Page 28 of The Wolf Queen

“So each one of you sees himself as my granddaughter’s husband?”

“By Strelan law—” Dane started to say, but Gael cut him off.

“Yes.” My mate stared at my grandfather and then nodded to the bite on my neck. “She’s marked, that’s plain to see, as ours and ours alone.”

“I see.” My grandfather turned to me with a look full of emotion: compassion and sadness at the forefront. I frowned in response, wondering where the hell that concern had been when I’d been living under my father’s roof. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he continued, “but a bite mark seems somewhat barbaric—”

“More barbaric than the ‘ladder to heaven’ my father left on my back?” I asked, setting down my cutlery. That’s what men of the church called the scars left on a woman’s back from beating her. “And Linnea, too.” I stared across the table at Gael, his gaze meeting mine, feeling an echo of the night we’d claimed each other. “I can assure you the process was considerably less painful and infinitely more meaningful to me.” I forced my eyes away, aware that I was revealing something terribly private in front of two men who were basically strangers to me. “I have no regrets whatsoever. It’s why this whole trip to the capital is a farce.”

I turned to Rake then, ready to harangue him further, as the crown prince’s proxy, but when I saw his expression, I paused. Those strange golden eyes were burning even brighter, with an intensity that seemed to rival the sun. It took me some moments to realise what his gaze contained, then it came to me suddenly.

Longing.

He looked at me like a starving man might gaze through a tavern window, staring at those eating within, long past the point of politeness. My mates started to growl, like dogs at the threshold of their territory, determined to protect it. But from what? Rake didn’t move closer, or approach me, or do anything other than stare—until the sounds of those growls had him forcing his eyes down.

“The crown prince has ordered it,” he replied, belatedly. “I don’t get to discuss the wisdom of such things, just ensure they are done.”

“But how did you know?” My grandfather’s question was intrusive for even the most prejudiced of Granians. I turned back to face him, saw a similarly hungry expression, but with him it was for information. He didn’t givemea chance to answer, instead turning to Dane. “You took a gently-reared noblewoman—”

“Gently?” It appeared that, once I’d crossed the border, I’d lost what few social graces I’d ever had. “There was nothing gentle about my father or Linnea.”

“I know that.” I stared at my grandfather, realising that the flush rising up his neck and over his cheeks was one of shame. “I tried to intervene, to have you sent to me, once your mother died. Your father had little use for a daughter. I asked that his stable master bring you to me.”

“Nordred?” I asked, that information making my whole body alert. “You asked for Nordred?”

“He said he would bring you to me, if your father agreed. It’s why I came to the keep that day, to try and negotiate at least a schedule of visits,” my grandfather continued.

“Why Nordred?” I asked, sensing that there was something there. The man had been playing a very long game, looking for the next Queen Eleanor… no, the next true queen of Strelae in Eleanor’s descendants.

“You trusted him, seemed to see him as the father figure you needed, rather than that wretch you had.”

I blinked, still shocked when someone criticised my father, but doubly so when it was a fellow Granian. No one had ever spoken ill of Father in the world I had inhabited, so I was both shocked and strangely gratified about this turn of events.

But then the anger surged up.

“You knew?” The wolf was with me, pushing forward now, standing forth and sniffing the wind to determine what this man was about. “You knew what he did to me?”

“Darcy—”

Men always said my name like this when they knew they’d done the wrong thing and didn’t want to face the consequences. Be reasonable, the duke’s tone said. But where had that ever gotten me? Nowhere. My grandfather’s eyes flicked to Rake, as though somehow the finer feelings of the damn messenger needed to be taken into account here.

But what about mine?

Now, then, at any time: when had my feelings on a matter made any difference? When I shoved myself to my feet, my mates moved with me, Weyland’s hand taking mine.

“I’ll get you out of here, lass, you know that. Away from this estate, from this town, from the whole damn country.” He smiled slightly when he caught my attention, holding my gaze with his. “We can still make that run to the port.”

I smiled then, despite myself, my grin growing wider even as tears filled my eyes. The pain of the past is always so hard to leave behind because it digs its claws so deeply, it feels like no pleasure will ever penetrate its pall. Thank the gods that time shows that it can. That’s what each one of my mates had gifted me, getting me across the border.

Only to be forced to come back here and revisit all this pain.

“I think we’ll—” I started to say.

“Don’t.” He didn’t order that as Lord Freeling, but pleaded as my grandfather. “Please don’t leave, Darcy. There’s so much I need to tell you and…” Rake cleared his throat. I wondered, was it because he was uncomfortable with this unseemly display?

Or reminding my grandfather of something else?

“I have some business to conclude with Rake but, please stay.” He reached for a small bell near his wine glass. “I’ll have the maids make up your mother’s suite for you. You must want your mates to stay with you, and I’ll make sure that’s catered for. I need…” Rake shifted restlessly in his chair. “Please, go to your mother’s rooms and I’ll have a bath drawn and some food sent up. Rest now, and we can talk more about this issue in the morning.”

---