was leaving to marry you, and almost immediately began making claims about this spider. Our queen believed her delay betrayed a bride’s doubts and gave Princess Anja the potion, so that she might undergo the journey in a calm manner.”

Kael thought Queen Dena deserved whatever the spider in her room might do to her. “Was the princess touched while sleeping?”

Nervously the minister wrung his thin hands. “She is still a virgin—”

“I don’t care if she is!” Kael roared. If he had not been cradling his bride against his chest, then his sword would have been cleaving through the minister’s and soldiers’ necks. “Was she touched without her knowing?”

“No, your majesty! Even for water and broth, we used a cup and helped her sip, and the female soldiers attended to her sleeping form. We would not betray her in that way!”

But they had betrayed her. First her mother, then this minister, then the soldiers. “Begone from my kingdoms,” he said softly. “Flee north to Ivermere as if the Butcherer of the Dead Lands rides close behind, because I promise you—if you or your soldiers tarry even a moment, I will be.”

The minister’s face blanched. “Your majesty—”

“BEGONE!”

Kael did not wait to watch them obey. Rage pounding through his veins, he strode across the sitting room with Anja in his arms. To the ladies hovering outside the door, he barked, “See that she is brought something to eat. Now!”

She had likely not consumed anything substantial in almost three weeks—the length of the carriage journey from Ivermere to his stronghold. The ladies fled, and he looked to Minam, who was flitting about anxiously.

“Lead me to her bedchamber,” Kael commanded.

Minam scurried ahead.

“You were unkind to that toad,” Anja murmured against his neck, her voice heavy with exhaustion—probably the lingering effects of the potion. Her truth-telling had probably been, too.

Kael needed no potion to tell the truth. “He deserved worse.”

“He only did what he was ordered to do,” she said.

“Not what you ordered him to do.”

This time he heard the smile in her reply. “I cannot blame him. I would also fear my mother more than I would fear me. But he apparently fears you more than either of us. At this moment, his wits are likely staining his short linens. But I cannot blame him for that, either.”

“Because you are afraid of me?”

“I am not.” Her quiet answer released a band of tension within his chest, and his heart seemed to beat more easily. “I expect you will kill me for all that I have said today, but there are worse things than death.”

Kael could not think of any. He had experienced many different kinds of suffering throughout his life, and he preferred all of them to death. Of course, he much preferred the deaths of those who had made him suffer—and that preference had made him a king.

If she married him, it would make her a queen. “Yet still you came here, believing I would kill you?”

“Believing you would soon die in battle—or that I would kill you.” She shrugged. “Everything must be in balance. We must endure something we don’t want in order to secure something we do.”

Spoken like anyone born in Ivermere. Those spellcasters knew nothing of balance. Their magic was always a trade, but never an equal one. “What is it you want?”

“What you have.”

His kingdoms. Kael grinned, for he could admire her ambition—and her manner of securing what she wanted. “And what must you endure? Me?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. So the princess believed she would have to survive him. She would no doubt be happy to learn that he had no intention of killing her, no matter her intentions toward him.

Softly she added, “But I’m certain I will learn to tolerate your touch—and I will bear the pain of your bed. A year is not so very long to endure it.”

His chest filling with hot molten lead, he fell silent and followed Minam until the chamberlain halted at the entrance to a softly lighted bedchamber.

“Begone,” Kael told him.

After only a brief hesitation, the other man fled.

Striding into the chamber, Kael carried Princess Anja directly to her bed—where he dumped her onto the embroidered coverlet. She sprawled onto her back in a tumble of silken limbs and white hair, blinking up at him in confusion and no small measure of uncertainty.

“Do not fear I’ll join you,” he told her harshly. “The only thing you have to endure is the journey back to Ivermere—where you will remain. I won’t take you as my bride.”

Her cheeks paled. “But you sent for—”

“I sent for no one. Though you are welcome to wed the overzealous chamberlain who did.” If Kael did not kill Minam for bringing this woman here. For giving Kael a glimpse of everything he wished to have. But unlike Anja, he would not endure something he didn’t want to gain something he did. He would not endure mere tolerance.

Folding her arms over her stomach, she whispered, “You will not have me?”

“I will not.”

She stared up at him, her dark gaze not seeming so bold now, but lost and uncertain. Abruptly she turned her head, hiding her face in a curtain of white hair. In a thick voice, she asked, “You vowed to help me crush the spider. Will you still do that?”

“I will.” Whatever she believed, the Conqueror’s word did mean something. “Rest for the remainder of this day. Tomorrow we leave at first light.”

And he already cursed every moment that she would be in his sight. For the princess’s magic had begun to work on his heart the moment he’d set eyes upon her—and he might be well and truly fucked before they reached Ivermere.

But not in the manner he wished to be.