He did not take a formal vow upon his honor, for verily, he had none. And he did not look back as he took to the stairs.
“What is your name?” she said.
“You do not know that already, Chosen?”
“I know not everything.”
“Aye.” He put his hand on the rough banister. “Neither do I. Good day, Chosen.”
As he mounted the stairs, he felt as though he had aged centuries since he had carried the unanimated, warm body of that female underground.
Opening the stout wooden door, he had no idea what he would be walking into. Following his announcement of his status, his males could well caucus and decide to shun him—
There they all were, in a semicircle, Throe and Zypher bookending the group. Their weapons were in their hands, and their faces were death-knell grim . . . and they were waiting for him to say something.
He closed the door and leaned back against it. He was no coward to run from them or what had happened down below, and he saw no benefit to padding what had been revealed with careful words or pauses.
“The female spoke the truth. I am not a blooded relation of the one who I thought was my sire. So what say you all.”
They didn’t utter a word. Didn’t look at each other. And there was no hesitation.
As one, they fell down upon their knees, sinking to the floorboards, and bowing their heads. Throe spoke up.
“We are e’er yours to command.”
Upon the response, Xcor cleared his throat. And did it again. And one more time. In the Old Language, he pronounced, “No leader has o’erseen stronger backs with greater loyalty than those gathered afore me.”
Throe’s eyes lifted. “It has not been the memory of your father that we have served all these years.”
There was a great whoop of agreement—which was better than any vow that could have been spoken in flowery language. And then daggers were buried in the wooden floorboards at his feet, the hilts clasped in the fists of soldiers who were, and remained, his to send forth.
And he would have left things there, but his long-term plans demanded a revelation and a further confirmation.
“I have a larger purpose than fighting parallel to the Brotherhood,” he said in a quiet tone, so that the female on the lower level could hear naught. “My ambitions are a death sentence if discovered by others. Do you understand what I’m saying.”
“The king,” someone whispered.
“Aye.” Xcor looked into each of their eyes. “The king.”
None of them glanced away or got up. They were a solid unit of muscle and strength and lethal determination.
“If that changes anything for any of you,” he demanded, “you shall tell me now and you shall leave at nightfall, ne’er to return without penalty of death.”
Throe broke ranks by dropping his head. But that was as far as it went. He did not get up and walk away, and no one else did either.
“Good,” Xcor said.
“What of the female,” Zypher said with a dark smile.
Xcorshook his head. “Absolutely not. She deserves no punishment.”
The male’s brows popped. “Fine. I can make it good for her, instead.”
Oh, for chrissakes, he was just too much like the damned Lhenihan . “No. You shall not touch her. She is a Chosen.” This got their attention, but he was going to go no further with the revelations. He’d had quite enough of them. “And we are sleeping up here.”
“What the hell?” Zypher got to his feet and the rest followed. “If you say she is off-limits, I shall leave her alone, as will the others. Why—”
“Because that is what I decree.”