“Twenty-four lashes?”he thundered, his words echoing like the voice of a furious wight.
The king hadn’t budged an inch from where he lounged in his throne, watching with mild amusement, the torchlight dancing in his pale eyes. His guards, however, had drawn weapons as soon as the Wolf of Winter had burst in. Even though he was the king’s northern general, they refused to sheath their blades, for his eyes held the promise of death.
Smart men,Kit thought, with no small amount of disgust.
“Is there a problem, General?” the king drawled.
“Instead of dragging her in here, you could’ve asked me about the Temple of Ice, and I would’ve told you everything I know.”
The king looked like he was bored to tears. “And just what would you have told me?”
Kit’s fingernails dug into his palms, the pressure nearly drawing blood. “I went to the temple after I caught Avalon’s scent in the corridors,” he said. “But she and Hadrian were already gone by the time I got there.”
“Where did their scent lead?” the king demanded.
“Toward the Forest Realm.” He knew it was pointless to lie. If the King wanted to test his honesty, he could simply ask Zenaide to look for their trail, though no one was better than Kit at identifying and tracking scents. And in the northern winds, they faded quickly.
The king studied him. “Any idea what they were doing here, General?”
Kit kept his expression carefully composed. “None.”
The king studied him for another minute, and when it became apparent that he wouldn’t speak, Kit’s anger resurfaced. The air reeked of Nocturne’s blood.
“Twenty-four lashes,” Kit repeated, his voice razor-edged. “Your usual punishment for a minor offense is twelve.”
“Correct, General.” The king drummed his fingers on the frozen armrest. “But she received two punishments.”
It was a struggle for Kit to keep his tone under control. “And just what did she do?”
“She didn’t do anything to justify the extra twelve.” There was a heavy pause, and the atmosphere pulsed with tension. “But you did.”
Kit’s shoulders sank, and confusion swept over his features. “What—”
“Nocturne Wycherley was not the only person to go to the temple, General.” The king waited for him to put the pieces together, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “The girl asked to receive your punishment as well, to spare you the pain. Another twelve lashes.”
Kit’s eyes were like fire as he growled, “You would not have struck me once.” The king wasn’t foolish enough to strike the Wolf, not when he needed him to manage an army with instincts to trust only the alpha.
That wicked smile grew. “But she didn’t know that. Did she?”
Kit turned on his heel and headed for the doors. If he stayed in here another second, he would slaughter the king and his fourteen guards.
The Dark Lord’s tone was taunting as he called after him, “Go then, and have your whore. You always did have a heart for the weak.”
As the doors slammed shut behind him, all he could think about was how wrong he was. He didn’t have a heart for the weak.
He had a heart for the kind.
23
The general had been furious, to say the least. After he’d swung Nocturne over his shoulder, he’d carried her to her chambers, where he’d left her on the bed. Although she was flattered that Kit cared enough to challenge the king, she couldn’t bear the thought of him being punished.
However, not even an hour had passed before he returned, seemingly without a mark on him, though his face spoke of murder. The door snicked shut behind him, and he leaned back against it. Slowly, she sat up in bed.
When he’d left, she had cocooned herself in the furs and wept. For the general, for herself, and for the family she’d lost. Love was a daring and dangerous thing. And now that she’d somehow wound up caring enough about the general to cry for him, she was afraid she would lose him, just like she lost her family.
“You took my punishment,” the general said, his deep voice quiet.
Nocturne nodded.
