Page 46 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“And if we don’t have any children?” he asked after a pause.
“Then my council will name an heir.” She held the rolled parchment aloft. “It’s all written here.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. He didn’t like that either. “You’ve thought this through, Lara,” he said finally, a warning creeping into his voice now.
“I have.” Unfurling the parchment, she placed it in front of him. Her pulse quickened as she did so. For the first time, she felt truly in control of their interactions. She then unstoppered the pot of ink and placed the quill next to it. “Go ahead … take a look. Then, we can both sign at the bottom. Of course, you aren’t just agreeing personally … but on behalf of the wulvers.”
Moments passed before Alar’s jaw tightened. “I can’t read.”
Lara stiffened. She should have realized. The man had lived wild for most of his life. Only the druids and Albia’s high-born learned their letters and numbers. She’d humiliated him.
“Very well,” she answered, picking up the document. “I shall read the agreement out to you … and you shall sign it with a cross.”
17: YOU NEED NEVER BE ALONE
THE SWEEPER BUFFETED them when they stepped up onto the walls. Drawing her cloak tightly about her, Lara led the way past guttering braziers to the terrace that looked southwest. Bree and two of the Fort Guard followed at a discreet distance. “You get the best views from here,” she said as she drew to a halt.
Deliberately not looking Alar’s way, she looked down at where the home fires of Duncrag burned, illuminating the fort. The waxing moon was rising: a pale-silver half-circle in a jet sky.
The atmosphere had been strained between them since the signing of the agreement. Alar’s mood had turned sullen, and she’d been dreading going up on the walls with him.
A brittle silence settled, and eventually, Lara cleared her throat. “Have you been to Duncrag before?”
“Aye, many times.” His voice was aloof.
“My father always said there’s no fort as beautiful as Duncrag … especially at night.”
“I’ve always preferred Dulross, actually.”
Relieved that he was at least engaging with her, Lara nodded. She could see why he liked Dulross. The ‘Brooch of Albia’ had a picturesque setting, surrounded by rolling meadows to the south, and dark pinewood to the north. It sat under the majestic shadow of The Goatfell Mountains. Dulross was a little smaller than Duncrag yet had a grace that the capital lacked.
She reflected then that Alar must have traveled far and wide over his seven decades, yet she’d seen little of Albia—aside from Doure and Dulross, she’d visited Braewall a few times and Cannich twice. Nowhere else. Before taking the throne, she’d led a sheltered life, and after her father’s death, she’d been catapulted into a world she wasn’t prepared for.
Another hush fell. Alar made no move to break it. He’d been the one to suggest coming up here, but he was still brooding now.
Eventually, she huffed a frustrated sigh. If he wasn’t going to make an effort, she’d dispense with pleasantries. “I hear you are a wanted man in Baldeen.”
He snorted. “Who told you that?”
“King Artair.”
“I’ve had no dealings with him.”
Lara studied his profile. The nearby brazier gilded the sharp lines of his features. “Well, he certainly knows who you are.”
His gaze flicked to her. “He didn’t take the news of our impending handfasting well then?”
“No.”
“And the King of Braewall?”
“He isn’t happy either.” She pulled a face then, glancing away. “Unfortunately, Niall offered for me a couple of years ago. His pride was bruised … but he accepted my decision to remain unwed in the end. As such, he’s taken our impending handfasting as a slight.”
“Ah, so I have a rival?” She shifted her attention back to Alar, to find him watching her. His coldness had gone, although she preferred it to the smug expression he now wore.
Eyeballing him, she folded her arms across her chest. “So, are you going to tell mewhythere’s a price on your head?”
“Is it important?”
