Page 36 of Wolf Duke

Willie’s lip curled. “Bardy and I will never forgive the human king for such an insult. Why could Henry not just say ‘I am battle-poor, leave your gold pile here’? No need to bring a worthless title into it. Poor King Alaric. Not like he could refuse.”

Evaine nodded. Indeed he could not. But it was troubling that her mate had navigated that tricky situation yet not the Oxfords’ comments about their mating ceremony. Did Alaric regret his actions? Was the lapse in judgment with the earl and countess the reason why he wished to keep some thoughts private from her?

In all honesty, he wouldn’t be terribly aggrieved if she couldn’t hear everything.

Unfortunately, the memory was burned in her brain alongside the perfection of their bonded mating. How could she tell Alaric she’d heard that thought with absolute clarity, not just the ones he wanted her to hear? Goddess, she hated pretending. Hated lying. But perhaps her mate simply required more time to know he could trust her. That she wasn’t too delicate or too foolish to know everything. So for now, Alaric would be given the grace to be a right royal arse as Siân had so humorously described it. In future, she might have to take one of those solid gold plates and lovingly knock some sense into his stubborn Welsh skull.

“Will the king and I be on horseback?” asked Evaine. “Or travel in a covered wagon?”

“Your choice, really,” said Willie. “There’ll be fresh horses at each stop; in some places the roads might be impassable for a heavy cart. It depends on the weather, how much rain or snow, if the landowner has a care for the roads nearby. But it will be very cold and damp. And in some places…er…well, you’re very precious, my queen. I heard those words from the king himself.”

Warmth surrounded her heart and lifted her spirits. All would be well. A crowned queen certainly couldn’t hide in a castle her entire life, nor would she want to. Not Evaine the Bold. “The king knows his lands far better than I do. I’ll look to him for guidance.”

About an hour later, as the sun began to rise, the procession departed Blackstone Castle, the gold-and-black flags of the Beaumont pack fluttering in the cool breeze. Siân would remain to oversee Blackstone along with Rowan, Oliver and Bardolf, while Evaine and Alaric had the services of Wesley, Blanche, Larkin the chamberlain and Willie to ensure the journey progressed smoothly. As they would be staying at castles and manor houses along the way, they didn’t need to bring a great deal of food, but one cart near-groaned with barrels of wine, gold plate, goblets, eating knives and spoons, and napkins if needed. They also had their own sheets and pillows, something Evaine was very grateful for. She’d become shamefully particular after sleeping on such fine linen.

Another cart carried chests with her clothing: shifts and petticoats, gowns and shoes, gloves and wool stockings, and cloaks. A separate locked chest held a selection of jewels: necklaces and bracelets and rings, and her new diamond-studded circlet crown that she would wear to each gathering. Alaric had his own clothing cart, and other carts carried gifts to be distributed to his subjects. There was also an eye-watering collection of weapons such as extra swords, daggers, bows and arrows, pikes, maces, and shields. All the carts were covered in heavy canvas to keep the weather out.

Evaine and Alaric, Wesley, Blanche, Larkin, and Willie had all chosen to ride horseback to Worcester, about a twenty-mile journey from Blackstone. However, there were also two well-appointed wooden wagons with a door and small windows covered by canvas that could be rolled up for fresh air. Inside there were cushioned bench seats, furs for warmth, flagons of mulled wine, and parcels of honey cakes and dried meats to ease hunger.

Goddess. No wonder Willie appeared a little fatigued—what he had organized in such a short time was quite frankly, a miracle.

“Are you ready, my queen?”

Alaric’s voice, low and amused next to her ear, startled her out of her thoughts. How could just his voice make her heart beat faster? Especially when she was both hurt and irritated by his opinion on sharing thoughts through their bond link.

“I…ah…yes, of course,” Evaine replied, a little flustered.

“You were studying the carts,” he continued, his eyes glinting. “I promise Willie has thought of everything and then some. And we have ample gold to purchase any item we do not have.”

“Good,” she said crisply, grasping her horse’s reins tighter. “Then let’s not tarry about in the cold. Onward.”

Alaric nodded then tilted his head back and howled, a raw, guttural sound that seemed to carry for miles. Now, everyone around would know, the King and Queen of the Western Lands were officially on progress.

Leto protect them.

St. Briavels Castle, Gloucestershire

It wasn’t Blackstone, but never had Alaric been so glad to see a castle.

While he’d enjoyed Worcester and Gloucester—both possessed cathedrals so majestic even wolves with no attachment to “God” or the “Holy Trinity” were compelled to stop and admire the craftsmanship—Gloucester had been especially difficult. Theda’s family had long since fled abroad, but he would forever associate the place with her. In truth, he’d been genuinely shocked when Larkin asked if he wished to lay flowers upon her tomb. The thought was abhorrent, but Alaric at least had the excuse of dozens of meetings and audiences, and Larkin did beg forgiveness for the blunder.

Perhaps Alaric was just irritable without his queen.

The past few days had been nothing but duty and travel. His palm ached from shaking hands, his throat felt raw from speaking, and he’d spent countless hours in damp, shadowy rooms signing documents, judging disputes, receiving dignitaries, and hearing fresh reports from border guards on mercenary sightings or attacks. Evaine hadn’t fared any easier; convening her first Western Council meeting, where she-wolves discussed battle training, trade, elder care, education, medical advances, upcoming state visits, and notable events since last time. By all accounts his mate had excelled, and he was very proud.

But now, after following the River Severn from Gloucester then cutting inland, they’d arrived at St. Briavels Castle and he could show her.

As their procession approached the huge double gatehouse fashioned of red sandstone and local limestone, Alaric’s spirits lifted. The Forest of Dean was truly beautiful: fresh air, plentiful game, and no large hordes of humans.

Wesley rode up, fresh and jaunty as only a wolfling could be. “My king, we have circled the area. It is completely secure. Shall I inform the queen?”

“Yes, do,” said Alaric, glancing back at the covered wagon sheltering his mate. Rain had settled in just after they’d departed Gloucester and Blanche had bundled Evaine into the wagon to protect her fine clothing. No doubt she was clawing at the wood to get out; no wolf would ever choose slow, bone-jolting wagon over horseback or run.

As the castle drawbridge was already lowered, the procession passed over the deep moat and entered the outer courtyard. Soon after, the Warden of the Forest of Dean and Constable of the Castle, Robert Poyntz, stepped out with his mate Margaret, and several of their cubs. All beamed and waved enthusiastically in greeting.

Alaric dismounted from his horse, grimacing at the cling of his wet, mud-splattered clothing, and his stiff muscles. Then he turned and helped an equally unhappy Evaine out of the wagon. A hot bath and time to really talk would cure these ills. After linking arms, they approached the Poyntz pack, who immediately dropped to one knee.

“My king,” said Robert. “You honor us with this visit.”