Page 48 of Wolf Duke

“I think if there was a way you could make it clear I was far, far away from danger yet very, very brave and skilled?” asked the squire hopefully.

He laughed. “I’ll think of something. As long as you never tell the queen I was defeated by a flag. She is already vexed with me today.”

“All I remember is your excellent riding, my king. At least Queen Evaine is safe.”

“Yes,” said Alaric. “And no doubt eager to hear all the details. I’ll regale her as soon as we return.”

In the past few hours, Evaine and Blanche had nearly worn a path in the tower floor with their incessant pacing.

Evaine stared out the window overlooking the courtyard, her arms folded lest she hurl something breakable. “They should be back by now.”

Pausing in her scrubbing of the table—probably the cleanest it had been in several centuries—Blanche attempted a smile. “At least an hour there and an hour back, my queen. Slower if the guards grew weary of my Wesley’s chatter and tied him to a tree.”

“Do you think they found Larkin? Would they fight him?” The questions burst from Evaine like a flurry of Wesley’s arrows.

“Perhaps, if Larkin did go to Huntington. It’s barely a village, more a scattering of cottages, and apart from the woodlands, there is nowhere else to hide. But the king would easily defeat him; Larkin is an indoor wolf, enamored of creature comforts. He won’t even lift a paw to find his fated mate, says she is dead.”

Evaine frowned. “Dead? But that is terrible!”

“Oh no, my queen, do not pity him. Larkin’s great love story was entirely in his head. Lady Theda used him to get close to King Alaric, then afterward to serve her interests.”

“Wait,” said Evaine, her gaze narrowing. “The Theda?”

Blanche sighed. “To hear Larkin tell the tale, he was a chivalrous knight defeated by a taller, richer dragon at Gloucester. He won’t hear a word against Lady Theda, especially not the truth: she was a scheming viper wanting only a queen’s crown. Her death is all he speaks of, and despite his lofty position as king’s chamberlain, no female will entertain his nonsense now. Well, that, and…er…”

“And what?”

The elder wolf flushed. “Beg pardon, but how poor a lover he is, my queen. Females call him Larkin Cwningen—that’s ‘rabbit’ in Welsh—because he humps away and finishes in two tail twitches.”

Evaine bit her lip, but a giggle burst forth, and soon both of them near-cried with uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my,” she wheezed, trying to regain composure. “How unfortunate.”

“It is,” said Blanche, dabbing her eyes. “Both for those robbed of pleasure and everyone else in the castle, for Larkin mopes about like a lovelorn swain. But he knows nothing of real love. It’s not worshiping from afar, but standing together and accepting all the sunshine and storms that are sent. Seeing the beauty in moments: in a smile, in a service, in being truly seen and heard. Oliver makes me howl in bed. But best of all, he tolerates my foibles just as I tolerate his. We’ve navigated this journey together, indeed, for forty years I’ve been loved as a she-wolf should be. Fiercely. Passionately. Loyally. And alongside our cubs, that is the greatest blessing.”

Evaine smiled wistfully. Alaric certainly ensured indescribable pleasure. He treated her as his equal, wasn’t threatened by her talents, and called her precious. But did he love her? With fated mates, the knowledge that you were supposed to be joined was enough for many wolves. However, Mother and Father had told each other ‘I love you’ every day, and she’d always wanted the same. Bah. Perhaps she was just being ungrateful. The Western Lands needed a strong, sure queen, not a delicate daisy. “Oliver is fortunate, having such a wise and capable mate. Speaking of mates, should we send out a search party for the king? Ride out ourselves?”

Just as Blanche was about to reply, a male guard rapped on the door. “My queen—”

“King Alaric and Wesley are back? Oh, thank Leto for that. What news? Did they capture Larkin? Is he dead? What happened?”

The guard grimaced. “They’ve not yet returned, my queen. But a sealed note arrived. The messenger said it must be placed directly into your hand, no other.”

Her heart pounding, Evaine reached for the neatly folded square of parchment that was secured with red wax. Unlike most important missives, there was no crested ring or stamp in the wax to identify the sender.

She swallowed hard. “Is the messenger waiting for a reply?”

“Yes, my queen,” said the guard.

Blanche crossed the room to stand supportively beside Evaine as she dislodged the wax with her fingernail and carefully unfolded the parchment. The note was unsigned.

Queen Evaine

The king, Wesley, and the guards found Larkin and Silas the soothsayer at a cottage in Huntington. Larkin and several mercenaries are thankfully dead, but Silas cast a spell over the king, rendering him unconscious. Wesley tried to help but was injured. The guards managed to carry them both to the safety of a stable, but mercenaries are closing in. Please come. Your touch is the only cure for our king. Wear a disguise and travel by cart, but no warriors or guards. They are watching and will know.

For the West!

Horror clawed her heart, and Evaine gasped. Was this real? A trick? Her mate had said to stay here, but the note contained so much detail. What was she to do?

“My queen?” said Blanche, taking her arm.