Page 1 of Vows Forged in Blood

Chapter 1

ALARIC

“It’s fucking ridiculous!” I spit as I pace furiously in front of the hearth in my study. The wind howls outside, rattling the windows. A fierce storm has blown in from beyond the Sisters, the hulking twin peaks of the Black Mountains that guard the whole of Braxhelm from the threats just outside. The sky is a deep, churning gray, the color almost as dark as the blade of Night’s Fury, my famed—and feared—longsword. Thunder rumbles in the distance and lightning streaks through the clouds every few minutes. It’s foul weather, perfectly matching my foul mood. I’d been happy with Sebastian’s unexpected visit to my war camp, but the reunion with my favorite brother quickly soured when the true reason for his sudden appearance was revealed: the demand that I come home and choose a Consort.

“It is tradition,” Sebastian replies, ever calm as he sips his blood-laced wine and studies me with the golden Montclare eyes we all share, though his have always seemed to see more than the rest of us, to see to the very heart of things. A small, indulgent smile plays on his lips as I run a hand through my unruly hair. He used to ruffle it when I was a child, much tomy chagrin (and secret delight), and I wonder if he still sees me that way even after centuries, still as a child running through the grand Montclare palace in the heart of Braxhelm, wayward curls and baby fangs, wooden sword in my hand from the time I could toddle.

“There are eleven other princes. Make one of them the grand master of this ridiculous ceremony.” I know I sound like a petulant child, but I can’t help myself. Ifeellike a petulant child, even having the urge to stomp my foot. I don’t want a fucking Consort. I don’t want anything to do with this part of being a Montclare. I love my life of blood and battle. It sings in my veins. It makes my heart thunder and my soul come alive as nothing else can. I am a prince, but I don’t want the life of one. I never have. Fighting and protecting—thathas always been my purpose. I know I should be grateful that Sebastian allowed me to join the army at all—our father surely never would have—let aloneleadit all this time, and I am, truly. I’m grateful to my brother for all that he has allowed me, the way he stood against some of the others who said it wasn’t the place of a prince to fight or to be a warrior. But as grateful as I am, right now, I want to toss him out into the raging storm, ass first. What the hells willIdo with a Consort here in my fucking war camp?

“You are the only prince who does not have a Consort, brother.”

“Cillian has no Consort,” I point out to be contrary, though I know that avenue is a futile one. Sebastian arches a light brow.

“Cillian has a mate. You know those with mates do not take Consorts.” Of course I know that. Mates are exceedingly rare for our kind these days (though no one quite knows why), but the laws of mates are held above all else. Vampires rarely take blood from other vampires, but a mate is the exception to that rule. Something in the bond between mates changes things, somehow causes their bodies to sustain each other in a perfect harmonyof give and take, fulfill and be fulfilled. Once the bond is forged, mates only take blood from each other, save a life-or-death situation, I suppose. Cillian is the only prince with a mate, but the rules have been set in stone regarding princes and Consorts and mates from the moment he bonded. A mate aboveallelse.

Sebastian’s lips quirk up in a sardonic smile.

“Would you rather have a mate then, little brother?”

“Be serious,” I snap, making Sebastian chuckle into his wineglass. Having a Consort will be headache enough. Having a mate would be a nightmare. Being tied to another in all ways, so entwined that our very lives depended on one another?No fucking thank you.

“Alaric, you are the only one of us who hasneverhad a Consort. Cillian had three before he found Lyanna. We’ve overlooked it all these years because of your choice to lead the army, to wage war on our enemies—a noble endeavor that we are very proud of, mind you—but now that the war has calmed, it is time for you to participate in one of our most exalted customs.”

“There are still battles to be fought, Bastian. Every fucking day we fight.” I fling an arm out, gesturing towards the shadow of the Sisters in the distance, where, on the other side, a hoard of dark, evil creatures waits and plots, their only goal to destroy Braxhelm and everyone within it. It has takencenturiesof battles and strategy and death to finally beat the majority of the Revenants back beyond the northern borders of Braxhelm and for the continent to feel relatively safe.

Even so, the war is far from over. Kilgren, the Revenants’ leader, is ruthless and relentless and will never stop trying to find his way back through my army. The wide, barren expanse just outside the pass has seen so many battles that the ground is permanently stained nearly black with blood, and it’s been named the Obsidian Plain.

I shake my head in frustration and disgust.

“We have beaten them back, yes, but the war is far from won, and farther still from over.” I’m not sure it will ever truly be over, not until every last Revenant falls, but I will spend my eternal life seeing that it happens.

“I understand that, but the fightinghascalmed. You control the pass, do you not?”

“Yes, but?—”

“And attacks inside of Braxhelm’s borders have diminished drastically, correct?”

I sigh. “Yes, the nests are being found fewer and farther between, but?—"

“And is your camp—the camp of one of the greatest warlords in all of history—not secure?” I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly what my brother is doing.

Through gritted teeth, I say, “Yes, it is, but?—"

“Then there’s no reason why you cannot choose a Consort and bring them here.” Before I can protest, Sebastian holds his hand up to halt me. “It is done, Alaric,” he says, a note of iron authority ringing in his voice. An authority that despite having every right to wield as head of the Montclare Clan, he rarely uses. It’s one of the many reasons that Sebastian has always been my favorite sibling. He’s always been protective over me, the youngest of the family, and the two of us have been closer than any of our other seventeen siblings. Even after he became the head of the Clan when our father died almost two centuries ago, Sebastian remained ever the loyal, protective brother, not just a tyrannical leader who threw his authority around at will.

Thinking of all of my siblings, I curse in annoyance at the fact that my sisters have never been forced to take Consorts, but alas, such is a right—or curse—only bestowed upon the princes for ridiculous, outdated notions regarding the difference in the sexes. Some of my most brutal warriors are myfemalesoldiers. I have no idea why men and women aren’t seen as equal in allways, in all matters, but there are many who don’t have the same views as I do, who think that women should still be seen and not heard, that they should act only as ornaments to be shown off and the bearers of children as they had been thousands of years ago. I think about bringing this up to Sebastian, insisting that our sisters start taking Consorts of their own, but I know now is not the time, and, in any event, it will not stop this from happening.

Softer, Sebastian adds, “it isn’t so bad as you’re making it out to be. You’ll come to the Choosing, you’ll pick a Consort, and you’ll have fresh blood until they perish and it is time to pick another. You do not have to…socialize with them, should you not wish to,” he glances around the study, his handsome face pinching slightly, “though it will be a bit harder to avoid them in this small space than it is for the rest of us I suppose.”

I snort, something between a laugh and an exasperated huff. I can see the whole of my cabin in my mind’s eye and barely stifle a shudder. Though larger than any other cabin at the camp, there will be no escaping each other here. I suppose I could have a separate cabin built for them, but it is tradition for a Consort to reside with their prince—though usually in a completely separate wing of a damnedcastlewith plenty of space between them. And, I have to admit, that I feel a small pang of sympathy for the human, the nameless, faceless man or woman who is going to be pulled from their life of luxury as a noble and forced to live in a war camp in the often-times harsh Northlands. I don’t think it would be very becoming of me to force all this on them and then have it said that I’m not treating them with the respect the position deserves. I may think the entire notion of Consorts is ridiculous, but I am a man of honor and duty above almost all else, and Consorts are one of the most respected titles in all of Braxhelm.

So, no. We will…share. I nearly put my fist through the wall at the idea. Sebastian rises and grins, knowing that I’m resigned to my fate, and claps a hand on my shoulder.

“All will be well, brother. Perhaps you might even like them. Several of my Consorts were very amenable.”

“And the others?” Sebastian wrinkles his nose, his golden eyes twinkling.

“Those are the times when I was thankful for the separate wings.” I shake my head, huffing out a strained laugh and Bastian squeezes my shoulder.

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