Her fingers trembled as she took it. She tried for strength, but when the edge bit into her skin she gasped, the pain sharper than she expected. Her blood welled, hot and red, and she pressed her palm to his. Flesh met flesh, mortal to immortal. The mingled warmth dripped between their joined hands and stained the stones.
“Veilwalker.” The King’s voice dripped with formality. “Speak your vow.”
Her voice wavered, but she forced it steady. “I vow to walk the Veil in your shadow. To carry death where the Fates command it. To give my strength, my sword, and my soul until my body is ash.”
The King’s gaze flicked to Death.
Death’s lips curved, as though the words amused him. His voice echoed, resonant enough to make the stone shiver.
“I vow to guard Annon from ruin. To keep plague at its borders, to hold back atrocities, to preserve what must endure, within my power.” Death went on, quieter now, his gaze fixed on the King. “And I vow to preserve the breath of its crown until his time is rightly ended. So long as this Bargain holds, he shall not fall by my natural hand.”
Blood ran from their wrists, soaking into the stone like ink scribing an ancient covenant. Death studied the mingled crimson in his palm, then raised it to his mouth. He pressed his lips to the wound, sucking it clean, before glancing at her sidelong, his curiosity prickling her skin like an incoming storm.
The King cut the moment short, lifting his arms wide.
“It is done. The Veilwalker is bound, and Annon shall endure.”
The King cradled Ilys’s face in his hands, congratulating her. “My darling, how proud you’ve made me.” The words echoed Baron’s warmth, yet where his pride had once anchored her, the King’s eyes burned with hunger.
He led her away from the blood, the bodies, and the remaining shreds of her innocence laid bare on the floor.
Chapter 8
Ilys had been waking earlier, taking her meals slower, walking longer paths through the gardens just to feel the bite of cold against her cheeks. She laughed more at dinner. Reached for the wine more than once. Let her hand linger at Jorrin’s arm when he passed her the bread.
It had been weeks, but the shadows of the Consecration Rites peered at her behind every corner. So, she found warmth wherever it would lend itself. Tonight, the fire in the east wing hearth had burned low. Only embers now, casting the room in soft rust. She sat with Rowenna on the low-set divan, legs tucked beneath her, sipping a dark and strong port that Baron had smuggled in weeks ago.
Rowenna held a letter. She hadn’t read it aloud. Just skimmed it once, then folded it and left it on the floor beside her cup.
“He says the roads are poor,” Rowenna offered. “Fewer wagons are making it through the forest villages. There’s talk of raids.”
Rowenna looked at her then. Direct, but not probing.
“You’ve been... different,” she said.
“No. You are just preoccupied.” Ilys offered a half-smile, nodding to the letter. Rowenna’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.
“He warns me to be careful,” Rowenna noted.
“I think Leif is afraid,” she added after a while. “Not of rebellion, but of inconvenience. Of disruption. He talks like a man whose parcels might arrive late.”
Ilys glanced at her. “And yet, you’ll marry the curmudgeon.”
Her friend shrugged. “It’s already decided. My opinion would only sour the ceremony.”
That earned a sarcastic breath from Ilys. She tilted her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her body ached faintly in places she didn’t name. Bruises still bloomed under her robe where the old man had struck her ribs. Her hands, clean now, still curled instinctively when she dreamed. She swallowed more of her glass, urging the past away.
Rowenna arched a brow. “I’m worried about you.”
“Rowe…” Ilys groaned, slumping further toward the floor. Her friend only narrowed her eyes, gaze sharp and expectant, silently demanding the truth. At last, Ilys released a breath. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted.
Rowenna smirked tartly. “I assumed you were sneaking off to Jorrin’s loft.”
“I have,” Ilys said. She didn’t bother denying it. There’d be no point. “But I don’t sleep there either.”
Rowenna lifted her cup, a sly little coo escaping. “Oh my.”
Ilys hurled a pillow at her. “Not what you think. He sleeps, and I just lie there, wide awake beside him.”
