Page 27 of The Wolf Queen

We all wonderedat that as we rode over to my grandfather’s estate. Middlebury was his town and, while the king’s highway bisected the centre of it, the main road which formed a crossroads with it, led to his lands. We rode up and then through the tall gates, past beautiful gardens, though the flowers and bushes here weren’t brutally trimmed into the formal shapes favoured in the southern estates. No, someone had worked very hard to create perfect simulacra of beautiful fields of wildflowers in each flower bed. Despite all these distractions, it was the man riding at the head of our party who had our attention. Rake seemed to grow stiffer and taller the closer we got to the main house—a massive construction of embellished grey stone.

And the question rolled around my mind again: was Rake really a messenger?

A messenger, a porter, even a lowly merchant, would never, ever seek ingress to a nobleman’s manor-house via the front door. The serving classes entered through the side entrances only. But when Rake jumped down from his horse’s back and handed the reins to a stable boy who appeared from nowhere, he didn’t veer off towards the side entrance. He walked up the rough flagstone steps to approach the massive iron-bound oak doors, and once there, grabbed the brass knocker that had been cast in the shape of a wolf’s head, giving it a rap.

Wolves as a motif were a common thing in Grania. It was as if the moment my former countrymen became confident in their ability to hold the land, then they started to romanticise elements of the Strelans. All of the older buildings in Grania had been built in the style of the Farradorian empire, the motherland, but at some point local lords decided to adopt their own style. So there were wolves running along friezes, stone wolf sculptures set up as guardians beside doorways and knockers like these. But whatever thoughts I had about architecture, they were quickly shoved aside when the butler appeared. His eyes merely widened slightly as he caught sight of Rake, then us, before stepping aside to let us into the foyer.

“The duke asked to speak with me,” Rake told the butler. Not requested my services, nor summoned me here, as if the man was his equal.

“Of course,” the butler said, stepping aside. “I’ll take you to His Grace. He’s expecting you.”

“And you can let him know his granddaughter is here as well.” My voice felt like it echoed around the space, bouncing off hard marble and a high, vaulted ceiling. I stared at the butler and he nodded his head, deferentially.

Chapter18

“Of course, milady.”

The butler turned and quickly set off to deliver the messages.

“This is where your mother grew up?” Gael asked, eyeing the gilt frames of the oil paintings, then the chandelier above us. “It’s a far cry from the keep.”

But before I could answer, a familiar figure appeared.

Older, that was evident, as his hair was almost white now, rather than the salt and pepper of my childhood, but those eyes hadn’t changed. Brown flecked through with green—I remembered them for their warmth. Many years ago, my grandfather had knelt by my side when he found me practising and asked me about my training with far more patience and forbearance than most men, then asked to see me attack the dummy as Nordred had instructed.

“She grows well, Nordred,”my grandfather had told my father’s stable master when he reappeared.

“She does indeed, milord.”

For some reason remembering that small compliment made me feel a degree of vague affection towards a man I’d rarely seen, so when he stepped forward now to pull me into his embrace, I let him. But I found I couldn’t reciprocate straight away, and so my hands stayed raised either side of him.

I knew what I needed to do—hug my mother’s father, pretend that we shared a bond between us, in front of the small audience we had—but… I felt stiff, awkward. My father had eschewed all forms of physical affection with me, preferring to ignore me as much as he dared, then put me back in my place when he was forced to deal with me. Because of that, receiving physical affection from a father-figure felt strange, as though it would be twisted around and I’d be made to suffer for it. And the thought of responding in kind just seemed wrong. But, as the hug went on, I felt it: a strange kind of warmth.

Not the pulsing, wild thing that came from touching my mates, but a sensation not unlike sitting before a crackling fire on a winter’s night. It seemed to drive the cold from my bones, so that when my grandfather finally released me, I felt warmed through.

“This is indeed a surprise! When I left word for you—” my grandfather said, turning to Rake.

“I came as soon as I could, Your Grace,” Rake said, cutting across the words of a man most of Grania would’ve said was his better. “But I’ve been tasked to bring Lady Darcy to court.” He retrieved a scroll from the leather bag he kept strapped across his chest and then handed it to my grandfather. “The king is on his deathbed and a queen must be chosen.”

I watched the duke closely, wondering at his reaction to this news. Was this common knowledge? It seemed like it would not be information the crown would want the commoners chatting about over their evening meals. Sure enough, I saw a gleam in my grandfather’s eye.

“A queen…” His focus shifted straight back to me, which had me stepping backwards. That drew his attention to the men who moved up behind me—the men the Granian king had bade me to marry. Freeling frowned slightly, then a smile. “This is a red-letter day, receiving news from the capital and surprise guests. My apologies for not introducing myself.” My grandfather stepped closer, hand outstretched. “I’m Richard, Duke of Freeling.”

“Dane,” my mate said, not shaking his hand, but clasping my grandfather’s forearm, something no Granian lord did, though Freeling did the same to Dane with ease. “Prince of Strelae.”

“King,” I corrected and Dane smiled.

“King to your grand-daughter’s queen,” Dane amended, “as are my brothers.” He made the introductions and each man stepped forward to clasp forearms with my grandfather before stepping back.

“So it is true.” My grandfather stared openly, and while there was surprise and fascination in his gaze, I didn’t see the disgust I expected from a Granian. “The king sold you—”

“No matter what the king intended, Grandfather,” I said. “I am where I’m supposed to be.” I took Dane’s hand, then Axe’s. “These are my mates.”

The word mate evoked horror or ridicule in our local church or within the circle of my father’s friends, as being further evidence of the Strelans’ bestial nature. But my grandfather just looked intently at my men, then back at me, before nodding. A wry smile crossed his face.

“Gods, you’re like your mother. Come, come, night is falling and I am told my kitchen is capable of producing exemplary food. Sit and have a meal with your grandfather and tell me all about what you’ve been up to.”

Which washow we came to be seated around a massive table in the formal dining room. I smiled at the servers who brought in platters piled high with a range of dishes. As I sniffed appreciatively at the different aromas rolling off them, I thought how much better it was than charred grouse cooked on a makeshift spit at the side of the road. As the duke helped himself to the food, he turned to Dane.

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