The King(134)

Did they know what they were doing? he thought. Turning over the reins to whom—Ichan? As a front for those fighters? This was disastrous—
“Abalone?”
Shaking himself at the sound of his name, he looked up. The entire room was staring at him.
Ichan smiled from up front. “You are the last, Abalone.”
Now was the opportunity to live up to the name of his grandfather. Now was his moment to voice his opinion that this was a crime, this was—
“Abalone.” Ichan was still smiling, but there was stark demand in his tone. “Your turn. For your blood.”
As he put the cheroot down in the ashtray, his hand was shaking anew, his palm sweaty. Clearing his throat, he got to his feet, thinking of the bravery of his bloodline, the way his ancestor had done what was right in spite of the risk.
The image of his daughter cut through his wellspring of emotion.
And he felt the eyes of the others like a thousand laser sights trained on him.
With intent to kill.
As Wrath heard a knocking upon the vaulted door of his mated chamber, he cursed under his breath and ignored it.
“Wrath, you must receive whoe’er it is.”
He took another spoonful of the rich soup that had been prepared before him from vegetables he had gone out and dug from the earth himself. The taste was subtle, the broth fragrant, the pieces of meat from a freshly dispatched cow hand-raised in his stables.
That he himself had killed.
The knocking came again.
“Wrath,” Anha chided as she pushed herself up higher upon her pillows. “You are needed by others.”
He had no sense of the time, whether it was light or dark, how many hours or nights had passed since she had come back to him. And he did not care. Just as he cared naught for the vagaries of court or the concerns of the courtiers—
More knocking.
“Wrath, give me the spoon and you answer that door,” his female commanded.
Oh, that made him smile. She was truly returned.
“Your wish is my command,” he said, placing the broad bowl in her lap and giving her the utensil he had used.
He would have so much preferred to continue to feed her himself. But to see her able to manage the effort without spilling and effect the process of getting further nourishment into her belly? It eased him in ways internal.
And yet sadly, a pall still hung over them both: Neither he nor she had spoken about the young—about whether or not what had befallen Anha had robbed them of their dearest wish.
It was too painful to speak of—especially in light of the revelation made by Tohrture—
“Wrath. The door.”
“Yes, my love.”
Stalking across the throw rugs, he was ready to behead whoever dared to intrude on the healing.
Except as he opened the heavy panels, he froze.
Outside in the corridor, the Black Dagger Brotherhood had amassed, their fighter bodies choking what was otherwise more than ample space.
Instinct to protect his shellan made him wish for a dagger in his hand as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Indeed, that urge to defend his turf had him curling his fists up even though he had never been trained to fight. But he would die to save her—
Without a word, their black blades came out, the torchlight catching and flashing across those killing surfaces.
Heart pounding, he prepared for an attack.
Except it was not: As one, they went down upon bended knee, bowed their heads, and struck at the ground, their daggers chipping up flakes from the stone floor.
Tohrture lifted those incredible blue eyes first. “We pledge ourselves unto you and only you.”
And then they all looked up at him, their respect plain on their faces, those incredible bodies prepared to be called into service for him, by him—and only in that fashion.
Wrath put his hand over his heart and could not speak. He had not realized until this moment how alone he had been, just his shellan and him against the world—which had felt like enough. Until now.#p#分页标题#e#
And this was such the opposite of the glymera. The courtiers’ gestures were always done in public, and had no more depth than any performance—once executed, it was past.
But these males …
By tradition and custom, the King bowed to no one.
And yet he bowed the now. Deeply and reverently.
Remembering words he’d heard his father speak, he pronounced, “Your vow is accepted with gratitude by your King.”
Then he tacked on something that was all his own: “And it is returned. I pledge unto you, each and every, that I shall provide to you the very fealty that you have offered and I have accepted.”
He met each of the Brothers in the eye.
His father had used these specially bred males for their brawn, but his alliance had been with the glymera primarily.
Instinct told the son the future was safer if the opposite was true: With these males behind him, he and his beloved and any young they might have would have the better chance of survival.