The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride Read online

  The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride

  Kati Wilde

  To Ella, Ruby, Mel and Lea, the amazing ladies who inspire me every day (and inspire me to write faster).

  Contents

  The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride

  Stepback Cover

  Map

  1. Kael the Butcherer

  2. Anja the Rejected

  3. Kael the Pitiless

  4. Anja the Unwanted

  5. Kael the Raviner

  6. Anja the Liar

  7. Kael the Wolfkiller

  8. Anja the Unkissed

  9. Kael the Thorough

  10. Anja the Witch

  11. Kael the Conqueror

  Epilogue

  The Mail-Order Bride Series

  Also by Kati Wilde

  Secret Santa

  Chapter 1

  Going Nowhere Fast

  Newsletter

  The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride

  A Holiday Fantasy Romance

  Some might call Princess Anja of Ivermere brave for offering herself up as a bride to Kael the Conqueror, a barbarian warlord who’d won his crown by the bloodied edge of his sword. It was not courage that drove Anja from her magic-wielding family’s enchanted palace, however, but a desperate attempt to secure a kingdom of her own—even if she has to kill the Conqueror to do it. She expects pain beneath his brutal touch as she awaits her chance. She expects death if he discovers the truth of her intentions.

  She didn’t expect Kael to reject her and send her back to Ivermere.

  Raised in the ashes of the Dead Lands, Kael fears nothing—certainly not the beautiful sorceress who arrives at his mountain stronghold. But no matter how painful his need for her, Kael has no use for a bride who would only tolerate his kiss. Yet the more of Anja’s secrets he uncovers during their journey to return her home, the more determined he becomes to win the princess’s wary heart.

  And Kael the Conqueror has never been defeated…

  1

  Kael the Butcherer

  Grimhold

  Here we are, at the last of four tales about brides who travel great distances drawn by hope, or driven by fear, and who find happiness in the arms of an alien, and a wolf, and a billionaire.

  Now comes the warlord king.

  The time is anotherwhen, a date unknown but in the midst of winter; the place is anotherwhere, a world unnamed but to the west of the Illwind Sea. And this story begins, as many stories do, with a lonely warrior wandering through a fortress guarded by mighty walls that are as thick and as hard as the walls around his heart. Surely only a brave bride—or a very desperate one—could scale those stone battlements…or any of the other thick and hard parts of him.

  So we settle in for a midwinter’s spell—for that is all a tale is, words woven together in hopes of making magic. It matters not if you believe in such things. You must only believe this—

  Love is magic, too.

  Kael strode into the chamber that ought to have been filled with shackled prisoners and the beseeching cries of the penitent—and found it disappointingly empty. Frowning, he turned to the sentry posted beside the chamber doors. “Is this not the petition hall?”

  The young guard’s only response was the metallic shivering of chainmail and a panicked hiss of breath.

  If Kael asked the simple question again the boy might piss himself in fear. Frustration gritted his teeth. A flash of blue farther down the corridor caught his eye—one of the royal underministers, a woman he’d seen cowering in the great hall during his endless meetings with his advisors. “You there!”

  The figure froze. A timid, “Yes, your majesty?” floated toward him.

  “Is this not the petition hall?”

  Though the underminister had the courage to approach him, she was trembling as hard as the sentry—but silently trembling, for her woolen robes didn’t jingle. “It is, sir.”

  Just as Kael had thought. “Then is it not Petition Day?”

  In each of his four kingdoms, anyone sentenced by local magistrates or whose complaints were unresolved had a right to petition the king for a hearing. Kael had only recently learned that a high magistrate had been overseeing the hearings in the petition hall each month, as had been established during Geofry’s reign.

  Kael enjoyed few royal duties. It seemed that his every hour was filled with tedious meetings and pointless rituals. But he had looked forward to this day, when he might hear how his kingdoms’ laws were applied—and learned which of Geofry’s still needed to be struck down.

  “It is,” she answered.

  “Why is no one here, then?”

  Her cheeks paled and she bit her lip. Her gaze darted to the sentry, as if searching for help, but the boy could hardly breathe let alone give Kael an explanation.

  The underminister attempted it. “Because…I have heard…that is…” In a sudden rush, she got it out— “There are no petitioners.”

  Kael’s frown deepened. “No petitioners?” He had seen previous dockets. Each month brought dozens of petitions. “Why?”

  Mutely she stared at him.

  Curse every breath that Geofry ever took. So frightened was she, Kael would have to pull her tongue from her mouth to get an answer from it—as Geofry had done in truth to those who’d said words he hadn’t wanted to hear. Too many silent servants roamed these stone corridors to wonder at her fear now.

  If Kael wanted an answer, he would have to seek it elsewhere.

  It finally came, however, from an unexpected direction. “The prisoners learned that you would deliver the new rulings, sir,” the sentry told him, voice little more than a squeak. “And decided to accept the sentences they’d received.”

  Rather than risk worse from him? More fools they. Kael had been in a fine mood this day. Had been.

  What his mood looked like now, Kael could not say, except that after braving another glance at his face, the underminister’s fingers shook ever harder as she pointed down the stone corridor in the direction from which she’d come. “I believe you are expected in the great hall instead, your majesty.”

  Where a large number of people had gathered, Kael concluded by the noise coming from that chamber as he approached. And this was what becoming a king had made him—for many years he had been called Kael the Conqueror, yet at this moment he dreamt of finding a cupboard to hide in. Anything to avoid more royal pageantry.

  His sour mood worsened when he stepped into the great hall and saw the cushion of woven flowers blanketing the golden seat of his throne. Over a year ago, he’d told the ladies of the court not to waste time on such frivolities.

  He would not tell them again. Without a word, Kael drew his sword. The courtiers and servants within the opulent marble chamber abruptly fell silent. Some trembled and stumbled out of his path, but he paid them no mind. His grim gaze was fixed on the white roses as he stalked toward the dais.

  From his left approached a scurrying figure in red silken robes and cap. Lord Minam, his royal chamberlain, scurried everywhere—as a mouse did. Or as a thief did.

  Kael admired both thieves and mice. More than any other class of man or animal, they were likely to survive a calamity. Which was probably why Minam had so well survived the eighteen months since Kael had taken the throne.

  And it was probably why Minam had survived the king who’d sat on it before him. Kael had never dreamed of ruling one kingdom, let alone four. But if ever there was a man who’d begged for a length of sharpened steel down his gullet, Geofry the Child-Eater was he—and Kael had always been generous with his blade. His steel had given Geofry’s gullet, balls, and brains a skewering before he was done.

  Kael hadn’t intended to win Geofry’s crown in
the killing. Yet win it, he had.

  “My king,” the chamberlain came up alongside him, scurrying even faster now to keep up with Kael’s longer stride, and the lilting rhythm of all the four kingdoms in his voice. Even after so many years among them, to Kael’s ears their speech still sounded like a song. “With my own eyes, I inspected your cushion. This time it is free of thorns.”

  “I care nothing of thorns.” Of all the things that had ever poked Kael’s ass, the least painful was a flower. “I care that anyone in this castle wastes time weaving unwanted cushions.”

  “It is only because Geofry—”

  “Wanted his ass perfumed?” With a sneer, Kael slipped the flat of his blade beneath the woven flowers and tossed the cushion to the marble floor. “More pleasant for you all to kiss it.”

  Rare steel replaced the placating cadence of the chamberlain’s voice. “When Geofry ordered us to kiss it, my king, he would first sit in the blood of our wives and children.”

  For that—and worse—Kael had destroyed him. So he replied with steel of his own, but his was hotter than the chamberlain’s. “I am not Geofry.” Yet still he was treated as Geofry had been. “I have no need to be coddled and flattered, or to sit upon a perfumed cushion.”

  Minam sighed. “But that is what a king does, my liege.”

  That is what a king does. In the past year and a half, Kael had learned to hate those words. For a king spent every day upholding the laws of the kingdom and protecting his people—not by his own sword, but by sitting on a pillow and consulting a parade of advisors, ministers, and officials. From the moment he woke until his despairing fall into sleep, it seemed Kael spent every day petted and led and fed, living more like a cow being fatted for slaughter than a king.

  When Kael gave no reply, the chamberlain sighed again and bent to lift the blanket of flowers. “It took great effort to cultivate roses so near to Midwinter. The ladies only wish to please you.”

  No. They only wished to appease him. As he sheathed his sword, Kael could see the women’s frightened gazes shifting from the cushion to his face. As if they expected Kael to behead them for growing and weaving the flowers.

  He wouldn’t behead anyone. Not for such a paltry offense as that.

  Still, seeing their fear fanned the frustration that had smoldered in his heart for the better part of his rule. He snatched the cushion from Minam’s grip and flung it into the center of the chamber.

  “If you wish to please me, then spend your days weaving blankets for the children maimed by your putrid king! Waste them not with this foolishness!” Petals fluttered through the air as he bellowed, “And if you do not have business here, begone from my sight!”

  A rush of sandals and silks followed. Heavily Kael sat upon the gold throne and immediately wished himself anywhere else. Geofry had been a tall man, a strong warrior, and this seat had been made for the Child-Eater.

  It had not been made for a man of Kael the Conqueror’s great size, and he felt confined—imprisoned—in its golden clasp.

  Yet he had not yet decided what to do with it. Gladly would he melt it into coins and distribute them throughout the kingdoms, but even a team of oxen could not drag the heavy gold throne from atop the marble dais where it stood. And the people of the four kingdoms—his people—seemed reassured by Kael inhabiting Geofry’s seat.

  Hanging Geofry’s eviscerated and headless carcass from the fortress wall ought to have reassured them well enough, so that was the first thing Kael had done. Except not a day had passed before a mob had torn what was left of Geofry down, carried the corpse across the bridge to the center of the city, and burned it atop a bonfire. When the pyre finally cooled, they pissed in the ashes.

  Kael had known they were truly his people then—but he still could not fathom why they had made him their king.

  He still could not fathom why he had accepted.

  “Your crown, my liege.” With a flourish, Minam presented the bejeweled circlet of gold nestled on a purple velvet pillow.

  Gritting his teeth, Kael took the crown. This bauble fit no better than the throne did. Perched atop his head, it threatened to slide off with every nod. But his people were also reassured by seeing it—and Minam claimed that for official tasks it conveyed the proper authority.

  Kael thought that any king who could not convey authority without a crown was not much of a king at all. But whatever reason they were gathered here, he must be needed to—

  What reason were they gathered? Only the more fainthearted courtiers had fled at his command. At least fifty remained—which meant they believed they had business here.

  Scowling, he looked to Minam. “What foolishness is…”

  He was speaking to himself. The chamberlain stood a few steps away, engaged in a hectic, whispered conversation with the Minister of Wards. Their heads were bent together, the chamberlain’s red silk cap against the minister’s white, and Minam’s pale hands moved in short, agitated gestures as he spoke to the conjurer.

  The Minister of Wards was the only spellcaster within the stronghold, and his single duty was to maintain the wards that shielded those living in the fortress from corrupt magic. Twice every day he solemnly reported to Kael that all of his runes were intact. As he had made that morning’s report only two hours ago, Kael doubted any magical disaster had occurred in that time.

  Abruptly both men seemed to sense the weight of their king’s gaze upon them. They fell silent and turned to face him—Minam’s expression as innocent as any thief who had been caught with his hand in a sack of gold, and the minister’s eyes anxiously rounded, mouth pulled into a taut, pained smile.

  Kael knew scheming when he saw it, and his fine mood returned. “Have you gathered to kill me, then?” With a sweep of his hand, he indicated the crowd. “Are you all carrying daggers to plunge into my heart?”

  Such an attempt would surely be more entertaining than whatever Minam had been truly whispering about.

  Expression aghast, Minam scurried back to Kael’s side. “You are our liberator, my liege! Never would we—”

  “Then what perverted plot sends Lord Apel slinking away like a guilty jackal?” He indicated the minister, who was darting through the crowd. “Does he intend to use his magics to shrink me to the size of a flea? I warn you now, he will fail. I will be the size of a pig, at least.”

  As if finally recognizing Kael’s teasing, the chamberlain’s tension eased. “Nothing of the sort. We have a guest, sir, and Lord Apel was uncertain whether the wards in her quarters would be strong enough.”

  Kael frowned, his amusement gone. “A spellcaster visits?”

  One more powerful than the minister? Lord Apel hailed from one of the high families of Ivermere, and few people possessed stronger magic than that realm’s nobility did.

  “Yes, my king.”

  Kael’s eyes narrowed. “An unexpected guest?”

  He had hoped for a distraction in his royal routine, but a threat would not offer much of one. If this sorceress had foul intentions, he would destroy her before she could harm anyone under his protection.

  “We expected her,” the chamberlain assured him, only to add, “though we did not expect her this day. And we did not know who she would be, or even if she would ever be—”

  Kael’s deep frown brought the chamberlain’s confused ramblings to an abrupt halt. “Who is she?”

  Was she a danger to his people?

  The chamberlain lifted his chin. “Your bride, sir.”

  “My bride?” Kael echoed.

  “Your bride,” said Minam again, as if the problem lay in Kael’s ears and not in the sparse sense coming from his own mouth. “She arrived only an hour past.”

  “My bride did.”

  “Yes, my king.”

  Bemused, Kael asked, “How long have I had a bride, Minam?”

  A wry smile pulled at the chamberlain’s mouth. “For an hour, sir.”

  Kael’s shout of laughter turned every head within the chamber, fifty pairs of
wary eyes settling on him. That was not a sound they often heard from their king—nor was his wide grin a sight familiar to them.

  By the gods, Kael had wanted a distraction and he had surely been granted one. “So you are not here to kill me, but to chain some unfortunate woman to my side?”

  Smile vanishing, Minam insisted indignantly, “It is no misfortune to marry you, my king.”

  That was probably how Minam had enticed her to agree—promising great fortune. Still, she must be brave. Or a madwoman. Or both.

  Now he was intrigued. “Who is she?”

  Proudly Minam announced, “She is Anja of Ivermere, eldest daughter of King Palin and Queen Dena. We have gathered here so that she might be presented to you…but there has been a complication.”

  Kael was unsurprised to hear it. “She has decided not to sacrifice herself on the dark altar of my bed?”

  The color in Minam’s face deepened until it matched the red silk of his cap. For Kael referred to the nights—and days—after he had killed Geofry and been named king, when the ladies of the court had shown him so much appreciation and rewarded him so well that he had not left his bedchamber for a full week.

  Until he had overheard whispers that the ladies disguised their fear and faked their pleasure—and had only attended to him in hopes of keeping their new king so sated that he would not drag the young and innocent girls of his kingdoms into his bed.

  Kael had not touched a woman since. He wanted no one who only kissed him out of duty or in fear—whether that terror was for herself or for someone else—or who felt she had no choice but to please her king. He was not Geofry…or any of the other tyrants in his past whom he had known and slaughtered.