Page 13 of Vows Forged in Blood

“You can hear it?” she asks, a little breathless. I merely arch a brow in response, striding forward. She eyes me a little warily, but doesn’t move away.

“His eyes?” she asks, having to clear her throat quietly before the words will come out. Does she truly fear me? I know she must on some level, but she doesn’t believe that I’ll harm her, does she? Consorts don’t fear their princes, as a general rule, and I have no desire for Dahlia to feel that way about me. In fact, a part of my mind recoils at the idea of it. She should never fear me. She should lo—No, I growl at the voice echoing in the back of my mind.She should not. I clench my jaw at this confusing, fuck storm of a situation that, for the first time in all my life, I have no idea how to navigate.

“He’s immortal, turned by me years ago, and given a bit of my blood every week. It bonds us and makes him an asset in battle. He can read my intentions and emotions, knowing when and where I need him, or can help him to find me quickly in a melee. We aren’t sure why their eyes change. Obviously turned humans don’t have that reaction.”

“What’s his name?” She eases forward again, her heart slowing, the pulse point at the base of her throat beating in a steady rhythm again.

“Xanthus,” I say, turning to take the saddle from the horse’s back. “His brother, Xerxes, is in the stall in the back.” In answer, an annoyed huff echoes through the stable and I roll my eyes.

Larken, one of the stable hands, comes to assist. The young vampire bows his head as I hand him the saddle, but not before I catch his eyes widening slightly as he takes in Dahlia. She nods at him a little awkwardly, clearly not quite sure how she’s supposed to interact with others in the camp. I should offer her guidance, but I’m not sure how she should act either, really. A typical Consort would hold themselves above everyone save their prince, would barely deign to look at anyone, much less speak to them unless issuing commands.

But Dahlia is not a typical Consort, and further, this is no typical circumstance. I want her to feel welcome in my camp. Safe. My men are like a family and she should feel a part of that, in as much as she wishes to. I imagine she must be feeling exceptionally alone at present, torn from her family and friends and home. Before I can open my mouth to voice some kind of advice, telling her she should feel free to be informal with the soldiers, if that’s what she wishes, to interact with them however she likes, she makes her way towards Xerxes’ stall.

“Careful,” I say quickly. “Xerxes is a bit more…headstrong than his brother. Stubborn bastard, really,” I say, almost to myself and she huffs out a quiet laugh, not taking her eyes fromthe horse. Xerxes eyes her, nostrils flaring, and I brace myself for her scream when the horse inevitably stomps and huffs and snaps at her with his large, sharp teeth. “He doesn’t let anyone but me near him most days…”

I trail off as Dahlia raises her hand towards the horse’s nose in question. I move to her side fast as lightning, ready to pull her away, but I stop myself at the last second, head cocked as I watch in shock. Xerxes holds her gaze and then, to my utter astonishment, exhales roughly and lowers his head towards her open palm, bumping it gruffly in his approximation of grudging affection.

“Fucking hells,” Larken mutters from across the room. “Oh, apologies, my Lady,” he adds quickly at my stern glance, though I share his sentiments exactly.Fucking hells indeed. The horse rarely lets anyone near him like that, let alone a stranger. Perhaps it’s because she’s human? Or a woman? There are plenty of female vampires in the army, but none of them have been around Xerxes other than during battle.

...Or can the bastard sense the connection between his master and this woman?Fuck.

I don’t know what to make of the interaction, don’t know what to make of this girl at all or the situation we’re now in, and I don’t like this feeling. I’m used to being in complete control, to seeing all of the pieces on the chess board and understanding exactly what moves will be made, what counter moves and the motivations behind them. Some of my men even joke that I’m omnipotent, often being able to anticipate our enemies’ moves on the battlefield with deadly accuracy. This feeling of…floundering? Of feeling as if I’m standing on a piece of driftwood in the middle of a tempest, no way to find the right footing? I do not care for it at all. Irritation flares. At myself, at the situation, at the woman in front of me, at the gods themselves.

“I’ll show you to your room,” I say gruffly, gesturing towards the wide door of the stable. She pulls her hand away from Xerxes, a look of confusion passing over her beautiful face, but she quickly blanks her features and nods, making her way quickly back outside. She walks past the front doors of the cabin towards the newly constructed one down the hill a bit.

“Where are you going?” She pauses and turns back, frowning.

“I thought…well, is that cabin not for me?” she asks, pointing towards the small structure.

“Consorts reside with their princes,” I say through gritted teeth. Her eyes widen in shock and she swallows hard.

“Oh,” she says quietly. I grind my teeth, annoyed by yet another reminder that my life is being altered by a stupid, needless tradition…even as part of me all but melts in contentment at the idea of her being with me under my roof.Where she belongs. I feel as if my head is going to split right in two with all of these back-and-forth thoughts, all the contradiction and confusion.

I turn on my heel and make my way towards the front doors of my cabin—ourcabin—not pausing to see if she follows, but a second later I hear the sound of her footsteps hastening to catch up with my long strides. I walk through the wide entry area, a massive round, stone fireplace dominating the middle of the space. Hallways branch off in four directions.

“My quarters, weapons room, a training room, and war room are this way,” I say with a gesture towards the two corridors to the left. “Study and guest quarters this way.” A flick of my fingers to the corridor to the right. I skirt around the fireplace and stride down the newly-added hallway towards her wing. I can smell the freshly-cut timber, the iron, the churned earth. My men had worked quickly and well in my absence. I give an appreciative glance at the framed windows and arched doorways, theworkmanship and detail put into the construction, and make a mental note to commend those who did the work personally.

I indicate two doors as we pass. “Sitting room and dining space.” She peers inside as we walk, but since I don’t pause, neither does she. She has nothing but time to explore every inch of these rooms, so she can do it at her leisure without me. Glancing inside each I see that everything within is plush and elegant and befitting a Consort, though a little much for a war camp. I wonder what instructions Elias gave whomever was in charge of furnishing the spaces and shake my head ruefully. “If you would rather your Keeper reside in this cabin with you instead of the one next door, that can be arranged as well. There is extra space down this hallway here,” I say gesturing to the short corridor on the right. I see her nod out of the corner of my eye.

I open the double doors at the end of the hallway and usher her inside. The room is large, double the size of one of my soldier’s cabins. She glances around the room as she enters behind me, but I can’t decipher her thoughts. Is she impressed? Underwhelmed? Do I really give a shit either way? Damn me, I…do.

“Should you wish for different or additional furnishings, tell your Keeper,” I find myself saying as she roams around the room. “Anything you desire is yours.”

She runs a finger down one of the carved posts of the oversized bed, trailing it downward until it reaches the thick, fur coverlet. An errant thought rises in my mind, unbidden: will she take lovers here? It’s her right, after all. Consorts can bed whomever they wish. Some have full harems, in fact (as do the princes for that matter). Will Dahlia? The thought is…unwelcome. I clench my fists in frustration as I stride to another door within the room.

“Your bathing chamber,” I say gruffly.

Her brows rise, in surprise I think. What had she been expecting? A tent for shelter? A cold river for a bath? A bucket to shit in? I’m strangely offended by the idea of her thinking I would treat my Consort as such. Though I’m sure I’ve made it rather obvious that I did not want a Consort, I don’t want her to think that I would act so dishonorably as to treat her with anything less than the respect her position is due.

“Oh,” she breathes as she drifts over to examine the room. She brushes past me, entirely too close, her sweet scent assaulting me, the warmth of her body burning me with the tiniest breath of the touch we share as her shoulder skims my chest. I tense as she moves past, not seeming to have noticed the touch at all, and I keep distance between us, remaining in the doorway as she moves into the space.

A large, oval tub carved from the white granite found in the caves of the Sisters dominates the space, a matching basin for washing her face and teeth on one side, a large shower stall, and a privy in a small, separate room attached to the larger chamber on the other. I study the tub. This must have been one of the modifications Elias had mentioned. It’s beautiful, to be sure, and I suppose it’s better than the plain copper tub I’d originally requested, but it’s obscenely large. Does Elias expect her to havecompanyin the bath with her? I clench my fists harder, my knuckles cracking, in jealousy or wanting, I’m not even sure. My head is pounding and I could use a very large drink.

“Water is pumped from the underground hot-springs just outside the camp and will come directly into the tub from those pipes there,” I say, gesturing. “Same in the shower,” I add with a nod towards the stall where the pipes are visible over the half wall, tiled with red and gold gemstones. She exhales in what appears to be relief and I arch a brow in question.

“I…I wasn’t expecting to have such things here,” she says, fiddling with the edge of her leather vest. So she truly hadbeen expecting awful conditions being my Consort, had resigned herself to sleeping in the dirt most likely.

“Though not a castle, the cabin will have everything you need. If you wish for something, ask your Keeper and you shall have it.” She turns and meets my gaze, the green absolutely striking in the afternoon light streaming in through the high windows above the tub. We stand locked in a strange, heavy silence for a long moment. To my surprise, her gaze dips to my lips, down my chest and lower, and her cheeks flush faintly. What is she thinking? My fangs ache at the sight of the blood rushing just beneath the surface, of her pulse beating rapidly at her throat.Whyis it racing? Fear? Or…something else?It doesn’t fucking matter.

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