Page 103 of The Queen and the Half-blood
She smiled. “I will.”
He moved across to her then, stooped, and cupped her face with his hands, staring into her eyes. There was an intensity to his expression this morning that made her pulse flutter. Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her. It was slow and so tender that something deep in her chest twisted.
The emotions this man roused frightened her sometimes.
She was falling for him. Hard. She should exercise a little more caution, should spend more time observing him, for their relationship was still new, but after last night, it was difficult to slow down.
Drawing back, his gaze then dropped to her shoulder. His fingers slid down her jaw and neck to where he’d bitten her, his gaze shadowing slightly. “I hurt you.”
Surprised, Lara lowered her chin, peering at the livid red mark upon her shoulder. She lifted her hand, catching his. “Not really … I liked it.”
Something sparked in his eyes, a hungry look that made her breathing quicken and her belly turn molten.
She hadn’t lied. Being taken by him, marked by him, had unleashed something primal inside her. He’d made her his, and she couldn’t wait for him to do so again.
But as their stare drew out, his expression changed. Tenderness replaced hunger, and something akin to … pain … flickered across his face. “Lara,” he murmured. “I—”
“My Queen!” An urgent voice intruded, slightly muffled by the thick hide of the pavilion.
Lara stiffened, her gaze snapping to the tent flap.
“What is it?” Alar asked, his tone sharpening.
“Apologies … but this can’t wait.” She recognized the voice, as well as the edge of belligerence, as it addressed her husband; it was Roth.
Rising from the furs, Lara reached for her shift. “What’s wrong, Captain?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
38: FALSE HOPE
MIST WREATHED THROUGH the camp as Lara and Alar stepped out of their pavilion.
Immediately, her gaze went to where a small group of warriors and druids had gathered before her tent. Bree and Cailean were among them, their faces strained in the murky light.
“What’s wrong?” Lara asked, even as dread curled up. The heady pleasure and intimacy she’d enjoyed overnight with Alar sloughed away now, and she stepped back into her role as High Queen.
“This,” Roth said gruffly. He stepped aside then, revealing a large coarsely-woven sack, stained with dark patches. “Someone left it near the northern perimeter.”
Lara’s pulse quickened as she moved from Alar’s side and approached it.
The sweet stench of decay hit her then, and she clenched her jaw. The sack was open, and when she peered inside, she halted abruptly, her hands clenching at her sides.
She then whispered an oath.
The sack was full of severed heads, and the two at the top stared out at her with blank yet accusing eyes and gaping mouths.
Ilene and Dean.
They were the two counsellors they’d sent north to treat with the Circines.
Lara swallowed hard.
Over the past turn of the moon, as time stretched out, and no word came from The Goatfells, they’d all worried about the fate of the counselors, and the enforcers and warriors who’d escorted them. But now they knew what had happened to them. Beathan mac Glen, Chieftain of the Circines, had finally given her his answer: there would be no peace between the hill-tribes and Albia’s High Queen.
Lara glanced over at where Annis stood, a thick woolen cloak wrapped around her robed form. Her round face, covered in pink scabs from her recent burns, was set, yet her eyes guttered.
“At least we know where we stand with the Circines,” Cailean spoke up then, breaking the weighty silence. “There’s no point in having false hope.”
