He need not think she was someone exceptional; she, too, was afraid.
Ragnar was quiet for a long moment.
"To Azul of the Borjigin," he said in a low voice, "Khatun of the Valthorne Tribe.Most cherished under Tengri.I pray to you.For your safety.For your return.For courage, for your grace."
Her heart skipped a beat.
He took her right hand—her trembling, traitorous right hand—and lifted it to his lips.He kissed the inside of her wrist.
“Be with me, guide me, protect me.By your will, I will conquer,” another kiss, “I will subdue,” one more, “I will unite.”Azul found herself looking at his hands, his scarred, imperfect, calloused hands, ones strong enough to keep her weakness hidden.And she, who had not known tears, felt her cheeks dampen with a sharp sting to her eyes.
What was in the cup?
A sedative?
Or poison?
“You do not understand,” she stammered.“I am vile, arrogant, deceitful!I am—”
The vial given to her by Somadina was a sedative.
"I know.”
The wine she had prepared for him was poison.
But whatever was in the cup, Ragnar did not care.
If she could only be arrogant, she should be arrogant and hold the mantle.If she was vile, she could be vile on behalf of their people.As long as she was willing, he would not need great benevolence; he only needed gall.
“Do not apologise for who you have become.If you falter, my pride will carry you above your faults.If you stumble, my throne will catch you.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”She cried.“Everything you’ve worked hard for might come crashing down should you entangle yourself with me.I am not fit to be anyone’s queen.My Lord, I might ruin you."She planned to manipulate him, use him, and dispose of him when she was satisfied.She didn’t know if she could move past her nature to stay by his side.
If Ragnar did not have the stomach for a devil like her, it was better he strike her down now and kill her.
This was a ploy for Somadina’s trust.
One she had lost by spending one night outside the palace walls.
She needed him to trust her again, just for a bit longer, until it was all finished.
The sedative was a test.How far was she willing to go?
Ragnar needed to die.
But Ragnar was no stranger to blood.He had slaughtered minor Khans to secure his rule, crushed those who defied his authority, and forced unruly vassals into submission.If his wife planned to do the same, who was he to judge?There was nothing to regret, nothing to atone for.
“It does not matter what you have done or what you plan to do,” he finally said.“I did not take a wife to avoid my burdens.I am the one fighting.I am the one protecting.If your heart is heavy, give it to me.From now on, I will carry it.”
His grip tightened slightly, a silent vow woven into the gesture.“Whoever finds a wife finds a good thing, and the blessings of Zephyr are invaluable.And you—” His voice broke as though in laughter.“You will be Khatun of the Valthorne Tribe.Of all the women under the sky, I vow to you, you are the most cherished.”
Her chest tightened.
Why?
The question surfaced, but she did not voice it.
Did he truly think there would be a tomorrow?
