He no longer wears his giant sword. In fact, the only weapon he is wearing is a needle-like dagger that’s strapped to his upper arm.

The executioner moves in front of me, forcing me to tear my gaze away from War. The man’s blade is so close that I could reach out and touch it, the steel thickly coated in blood.

Behind me, a soldier shoves me to my knees. Blood splashes as my knees hit the soaked earth. I cringe at the warm feel of the liquid.

I close my eyes and swallow.

“Death or allegiance?” the executioner demands.

It should be an easy answer, but I can’t force myself to say the words.

Despite everything, I don’t want to die. I really, really don’t want to die, and I don’t want to feel the bite of that blade.

Right now anything, even the thought of turning on my own brethren, is more tempting.

I open my eyes and look to the executioner. The man has dead eyes. Too much killing and not enough living. That’s what’ll happen to me if I choose to live.

Inadvertently my gaze moves to the horseman sitting on his throne.

The horseman, who caught me and spared me. Who called me his wife. He watches me now with captivated eyes. I know which answer he wants from me, and he seems almost certain I’ll give it.

The longer I look at him, the more unnerved I become. A shiver runs over my skin. There’s a whole unexplored world in his eyes, one that promises me dark and forbidden things.

I tear my gaze away from him and my wandering thoughts, my attention returning to that bloody sword in front of me.

Death or allegiance?

Be brave, be brave, be brave.

I glance up at the executioner and force out the one word I couldn’t only moments before.

“Death.”

 

 

Chapter 4

The executioner forces my head down, so that the back of my neck is bared for him. I don’t see him lift his sword, but I feel the warm drip of blood from it.

I bite my lip at the sensation.

This is not how I imagined my life ending …

“No.” War’s voice fills the camp. The sound of it is like a lover’s breath against my skin. It’s sinister, deep—so very, very deep—and the weight of it seems to echo across the clearing. Or maybe it’s simply the silence that falls in its wake.

Every rowdy, beady-eyed soldier goes quiet.

I glance up. The crowd seems to shrink back into itself, and their fear is a physical thing.

My eyes move to War, where he reclines on his throne. His gaze locks with mine, and suddenly, it’s as though we’re back on holy ground and he’s declaring me his wife all over again.

War’s eyes aren’t anything like the executioner’s. They are so very, very alive. They burn bright. And yet, for all the life that fills them, I cannot say what the man behind them is thinking. If he were a human and I defied him, I’d expect anger, but I’m not sure that’s what he feels at all.

War lifts a hand and beckons me forward.

A soldier grabs me by the arm and leads me towards the horseman, only halting me a couple meters from his dais.

With a nod to War, the soldier backs away.

The horseman’s gaze rakes over me, and not for the first time, I register just how unnaturally handsome he is. It’s a vicious sort of beauty, one that only dangerous men have.

His upper lip curls just the slightest, and it makes me think that he’s disgusted at the sight of me.

The feeling’s mutual.

All of a sudden, he gets up. I swallow delicately as I crane my neck to look up at him.

He’s not human.

There’s no mistaking it now. His shoulders are too wide, his muscles are too thick; his limbs are too long, his torso too massive. His features too … complicated.

He pulls the needle-thin dagger from the holster encircling his bicep. At the sight of it, a bolt of adrenaline rushes through me, which is ridiculous considering that I asked for death moments ago.

“San suni ötümdön satnap tulgun, virot ezır unı itdep? Sanin ıravım tılgun san mugu uyuk muzutnaga tunnip, mun uç tuçun vulgilüü,” he says, circling me.

I spared you from death, and yet now you seek it out? How you insult me wife, I who have never been known for my mercy.

Each word is gravelly, resonate.

Under his scrutiny my throat bobs. “I’m not going to keep my life just so that you can make me kill others,” I say, my voice hoarse with fear.

At my back, I sense the horseman stop.

Is he once again surprised I can understand him?

Before I can turn around, he takes one of my hands. It’s only now, when he’s touching me, his calloused hands swallowing mine up, that I realize I’m trembling.

I take a few deep breaths to settle my mounting anxiety.

War leans in close, his mouth brushing my ear. “San suni sunen teken dup esne dup uynıkut? Uger dugı vir sakdun üçüt?”

Is that what you think I want with you? To make you another soldier?

He laughs against my hair, the sound making my skin prick. I flush, unnerved at his words.

I feel the cool metal of War’s blade as he inserts it between the bound hands at my back. There’s a brief pressure as his dagger presses against my bindings. A second later I hear a rip as, in one clean stroke, War cuts the twine and frees my wrists.

My arms sting as blood flows back into them.

“I know what you want from me,” I say quietly, beginning to rub out my wrists.

“Uger uzır vurvı? San vakdum tunduy uçıt-uytın.”

Do you now? How transparent I have become.

War comes back to my front. He’s still grimacing at me, like I’ve offended his delicate sensibilities.

“A hafa neu a nuhue inu io upuho eu ha ia a fu nuhueu a fu Ihe,” he says. His tone and the language he speaks seem to change and soften.

There are many things I can give you that Death cannot.

“I don’t want your things,” I say.

The corner of War’s mouth lifts. I can’t tell if his smile is mocking or amused. “Ua i fu ua nuou peu e fuhio.”

And yet you’ll still get them.

He eyes me over. “Huununu ia lupu, upu. I fu ua fu ipe huy.”

Clean yourself off, wife. You will not die today.

He throws his dagger at my feet, the thin blade sinking into the earth, and then he walks away.

After War leaves, no one seems to know what to do.

I react first. Kneeling down, I grab the hilt of War’s discarded weapon and yank it out of the earth. On the horseman’s arm, it had looked more like a hairpin than a dagger, but in my hand, it’s heavy and big. Quite big.

Spinning, I point the blade at anyone and everyone. Someone laughs.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

Clutching the blade, I stride out of the clearing, elbowing my way through the crowd. I expect someone to attack me, but it never comes.

I only manage to walk a short distance before a woman grabs my arm.

“This way,” she says, beginning to direct me through the maze of the camp.

I glance down at her. “What are you doing?”

“Leading you to your new accommodations,” she says, not missing a beat. “I’m Tamar.”

Tamar is a petite thing, with greying hair, tan skin, and olive green eyes.

“I’m not planning on staying.”