And then . . . and then if he had something to hide, a terrible choice loomed before me. If Grieve was my betrayer, he would die, and I would be forced to make the decree. The thought of having to condemn him to death sent me into a cold sweat. Even if he was the spy plotting against me, how could I offer him up for execution? How can you order the death of someone you love, even if they deserve it?
You will do what you must, because you are the Queen of Snow and Ice. This is what wearing the crown means, Cicely. You face terrible possibilities, and you must learn to stand in your decision without flinching. You will do what you need to, because you must. It is as simple as that.
Simple? No. But true? Yes.
I caught my breath, struggling to inhale. As the shamans continued to rip their way through Grieve’s mind, I waited. Counting the seconds. Counting the hours. Time was mutable, and I lost track of how long the session went on. My emotions had become numb, and the tears stopped as time rolled past. But, just when it seemed it would never end, the energy spiraled up, away from Grieve, and vanished in a wisp of smoke.
Thorn turned to me. “He is loyal, heart and soul. He is not your spy and has not betrayed you. Nor is he likely to.”
And with that the sun rose again in my life, and the terrible night came to an end. And yet, even as two of the others helped Grieve over to the chair next to me, where he slumped, exhausted, I knew that the long night had barely begun.
Check and Fearless were next. Check volunteered to go first, and once again, I forced myself to stand witness. If they were being put through hell for my sake, the least I could do was stand in silent watch.
It was a little easier with them—I didn’t have the connection I had with Grieve, but still, watching them writhe and twist, watching the shamans bear down on them, fierce lights burning in their eyes, I began to realize just how ruthless was this realm over which I now ruled. Ruthless and terrifying and harsh. My people were rugged, and they expected me to be the Queen of Ice, cold and stern and able to stomach far more than I’d ever had to face.
Slowly, as I watched, I tried to accept my place. There was no other option—if I didn’t adapt, I’d fuck up and run the place into the ground.
Check was released, and Fearless took his place in their midst. As the process began again, Check and Grieve whispered together, before turning to me.
“When Fearless makes it through the ordeal, he and I will escort Strict and Silverweb here, and they shall be put to the test.” Check stretched his legs, wincing. “We will simply instruct them you have ordered their attendance.”
Strict was my chief advisor, Silverweb my treasurer. It stood to reason they should be next, though I dreaded seeing Silverweb undergo the ritual. Somehow, in a double-standard sort of way, it seemed wrong to order another woman into the arms of the shamans.
But you must, Cicely. There can be no weakness based on gender. The best way to exploit a vulnerability is to play up to one’s fears. And whoever your spy is, they will know this.
Ulean made sense. For a brief moment, I feared that maybe Ulean had turned on me, traded sides. My feelings must have seeped through to her because she embraced me with her gentle breeze.
Cicely . . . the shamans would not allow me in here if they thought that possible. I was bound to you when you were six years old. There is no spell, no magic strong enough to break that bond, save for death. And I do not die. The only way for you to be rid of me is to give me to another—like Lainule did when she ordered Grieve to bind me to you.
I nodded, knowing she was right. I was jumping at shadows, fearing they might be hiding Myst’s hunters. I started to apologize, then stopped. Ulean knew what stress I was under. She could read my energy, hear my whispers into the slipstream.
And so we waited, silent, as Fearless underwent the long dark rites of his soul, deep into the night. And when they were done with him, the shamans bade Grieve and me to rest, while Fearless and Check went back to the Barrow.
Grieve and I retired to the chamber they provided and shut the door behind us, closing away the world. It would be some time before Check and Fearless returned with Strict and Silverweb, and we were both exhausted.
But as I turned to my love, the pain in his eyes overwhelmed me, and I fell into his arms, sobbing quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m responsible for what you went through.”
He held me, his arms wrapping around my waist, and buried his nose into my hair. “Cicely, my love. It’s all right. Please, believe me. This is the way of our people. I have undergone this ritual before—in Lainule’s Court. And Myst put me through it, for her pleasure. But for you, I would endure so much more. I needed you to know I was true to you. I need you to know that in your heart.”
He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. As his hands slid over my ass and along my back, the heat within me rose, and I yanked off my crown. The only time I was allowed to take it off was when we were alone in our chamber, or when I was sleeping. It had become an anchor around my neck, and I welcomed the times when I could remove it, even though the weight of responsibility was there regardless.
Grieve pushed me back, staring into my eyes, and I lost myself in his gaze. His eyes had been cornflower blue once, blue as the morning sky, but when Myst had turned him, they had shifted to inky black, with a sparkling of stars through them. The Vampiric Fae all had eyes like the night sky.
He reached out, touched the busks on my corset, and I let him undo them. Grieve preferred to undress me, and I liked it when he did. He undid the steel fasteners one by one, easing the pressure on my midriff, and then my boobs bounced free. I had large breasts. I was five-four and a sturdy one hundred and forty pounds of muscle. As he ran one finger up my side to slide over my breasts and then pinched my nipple, hard, I inhaled sharply, gasping at the pain before the fire hit. And then, in a haze of hunger, I unzipped my jeans and kicked my way out of them.
Grieve, like all full-blooded Fae, could shed his clothes with a single thought, and did, now standing naked in front of me. He was glorious, my Faerie King, and his hair grazed his shoulder blades, pale and shimmering as the cool winter sun. Exotic and dangerous, he bared his teeth—they were razor sharp from the turning. I gasped, oh so hungry.
“Fuck me. Fuck me, please.” I needed him. I wanted his hands on me, roughing me up, pushing me down, stroking against my thighs, my breasts, over the tattoo on my stomach.
He could feel my need—my wolf growled in response to his rising hunger—and he stepped toward me, gaze still fastened on me. I danced back a step, teasing him, daring him to join the chase.
“You want it that way, then?” His voice was soft, running smooth over the words, but it set me off, the sparks racing through me at a rate I could barely stand. “You want it rough? You want it dark and dangerous and deadly?”
I could only nod. “I need you to be the strong one. I need you to take control.” As I said it, I knew it was true—I couldn’t handle making another decision; I couldn’t handle another choice in the day.
I wanted to forget, to be set free from the constant demands put on me. And the only way that I could lose myself and get out of my head was for Grieve to be strong enough to overpower my thoughts, to overpower my choices, to take me into that dark deep place where I could feel through pain that turned to pleasure. I needed to bleed onto the ground, the pain of the wounds making me know I was still alive, that I wasn’t just a figurehead, a symbol, an icon.