Page 107 of Hunt Me

“I did.”

Matilda finally looked at him when he made no attempt to soften the truth.

“But I love you. And I am sorry that you are hurting. I greatly mistrusted your friendship, but your pain is my pain. We shall lay her to rest in the royal mausoleum if you so wish.”

Matilda’s breath hitched in her chest. She stared at her betrothed through bleary eyes and wondered if she’d heard him correctly.

“Are… are you certain?”

“Aye.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Your gift is generous, and I shall never forget it.”

Luka cupped her face and said, “I’d give you my heart on a platter if you’d so wish.”

Matilda laughed through her tears. “What would I do with that crusty black thing? Hm? What good would it do me?”

The corner of his lips tilted into a minuscule smile. “I fear not much.” His hand slipped down to her belly, and relief flooded him when he felt a gentle nudge.

Matilda lifted her wounded hand and examined how the fibrous muscles and tissues worked efficiently to heal.

“Had I been a second too late,” she said, trailing off as she lost herself in the thought of losing her child.

“You fought valiantly, huntress.”

She sighed wistfully and knelt beside Belzara again. “I’m growing weary of fighting. Garden Ridge calls me more and more.”

“I shall not hear of it.”

“My King,” Ezra mumbled, closing in on them with a blood-soaked hand pressed against his abdomen. “You’ve returned.”

“Excuse us, my Queen. I shall only be a moment,” Luka said to his grieving mate, motioning for Ezra to follow him out of the Great Hall, where they were met with more bloodied corpses of the guards he left behind to protect the castle.

“Have they all been neutralized?” he questioned. His voice sounded thick and murky like the morning fog that covered the swamps.

“Aye. It was—”

“Vivian,” Luka finished. “She was General Casimir’s beloved. We must purge, Ezra.”

“How do you mean? Tell me what you desire, and I’ll avenge you.”

“I desire for the nobles to cease to exist,” Luka answered.

“All of the nobles?” Ezra asked, unsure if his king’s desire for retribution outweighed his common sense.

“All of them,” Luka hissed.

“I refuse.”

Luka blinked several times before concentrating on the man he considered a dear friend.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I refuse to decimate the nobles. Have you forgotten in your rage and sorrow and desperation for revenge my surname?”

Luka closed his eyes and sighed. “House Gustafson.”

“That is correct. Will I tear down the walls of House Bryne for you and my queen? Without hesitation; nevertheless, I refuse to slaughter the innocent. You have forgotten that there are noble houses that are staunch loyalists: House Gustafson, House Mirren, and House Brennan, to name a few.”