Page 26 of Wolf Duke

For the next hour or so, the humans were almost amiable as they ate their fill of roasted beef and mutton, a pottage of carrots, turnips, and leeks thickened with barley, and the bread and cheese. The countess even declared she simply must have the honey cake recipe to give to her own cook.

Then the earl dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin, and sat back in his chair. “Excellent meal, Blackstone, just what is required on a cold winter’s night. Even the wine was a surprisingly good vintage. However, now we must discuss business. Normally, I would ask the ladies to retire to the solar, but I don’t think their minds too simple for this.”

Alaric raised a brow. “I don’t think their minds too simple for anything, my lord, but pray continue.”

Lord Oxford smiled thinly. “Ah, you prefer plain speaking. I much prefer that myself. Very well, so we have no misunderstanding, there is an issue with your betrothal.”

Considering how long Alaric had been a judge and emissary, then King of the Western Lands, it was rather startling that a few words from a human could make him forget all his calm, considered dealings. He’d been wrong to stay Evaine’s claws; Lord Oxford’s head would look much better displayed on a spike.

“An issue?” he said slowly, lest he snarl the reply. “How so, my lord? Who could possibly take issue with my betrothal?”

Lady Oxford coughed delicately, but her eyes glinted with malice. “Why, His Grace the King.”

Siân tilted her head, her gaze chilly. “People in this realm are betrothed every day. Why should my son’s ma…er, his choice of bride trouble King Henry?”

“I thought you would understand,” said Lord Oxford sourly, “but it seems both I, and your son, overestimated your intellect. Blackstone is a duke, his marriage is a matter of state. All betrothals must be approved by King Henry to further his vision for a secure and prosperous realm. Appropriate matches, such as a union between de Vere and Neville. We were shocked, so soon after Blackstone received his honor, that he could so blatantly insult his new king.”

Alaric took Evaine’s hand, not to halt any action, but to gather his own composure. How many times had he already cursed Henry for this dukedom foolishness? A “gift” he neither wanted nor needed, a “gift” he’d already paid for, yet now came another demand? A human in London thinking he could decide who Alaric Dafydd Beaumont, King of the Western Lands’s mate would be?

No. Not in a thousand years.

“Lady Evaine is my betrothed,” said Alaric, his voice steely. “And next week, she will be my wife.”

“Next week?” bellowed the earl. “God’s blood, no. If you cease and desist this at once, write letters to the king begging his forgiveness with appropriate compensation, I am certain he would accept it. No one need know of your misstep; His Grace might even offer a far more appropriate match. But a duke cannot wed someone with a tavern wench in the family, even if the rest are unexceptional. You’ll start a war!”

“Just so I understand,” said Evaine crisply, her fingernails tapping on the table, “is wedding the wrong person similar in misstep to being attainted for treason? For that hasn’t held you back.”

Lord Oxford’s eyes bulged and his countess gasped.

“Bold girl!” said Lady Oxford furiously. “I can guess why a swift wedding is required, all that wicked peasant blood had you lifting your gown, and now there’s a babe, yes? You’re as foul as Magdalena. But unlike her, you’ll not trap a husband of means and position. Noblemen marry at the pleasure of the king.”

Alaric wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but in the blink of an eye the entire table flew across the Great Hall, scattering food and drink, goblets and spoons and plates in all directions. And he stood, one human’s neck gripped in each fist, as they dangled helplessly.

“You dare insult me and my mate in our own castle?” he roared, shaking them both like rag dolls, their little feet kicking, their cheeks bulging, the air alive with choking, gurgling sounds. “The ceremony is next week, as I command. And I care not what title you have or chains you hold, if you slander Evaine or Magdalena again, I’ll burn your hearts and return your heads to London in baskets! You’re not welcome on Beaumont lands. Nor are any other of Henry’s advisors. Do you understand, my lord?”

“Y-yes,” wheezed Lord Oxford, his face a delightful shade of purple.

Alaric dropped them both to the floor. “Leave. Tonight. If you are here in the morning, you’ll be hunted for sport.”

Stepping over their shaking, coughing, cringing forms, Alaric offered his arm to Evaine and his mother. They both looked surprised yet amused at his most uncharacteristic show of violence toward humans. In truth, he could scarcely believe it.

By the time the trio departed the hall, Alaric’s rage was cooling, but with that came a troubling realization: after telling everyone else to behave, he had just escalated the war. He’d not acted as a king or a diplomat…but a mate.

Would he live to regret the choice?

Chapter

Six

Evaine stretched and yawned, then cuddled closer to Alaric’s shirt-covered chest. This tiny, unfurnished room above the stables was bitterly cold, poorly lit with just one small torch, and more than a little dusty, but it was the only place in the entire castle that wasn’t overrun with guests or servants.

No doubt there were assorted courtiers and pack members gnawing their own paws trying to find Alaric so he could decide this final detail or that final adjustment for today’s mating ceremony and her official crowning as Queen of the Western Lands. But a stolen hour at dawn, alone with her mate, had been well worth it. Her whole body was wonderfully relaxed after the glorious release Alaric had brought her with his talented fingers. Now she was ready to face the day.

“Do you think they’ll find us soon?” Evaine murmured as she pressed kisses to his neck.

He chuckled and held her tighter. “Alas, I think at least a few of my servants know where we are, including my marshal. Willie has diverted at least ten wolves from entering the stables.”

She bit her lip. “Poor Willie. He has enough to think about, organizing our upcoming procession around the Western Lands. In some ways, I wish we could just run away together like the younger humans do.”