Page 35 of Tribute to the Alien Warlord

"It's not that cold and you have a thick pelt for the love of the gods," I muttered, stroking his soft fur. He purred in response, and as my eyelids closed I admitted that the sensation was kind of soothing.

IwokesnuggledagainstBrogan with Furbo between us. The grover purred in his sleep, and I kissed his little nose before I carefully disentangled myself from him and Brogan.

The need to go to the bathroom won out against the chill in the air, and I turned the fireplace up a little on my way.

When I returned, I was refreshed enough to stay up. Not wanting to disturb the magnificent man and the little furry creature in their slumber, I threw one of the wide pelts over my shoulders and made my way to the fire to make me a tea. As always a carafe with hot water stood right next to it. When the tea was done, I took the cup to one of the uncovered windows to stare outside.

I had no idea what time it was since time didn't seem to exist during the cold season. It was either pitch-black outside or everything was enveloped in twilight, like now. I enjoyed the twilight though, because it dipped the mountains in a deep red hue and made the Dark Sea glitter in places.

On some days, I could make out the large bodies of wharosses—whale like creatures—who liked to come closer to the shore during the cold season.

I had heard stories about them when I still lived at Dreaming Summit but seeing one for the first time didn't even come close to those stories. The word massive didn't do them justice. Each one was easily the size of Brogan's stronghold and then some.

Despite their size, Brogan had assured me the creatures were peaceful and had never attacked a boat or man swimming in the Dead Sea.

Scanning the horizon, I was looking for them hoping to catch them playfully swimming as if racing one another.

Something glinted off the water, and I held my breath, waiting for the first whaross to break through the surface. Nothing happened though. Instead, I noticed more moving glinting objects and realized they were lights. Lights that were floating above the surface.

My throat tightened, and I let out a strangled cry that alarmed Brogan, who was instantly at my side. "Ahlana, what is it?"

Teacup in hand, I pointed at the Dead Sea. "Are those… lights?”

He squinted his eyes, and a curse escaped him. "Guards!" he bellowed so loudly, Furbo startled off the bed with a hiss.

"Warlord?" The two guards were instantly inside our bedroom, swords drawn, ready to face whatever had alarmed their warlord.

And then Brogan spat out the one word I was afraid of from the moment I realized that what I saw were lights. "Vandalls! Alarm the stronghold, get the warriors ready, and get the city evacuated," Brogan instructed in a clipped tone.

The guards visibly paled. Thyres never lost their copper coloring, not even during the cold season, but right now, both guards' skin appeared more orange than the deeper color I was used to.

Like the wharosses, I had never seen a Vandall before, but the stories spread around campfires had been enough to make me shudder in fear.

"Brogan." My voice shook as I took hold of his arm.

"Fear not, Alahna, they won't be able to storm Grymburg." Brogan gave me a hard kiss on my forehead. "I need to go."

He freed himself from my grip to pull on his pants while the guards hastened outside to deliver his orders. I stood frozen by the window, staring at the lights, which seemed to be getting closer much faster than I liked.

Brogan slung his long sword around his slim hips, and I swallowed at the idea that he would have to use it today. Against Vandalls. That he might get hurt.

With a cry, I rushed into his arms and slung mine around him to hold him tight. "Be careful."

"Always my czira. Do not fear." He hugged me and gave me another hard kiss, this one on the lips, before he stormed out of our bedroom, and down the stairs.

Dismayed, I wanted to call after him, but stopped. I told myself he had other worries to take care of besides his frightened mate.

Even in my current state, the word mate managed to call up a warm rush inside me that was enough to bring me to my senses.

I was Brogan's mate. I was now the Mistress of Grymburg. I wasn't a simple tribute any longer. I had responsibilities, and I had to show the people of Grymburg that Brogan had chosen wisely, and that I could fill the role he had elevated me to.

I recalled him ordering the guards to evacuate the city of Grymburg, which would mean Grymburg's thousands of denizens would swarm our stronghold soon. People who would need to be housed and fed. Which needed to be organized.

Even though Grian, our steward, had made no secret of his dislike for me, he would need help, just like our cook Fiona. Even Ohlav would need help deciding which of the livestock to cull to feed the increase in mouths.

All these thoughts rushed through me as I grabbed for my warmest dress with sleeves and a neckline made of brazen fur. I lifted the hem to pull up woolen stockings and laced my boots before another thought hit me.

Furbo!

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