Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(21)

Two huge guards, nearly as large as Lord Irrik, broke from the lines and hauled open the doors of the throne room of King Irdelron.

The girl beside me whispered something, but her words were lost in the terror of my mind. With a last shove to get my feet moving, she retreated with the door, keeping out of sight.

My feet took me into the room, stuttering just like my heart.

Long tables, twice the size of my bed, lined one entire wall, and were laden with food. Roasted birds with golden skin sat atop platters loaded with root vegetables, the rich juices of the birds soaking into the potatoes, carrots, and turnips. A hunk of meat, at least the size of my torso, was cut into slices, revealing a tender pink center to its dark seared crust. There were plates of breads in every imaginable shape and size, and next to the piled rolls were ceramic crocks. Bowls of greens, containing fresh leaves of lettuce and cooked beans sat beside an entire pig with an apple in its mouth in the very center. There was roasted orange squash and a platter of grilled corn.

A table with dainty finger cakes, cookies, and pies the size of my palm sat beside it. There was so much food, enough to feed several Harvest Zones, and the air was rich and sweet with the scents, but no one was eating.

I glanced through the room. There were two dozen other empty tables, and the opposite side of the room was barren, except for the raised dais where King Irdelron sat on his throne, a gilded monstrosity. The back of the throne was a handspan taller than the Drae standing next to it. Lord Irrik.

Next to the king, on the other side, was a smaller throne, much less ornate and also empty. How many queens had sat on that chair? He’d had many wives during his life, extended as it was with Phaetyn blood. How many queens had he murdered when he tired of them? How many of his own children had he slain to ensure he remained king?

King Irdelron appeared nothing like I’d expected. First, he looked far too young for his alleged age of one hundred and thirty, more like forty. His hair was like maize, so golden and fair it didn’t seem natural. His eyes were a vibrant green, the color of the leaves on Mum’s pea vines. And his skin was smooth and fair, like he and the sun were unacquainted. I couldn’t believe the rumors. How could he be over one hundred? And then my gaze landed on the gilded vial that hung around his neck.

“You’ve kept me waiting, girl,” King Irdelron said from his throne. His voice was calm and quiet, but there was a thread of something cold underneath.

I glanced at the Drae, but Lord Irrik’s face could’ve been carved from stone where he stood in the shadow of the throne.

The king raised his eyebrows and said, “I don’t take kindly to waiting.”





9





The doors creaked open behind me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off this man. The girl had been right. The Drae was a monster, but the king . . . The sickness pouring off him was warning me to run and hide. He wasn’t particularly tall, nor his features sharp or twisted. He didn’t have the physical prowess to give the impression that he could fell me in a sweep of his sword. He radiated something much worse.

The girl who’d cut my hair was shoved beside me. A guard towered over her. She fell to her knees and scrambled back to her feet as I watched from the corner of my eye. Shame filled me at my cowardice, but I didn’t dare help her.

The king fixed the girl next to me with a pointed look. “What happened to Lord Irrik’s friend, dear Madeline?” He fingered the chain from whence the small flask hung then ran the bottle back and forth on the chain. “You haven’t been doing things you oughtn’t, have you?”

The girl replied in a wooden voice, “She went berserk, Your Majesty. Said she had to use the pot, but the next thing I knew she was trying to kill herself.” She curtsied and said, “Sorry, sire.”

Her gaze flitted to Lord Irrik, but the Drae watched me, his mouth curved down in disapproval. I glared back, trying to convey my disgust without the king mistaking the glare as meant for him.

“Madeleine, it pains me to see you lie,” the king said with a kind smile. He extended his hand and waved toward the door. “Jotun, at your hand.”

Madeleine sucked in a deep breath, and at the same time, the soldier nearest to her drew his sword. In one fluid movement, he swung the sword in an arc, slicing through the young girl, eviscerating her from one hip clean through her rib cage in a diagonal line. Her lower half crumpled to the ground, and her top half almost seemed to float in the air momentarily before falling to the gray stone floor. She landed on her side, and blood gushed from her gutted torso, her heart still beating, pumping the blood out of her system and onto the floor. Her eyes widened, and she ran her hand over the stump of her body as she watched her life spill out before her.

“At last . . .” She sighed before her head fell back on the floor.

Bile burned the back of my throat, but I was learning I could only feel so much and go through so much before all the screams and tears were gone. That was where I was right now. I stared at the body of the girl who had tried to spare me some of the king’s wrath by cutting my hair and rubbing ointment on my face.

My mind told me she was dead now, but even though I saw the truth of it before me, I couldn’t process the perpetual horror I was experiencing.

I’d never seen brutality like this before. I’d seen cruelty from soldiers but never the river from whence the streams came. This man was the namesake. His savage inhumanity sat underneath his average face and average height and mild manner. I’d have to be a fool not to quake in fear.