Page 18 of Vow to Claim You

“You were handed to an alliance. I happened to be attached.”

The words should offend me. Instead, they sound uncomfortably familiar.

This wasn’t his choice either.

“So tell me.” I shift in my seat, turning toward him fully now, studying the man I’ve been bound to as if understanding him might somehow give me back a fraction of control. “This society my father is so desperate to join… what exactly has he sold me for?”

Aric’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but I can’t tell whether it’s at the question or my phrasing.

“A seat at the Council.”

I already knew. It doesn’t make hearing it said so bluntly hurt any less. I was traded for a seat on the Council. That’s what my life was worth.

“And does he at least have to earn it,” I press, my tone sharpening despite myself, “or does marrying me off grant him automatic entry?”

“He’ll go through initiation. The full process. Trials, tests, scrutiny from every member.” His voice hardens. “The arrangement secures his candidacy. Nothing more. He still has to prove himself worthy.”

“And if he fails?”

“Then he fails. Those are the rules. No exceptions. Not even for the father of a God’s wife.” He looks away.

I nod as though to myself. “And today? Why are we going to Asgard?”

“Tonight, everyone came to Norway,” Aric continues, his gaze drifting back to mine. “To meet you.”

“Of course.” The retort slips out before I can catch it. “Because nothing says ‘warm welcome’ like being paraded in front of a cult of self-proclaimed Gods.”

A faint, irritating smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth. It flashes across his face and disappears just as quickly, like lightning.

“You’ll be introduced as the newest member.” My sarcasm slides right off him. “A wife to a God. Not a Goddess yourself. Not yet, at least. You’d have to go through a full initiation to earn that title.”

“So there’s such a possibility?” My interest sharpens.

I hadn’t considered that. Mafia and women with power? In my experience, the two concepts seem mutually exclusive.

He nods, brows knitting together for a fraction of a second, as if something’s just occurred to him. “I see you don’t know much about your new life.”

Took him long enough to figure that out.

“We must set some facts straight,” he adds, with that quiet reserve that sounds more like a threat than reassurance. “The Vold name means as much in Norway as what I suppose Almaviri means in Monsera. And you’re now Mrs. Vold, so you will speak and act accordingly.”

“And what exactly does that mean? Because you see, I’ve never been a Vold before. Never even met one, actually.” Once again, I can’t help but mock. Just love getting under the arsehole’s skin. At least, trying to, because he’s always so relentlessly composed it’s infuriating. I want to get a reaction from him. Laugh, scream. Anything would do. Just to see the man beneath all that control instead of the machine he pretends to be. “How should I know what’s expected of me?”

“As Mrs. Vold, you hold a prestigious position in our society.”

Once again, he lets my sarcasm pass without comment.

Aric: 1, Ayanna: 0.

Or rather, Aric: 758349, Ayanna: 0.

“As I said, my family’s status could be compared to yours. The difference is, we’re⁠—”

I cut in. “Mafia.”

He nods, and I cannot for the life of me comprehend how someone can be so stone-cold all the time. “Think of us as mafia royalty. Except, as Mrs. Vold…” There it is again—Mrs. Vold—as if calling me his wife would burn the tongue right out of his mouth. “Your status is higher than your princess title back at your home country. From now on, you bow to no one but me and my father. All the rest, they bow to you.”

“Once again, I ask, what does it mean exactly?” My tone drips with fake sweetness. “Because you speak in riddles, husband.” I stress the endearment—yet another provocation.