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The Bonded are the king’s most elite forces, soldiers who have mental bonds with massive, fearsome direwolves. They ride the wolves into battle and, rumor has it, the riders can even tap into the magic that the direwolves wield.
My pulse speeds up as I clock the tattoos completely covering his neck, his hands. Not much makes me afraid, but this? Run, a self-preserving, animalistic part of me cries. Danger.
Anassa, running in the moonlight, racing down the mountainside, faster than wind. A sun rising, rays blinding and beautiful. A crown, its metal glinting, then drenched in blood.
I had to leave all my things up on top of the mountain, right next to my dignity. Rest in peace.
Crown Prince Killian descends to the balcony while I stand there frozen, my whole world crumbling around me. And then, seated at his father’s side, he lifts his head and looks right at me, dark blue eyes filled with regret. My heart cracks. Lee.
Anassa’s voice fills my head, thick with wrath. “Some people deserve to die.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” I joke as he grabs my jaw with rough fingers, pushing my head to one side. “You’re special, all right,” he mutters darkly. For some reason, his responding joke makes the faint tremble inside me grow stronger, radiating outward.
“I am,” I tell Stark, putting my hands on his hard chest and pushing him away forcefully. He falls back on his heel but doesn’t stumble; the man’s entirely incapable of being taken off guard. “I’m claimed by Crown Prince Killian.” The room quiets around the three of us, people turning to stare openly now. I shift toward Killian until he’s at my back. He snakes a warm arm around my hips and I breathe in pine, letting it calm me. Then, loudly so everyone can hear, I say, “I’m his, and his alone.”
“The Strategos direwolves have convened and chosen their next leader. Anassa. You are the new Strategos Alpha.”
“I’m your only way through this.” “I’m meant to trust you, then,” I breathe. When he’s done nothing but try to break my will from the moment we met. “Or you could think of it as using me to grow stronger,” he says.
And in case my implication is not crystal fucking clear: You touch her again and I’ll cull you myself.”
“I’m the rightful queen of Nocturna, aren’t I?” I ask. Stark’s eyes spark, he takes a single step back, and he bows down on one knee, hand to his chest. “Welcome home, my queen.”
“Give me the word and I’ll tear out his throat. All the lives I’ve ever taken were just training for this moment, my queen. Make me your instrument of vengeance. Let my hands act out your every savage, depraved thought. Use me. I’m yours.”
