Page 37 of Wolf Duke

“Our pleasure to be here,” said Alaric. “And it is my honor to present Queen Evaine.”

Robert smiled. “My queen. You are thrice a miracle, to be found, restored to position, and now ruling us on the Western throne. Leto has blessed us all. Here is my beloved mate, Margaret.”

After exchanging informal forehead presses and giving gifts to the excited cubs, Robert gestured for them to enter the gatehouse. “My king, we’ve prepared your usual rooms on the upper floor. Would you both prefer to rest and refresh before supper? Or stroll about the keep, perhaps? We’ll rise early tomorrow to hunt; I’m sure the weather will be much improved.”

Alaric nodded, eager to be alone with Evaine. Their recent time apart only reminded him of the frantic week before the ceremonies, and he was frustrated beyond belief. “Rest and refreshment sounds ideal. Lead on, Rob…beg pardon, Sir Robert?”

The warden chuckled as they walked up the narrow spiral staircase. “Ugh yes, the human king awarded me a knighthood. Could be worse, though, Henry could have made me a duke at Bosworth Field! Unfortunately my wolf strength and skill set me apart; I wasn’t even trying. But Henry promises peace, and Leto knows this realm needs it. Damned Yorks and Lancasters and their quarrels…ah, here we go. I hope it meets your approval, my queen.”

Evaine entered the spacious, airy chamber and after inspecting the sturdy four-poster bed and the magnificent forest view, went straight to the fireplace. Closing her eyes, she sighed happily at the blazing warmth. “Lovely.”

Alaric smiled at the sight. “Thank you, Robert. We’ll see you both for supper.”

The warden bowed. “My servants will bring up whatever you need from the wagons. Enjoy.”

As soon as Robert departed, Alaric gathered Evaine in his arms and kissed her soundly. She melted against him, twining her arms about his neck.

Eventually she drew back, her eyes sparkling. “I needed that so much, I’ll even accept the odor of wet fabric. You desperately require a bath, my king.”

He removed his cloak, his cock already hardening. “Our hosts have kindly provided soap, sponge and hot water. Be thorough, my queen.”

Evaine moaned softly. “I’m going to suck—”

At a sudden frantic knock, they both glared at the door.

“Yes?” barked Alaric.

“Forgive me, my king,” came Robert’s muffled voice. “I must speak with you urgently.”

Evaine stepped back reluctantly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important.”

Alaric sighed and nodded. After adjusting his hose, he marched over and pulled open the door.

Robert looked grim. “Henry is here! I suppose it’s his right, he does own this castle…but we received no prior word and he has no procession. Just four mounted yeomen.”

Alaric snorted. “While you are excellent company, Robert, I don’t believe the human king is here to drink ale and relive past battle glories. I’ve been waiting for this. Let us meet in a private chamber.”

“Of course, my king,” said the warden, before hurrying away.

Sighing again, Alaric turned to his mate. “Henry is not trustworthy and you are too precious. I should meet him alone.”

Evaine hesitated, her brow furrowing. Then it smoothed, and she nodded. “As you wish. I’ll stay here by the fire. Will you take Wesley?”

“No. If Henry has come alone, I must do the same. But I’ll return as soon as I can,” he promised, kissing her hand before departing the room and marching down the stairs.

Gah. The only annoyance about St. Briavels: how long the passage into the keep proper was. Over forty feet! As a royal hunting lodge, the place actually had three deadly portcullis for safety, and Alaric always kept one uneasy eye on the wrought iron spikes as he passed underneath.

Bloody damned humans. Why had Henry come?

Soon, Robert ushered Alaric into a small antechamber off the Great Hall. Henry waited inside, his hands wrapped around a tankard of steaming mulled wine. Both Alaric and the warden inclined their heads in a pretense of deference, but when Robert made to leave, the human king pointed to a chair. “Stay, Sir Robert.”

The warden exchanged a glance with Alaric, then sat. “As Your Grace desires.”

More curious than ever, Alaric pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sank onto it. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Blackstone,” said Henry, as he sipped his mulled wine. “God’s blood, that is good. Infernal rain never stops around here.”

Alaric and Robert exchanged another glance.