Page 116 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

Chapter 46

“Where are we going?” I said as we walked along a street, the houses bigger here, and the walls around them higher. Weyland stopped in front of a gate in the wall, produced a large key and slotted it into the ornate lock before swinging it open. “Are we even allowed to be here?’

“I should think so,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I hold the deed for the place.”

“You have your own estate?” I asked as we stepped inside, confronted immediately with the shadowy shapes of a beautiful garden. Small lanterns had been lit and left to flicker, illuminating teeming flowerbeds and gently swaying willow trees.

“We each have places we call our own,” he said. “Some were inherited. Others we purchased ourselves. We are a pack, but even brothers must spend some time apart or we’ll kill each other. We also had to be prepared for a reality none of us wanted to accept.”

He led me deeper into the property, up to the front door of a looming house.

“That we wouldn’t find our mate. That we would be forced to each take a wife and try to find love that way.”

“Your Highness?”

A man came walking towards us, holding out a large lamp, directing the light at us.

“Ah, Gerald,” Weyland replied. “I apologise for the unplanned visit. This is Darcy, my mate.”

“Oh, it's such a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” the man said, sketching a quick bow.

“Just Darcy,” I said, with a nervous smile.

“Oh, I couldn’t, milady. Your Highness, she’s a beautiful one. Your true mate?”

“Mine and my brothers both,” Weyland replied with a smile. “I plan to be here for a while and cook my mate a meal. If that doesn’t have her running for the door, I know I’ll have a partner for life.”

“A meal?” Gerald looked a little alarmed at that. “Did you send word, Your Highness? Because we didn’t receive anything. There are some basic staples but—”

“Eggs from the chickens and some fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden. Perhaps some cheese?” My stomach rumbled at the list of those ingredients, as I’d been neglecting my belly lately.

“Well, yes, you should have all of those things and the missus can rustle up some more ingredients if you’d like. She’s a-bed right now, but she’d welcome rising to help you cook a meal for your mate.”

“I think even I can make a vegetable omelette, Gerald,” Weyland replied with a grin. “Go, rest. I promise not to leave too much of a mess. And kiss your wife for me and tell her she’s not to come into the main house. Prince’s orders.”

“Well, good night then, Your Highnesses.”

“Gerald and his wife, Lola, they look after the house for me,” Weyland explained, before opening the front door. “I don’t come here that often, so it tends to send them into a flap.”

He grabbed a lamp that was sitting by the door, lighting it with a flint before carrying it deeper into the house. I didn’t see much, just glimpses of thick, patterned carpets, of wallpaper and gilt frames, but he didn’t pause for any of it, walking further and further until we found the kitchen. He lit a few more lamps, filling the room with a rosy glow before going and starting a fire. I watched the golden-haired man move around the room with the kind of confidence I’d never expected to see in this setting. In a fighting arena, yes, but in a kitchen? He already had taken out a ceramic bowl and a whisk, and had set up a chopping board and an impressive knife before he grabbed a basket and walked out the back door. I scurried after him, not wanting to miss any of this different side to him.

“Why do I feel like you’re taking undue pleasure in this?” he asked, setting the basket down on the ground, between the rows of vegetables. He bent down and plucked a few tomatoes off the vine, pulled some spring onions, a firm red capsicum and a handful of baby spinach leaves before straightening up.

“I am. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because the great Weyland always seems so assured. You strode into my father’s hall, then your king’s throne room, like you had a right to be there. You seem to fit in anywhere you like without too much trouble.”

He slung the basket over his arm as he snorted in response to my words, holding the lamp in his hand. The other hand came up and touched my chin.

“Is that how I seem, lass? All confident and right where I’m supposed to be? If it helps my prospects at all, it's not how I feel. I wanted to tear your father’s fucking head off at the neck when I saw you sitting on that damned pillow by his feet, like some kind of bloody lap dog. I wanted to run after you when you were in distress. I harangue Dane every day about challenging Father and the uncles, because damn me…” He paused and trailed his fingers along the side of my face. “I’ve always been accused of impatience and irritability. That if something doesn’t come easily to me, I give up on it altogether, but seeing Wildeford…”

“Don’t,” I whispered, frowning now, reaching up and taking a hold of his wrist, as if that was enough to stop him.

“I won’t. We both need to escape the thoughts of that place for tonight, at least. Look, I’m not comfortable anywhere, love. I don’t want to be king, but I can’t bear the bastard who is. I don’t want to rule over a court that will remain a pack of venal bastards, no matter who’s in charge. In my mind I see the two of us, roaming around Strelae and beyond, swords in hand. We could do so much good that way.”

And just like that, he had my attention.

What would it be like, to leave behind everything and just be? Go from place to place without a care in the world. If we met danger, we would face it together. If we found peace, we would stay in the one place for a while, just until the boredom set in. And when we met with power-hungry bastards throwing their weight around – because there were plenty of them either side of the border – what would we do? Well, we’d sort them out and then move on.

“You can see it,” he said, his eyes shining in the lamplight. “You know what it would be like.”

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