He’d given her a dress of red lace overlaying black silk, scalloped at her neckline and dropping to a sharp vee down to her sternum in the front and to the small of her back. He’d also instructed she not wear a chemise, a corset, or underskirts. In a mockery of modesty, the lace sleeves extended to her wrists. She wanted to refuse to wear such a monstrosity, but what use was it? He’d only command her, and through pain or a beating, he’d make her submit to his will.
As the guards led her down a long corridor, unadorned with a rug to soften their steps, rather than down the grand staircase as she’d expected, her mind wandered again to Mikhail. Where was he at that very moment? Would he have been able to follow their trail in the blizzard? Her spirit darkened, remembering how they’d tossed Gavril off the cliff as if he were an animal carcass to be discarded. The cruelty of these men, of Dominik, of the queen, set her emotions aflame once more.
She glanced down every corridor and through every open door, hoping to get a glance at Izzy, praying she was still unharmed. Though fear lit in her eyes, Izzy was still unhurt. Mina had to find a way to save her after this blasphemy of a wedding ceremony.
One of the guards stopped before a door with a rounded wall. When he unlocked and open the door, revealing a winding staircase within, she realized it was one of the turrets leading to the battlements. Holding the door open, he gestured for her to go ahead. She walked up the narrow, spiral staircase, catching a whiff of the cold night air above.
So she’d be married on the battlements of Izeling Tower? So be it. A strength she’d never experienced welled up inside of her, a tingling along her skin. She could do this. If she could survive a lifetime of loneliness and neglect at Briar Rose and the pain and agony of the bloodless sleep, then she could survive King Dominik.
She stepped out onto the battlement and saw the hulking figure of the man himself. He stood on a square of red fabric—the matrimonial cloth in his royal colors—at the far end of the battlement, overlooking the northern road winding down into the city. The lights of Izeling glittered like the stars above them, the night unusually clear. Queen Morgrid stood beside Dominik in a shimmering black gown. Two dozen Legionnaires made up the square of the battlement, which happened to be the tallest.
As she walked toward them, the only sound was the sigil banner rippling in the wind. And her heart beat in her throat. She approached like the queen she was, shedding whatever fears had made her cower within a shell her whole life.
The gaunt priest in black stood on the other side of the matrimonial cloth, his back to the parapet wall, his head bowed in prayer and cowl billowing in a gentle breeze.
Yes, the night was gentle. Even the moon—full and bright—cast an air of serenity on those below. An ironic twist of fate as a war waged within her.
“Welcome, my bride.” Dominik appeared tense and eager, not quite the relaxed beast that was his usual demeanor.
Morgrid appeared equally tense. “Let’s get on with it.” If not more so.
Something shining behind the queen caught Mina’s eye. It was a swath of black silk draped over a waist-high table, oddly shaped—narrow and not especially long. Then Mina noted the cross-like extensions with iron restraint cuffs at the end, her gaze dropping to the cuffs on short chains and the pillow at the head above the cross restraints.
“No.” Mina shook her head in horror. “A consummation altar?” Savagery.
She’d read about them, used by kings long ago. Public consummation so there was no argument whether the marriage was legal. It was a barbaric ritual for the king to display his husbandly rights the moment the vows were said. To force his bride’s submission in front of witnesses only exhibited his strength and power. And brutality.
Dominik laughed. The queen didn’t, her piercing gaze twinkling under the moonlight.
“You will beget the infant I need tonight.”
Radomir appeared, dragging Izzy by the wrist. Three of the Legionnaires stepped out of line, revealing another horrific surprise, a stone altar with dark stains upon its flat surface. Radomir lay Izzy roughly on her back. She whimpered. With assistance, the Legionnaires cuffed her tiny wrists and ankles, the wind billowing her frayed nightgown at her knees.
“You can’t!” she screamed. She turned to Dominik. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just don’t hurt the girl. Please, I beg you.” She looked up at him, thinking herself insane if she would find any sympathy or mercy there.
“I can.” Dominik gripped her arm and jerked her next to him. “And I will.”
Facing the priest, whose eyes swam with compassion, Mina couldn’t find the answer to escape this nightmare, even while that whispering voice inside told her to be calm. That help was coming.
“Get on with it, priest.” Dominik squeezed her arm in a viselike grip. “And make it quick.”
…
Mikhail was on edge, crouching from the line of trees near the south-gate entrance while Vietka and her girls sauntered up the winding drive, cackling and carrying on like it was any other night. They had to be especially cautious with the sudden clearing of the night sky, making every movement visible from Izeling Tower. The tall brick wall that surrounded his estate was manned by guards. But their first target was the battlements. If they attacked the guards at the walls first, those on the battlements would send out the alarm. The best strategy was to get in covertly, then silence the men on the battlements.
Dane growled right behind him, his fire-gold eyes narrowed on the gate as a dozen Legionnaires loitered, obviously those who’d just come off duty, awaiting the women. He’d shifted back into human form, but his beast simmered on the surface.
Vietka laughed raucously as if inebriated, though the woman was as sober as could be. The gate opened. Mikhail’s muscles tensed, the need to invade a primal urge. Vietka’s girls and Sienna meandered in, crooning and giggling to the Legionnaires.
“New girl, eh?” said one of the guards, offering his arm to Sienna.
“Bloody hell,” growled Nikolai. “She’d better hurry the fuck up.”
As if she’d heard Nikolai’s impatience, Vietka lifted her skirt, pretending to adjust her stocking and garter. “Brontus, luv!” she called out.
Brontus was the lead guard on this shift, the one who was most experienced and the most dangerous, according to her. Vietka never serviced the men, and she typically had one of the girls bring back the weekly wages. She’d said her girls wouldn’t be able to lure Brontus out the gate easily. But she could. He’d always had an eye for her.
The tall vampire sauntered out the still-open gate. Even from here, Mikhail could smell the man’s lust for her driving him forward.
“You got something for me, Vietka?”
She straightened. With one hand on her hip, her breasts thrust up, she crooked a finger at Brontus. “Was thinkin’ you might come keep me company tonight.”
He strolled closer, body still in an alert posture. “You’ve never come looking for me before.”
“I’ve never been without a good man in me bed this long.”
He scoffed, stopping right in front of her. “A good man?”