A Queen Named Victory

Chapter Ten

Armed female dancers performed with single-edged swords. Their whirling spins and kicks captured our attention. Tiny colorful sparks lit the dancers after they clashed their swords against one another. Two women flipped over their partners and launched their swords into the air.

"Do you still think we're heartless monsters?" My groom mused.

He leaned closer to me with his chin resting on his hand.

"We're married, yet I don't know your name," I remarked to change the subject.

My new husband shrouded himself in mystery, especially after intentionally not mentioning crucial details in our agreement. He prepared a grand ceremony in a matter of days, hosting hundreds of commonfolk, servants, and nobles within his castle. Even our modest festivals back home took months of carefully coordinated preparation from all villagers. No amount of magic could change the time and effort needed for celebratory events.

"Forgive my rudeness." He pressed my knuckles to his lips seductively and answered, "You may call me Grendel, Son of Hebbe, and your charmingly handsome husband."

I tugged my hand away from his grasp when a noble bowed before us.

"Our great Mother blesses you, His Majesty of Montver."

"And the newly elected monarch of Montver," he added without breaking his gaze on me. He conversed with the noble in his native tongue, and the man laughed at his remarks. They gestured with their hands in various directions.

Who knew I would be on a throne beside a Dimikyr of all creatures? Grendel treated his subjects with a natural ease that felt too welcoming. Nobles and common folk both adored him. They did not have the same social hierarchy that I saw in Dovre. Our king and earls hardly invited commoners within the castle walls, nor did our chiefs. Dimikyr women fawned at Grendel as he heedlessly passed them and fey children decorated their new leader with little gifts. He thrived in their attention.

A young girl timidly walked in my direction. She raised her chubby hands to present me with her gift. A guard pushed his way in my direction, but I held out a hand to stop him from coming closer. I let the child place her painted acorn in my palm. "Talkenat," I echoed—what I assumed was a thank you since Grendel repeated the word many times throughout the evening—then unpinned a hairpin from the cover of my veil.

I motioned for her to come closer. She stilled while I pinned the ornament in her small bun. The Dimikyr girl gasped, turned to me wide-eyed, and bowed. Her parents watched her flaunt her new hairpin.

"You're beautiful, Siggy."

My heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach.

"Leave us," I barked at the guards.

They did not understand my words, but they understood my tone and watched me from afar. "You shouldn't be here!" I hissed under my veil while I held onto Ulf. My nose tingled from the fabric brushing against my skin. I temporarily lifted it to speak with my sister, "I didn't want you a part of this."

"It seems fine to me," Ingrid dismissed. She was just as ignorant as Ulf on the matter.

"When were you going to tell me that you pledged yourself to a king?"

"I- It's not like that. I didn't want this," I rasped.

"You had no clue?"

Her tone bothered me.

"Of course not," I protested.

Only a madwoman willingly marries a Dimikyr king. I may have disliked Skeg, but he was a familiar problem I knew I would solve if given a chance. Marrying into magic and royalty further complicated my plans for them.

"You ought to be with Grandmother. It isn't safe for you here."

"But Grandmother seems to be enjoying herself too," Ulf joined the conversation. My eyes trailed the direction he pointed to until they landed on my grandmother at a dining table. She reveled in her company of the same fey companions she had once warned us to fear.

"You brought her here!? In a den of wolves? Ingrid, what were you thinking?!" I whispered sharply. My sister crossed her arms without an explanation.

"When did you stop confiding in me, your womb-mate? Hm?"

I shook my head, shooing away my worries. What did he do to convince her to come here? I had to get them away from him. I recalled the taste of Dimikyr magic. Its sweetness lingered on my tongue. His magic kept my family blind to its masked peril.

He did it on purpose.

"You're not listening. Like always," she huffed angrily.

Ulf interjected, "Look at how many guards are here to protect us. You can have anything you want now."

I pinched my nose bridge. Neither of my siblings understood. The sole purpose of my sham marriage included their guaranteed safety. I did not want to drag them deeper into Grendel's game. Ingrid was old enough to remember how messy our nobles lived. Either they massacred each other with poisons or assassinated potential heirs. Every kingdom in this world hid its evil behind lavish extravagance and pleasure. Dimikyrs were no different than their human counterparts. Grendel had my family wrapped around his fingertips.

What excuses can I use to leave his side? I'm stuck. He expected me to escape, and he was correct, but I had enough integrity to withhold my end of the contract. I only guaranteed marriage on paper, not the duties that succeeded the wedding. Especially not a queen's duties.

"Well, look who it is!" Grendel wrapped his arm around my shoulder casually as he probed my siblings, "How are you enjoying Montver?"

"They're fine. We were finishing our conversation," I snapped.

"Good. Excuse me, but I must steal my wife for a brief moment," he flashed a charismatic smile at my siblings before he shepherded me farther from the dancing crowd.

Dwindling torches lit hundreds of painted handprints. They ranged in size from stumpy hands with sausage-like fingers to thin hands the size of green onion stalks. Some resembled animal tracks while others were too faded to decipher. Grendel explained how significant they were to his people's history. Each marking formally recorded the kingdom's reign of monarchs. They kept their ancient traditions even after the use of their written language. I examined the tiny human handprints. How many of them escaped? Did this one stay in their lifelong marriage? How did they thrive among fearsome creatures? We stopped in front of an empty spot.

Suddenly, an eerie sensation caressed my wrists. Gaunt fingers gripped my hand, and I stopped myself from swatting the shaman's hand away in fear of offending the elder. She uttered foreign words mixed with an assortment of throaty grumbles as she traced the lines on my palm.

"Agh," I grunted at the searing sting on my palm.

Grendel used his claw to draw blood from his hand as well, except he let his muddy blood ooze into the marrow hole of an animal's leg bone. They watched my blood trickle over a mound of ground ashes in a wide-rimmed ceramic bowl. The elder healed my hand as quickly as she sliced it.

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to the way your folk travel in the shadows," I grumbled after she disappeared without a trace.

"I hope you don't. I think you're cute when you get frightened like that," he smirked.

He stirred the content before he planted his hand against the wall and sprayed the blood. His handprint radiated waves of amethyst light. We basked at the sight until it fizzled into the stone. Then he directed me to place my blood-covered hand in the blank outline of his handprint. To our surprise, silver lights flickered like stars in the night sky. My print emulated white moonlight before it fizzled into a hazy glow.

"You'll catch a fly," I teased while I pushed his chin up to close his gaping mouth.

Whatever just happened shocked him beyond belief, but he refused to admit it. Until now, Grendel dawned many masks. He could be a charismatic king adored by many people or a scheming hunter who knew your thoughts before you heard them yourself. So, I cherished the moment. His reaction reminded me that it was possible to startle a Dimikyr.