Page 113 of Mortdale

“Already did it. Multiple times.”

Her smile was shy. “Something else.”

Lowering my brow to hers, I said, “I already did that, too.” Arguably, long before we did the first thing—multiple times.

“I miss you already,” she whispered.

“I’m right here, honey.”

The inside of my ear itched as it caught a sound in the distance. Horses rolling down the path to my estate, dragging a heavy carriage behind. A familiar heartbeat—no, two familiar heartbeats.

Fuck.

I kissed her lips. “Get dressed. We have guests.”

“Who?”

“The damn king.”

Something changed in her expression, and she swallowed hard as she peeled herself from me.

Forcing myself to back away from her, I grabbed a jacket off the hanger and stormed downstairs. Henry and Arthur were already there, aware and tense.

The royal red carriage finally came to a stop, and a pair of gilded stairs were pulled in front of the doors. The wood groaned and bowed with each heavy step Ulric took down; his mouth pulled in a smirk as his eyes lingering over the architecture. He’d never stepped so close to my family’s estate. Whatever courage he’d found to come here today, I would not like.

I had to force myself to be still when Luella was helped out by a guard, struggling to stand on her feet and missing her cane.

I was going to kill him. And it was going to be today.

“Take your hands off your guns,” I sighed, lighting a cigarette as I braced my shoulder against the doors next to Arthur and Henry. “If you’re going to try to kill your king, be a bit more creative.”

Ulric’s eyes immediately fell to my throat where my wife’s mark was probably still visible. “Son, what a sight for sore eyes you are.”

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

He hadn't liked my tone, nor my words of greeting, but he held his old tongue back. “About time I finally meet your wife, isn’t it? Meet the mother of my future nephews. I hear you two have been quite passionate lately. I have to meet this witch that even the famed Blood Reaper can’t resist. And thank her, of course. Without her, my bloodline might be doomed.”

Fucking Rupert.

Ulric looked around the foyer. “Where is she? Why is she not here to greet her king?” His smirk turned deranged. “Or did you already suck her dry?” He threw his head back as he laughed. “Wouldn’t put it past you considering the tales they tell about you in the Eastern Continent. Your reputation has never been easy on the ear, son.”

A reputation he’d forced on me. He’d groomed me to be feared, handing me to enemy after enemy without batting an eye and expecting me to claw my way out. I’d just wanted to survive; unfortunately, being feared had been what had helped me survive.

His head swirled in Henry’s direction when he drew back the hammer on the gun holstered against his thigh. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I blew a cloud of smoke in his face. “Another word about my wife and he will pull it out.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’ve finally caught on.” I flicked my cigarette at his feet. “You dragged Luella out of bed for this, you filthy piece of shit?”

His amusement turned into a sneer. “Be careful. She’s still my daughter. And there’s nothing you can do to protect her unless you stay true to the agreement we made together.” He stepped closer, his words were low and threatening, “You will respect me.”

Luella only lowered her head, and I hated the guilt in her eyes. I hated how she blamed herself for my misery when the true cause of both our miseries stood between us.

He faltered when I got even closer, crowding his space until he looked so small and afraid that I almost felt pity. “I have tolerated you for her sake. You know very well that if something happens to her, if you touch as much as a strand of hair in her head, you will beg me to kill you.” Grabbing his lapels, I said, “You can’t die yet, Ulric. I will watch you lose everything you have first.

“Show him to my smoke room,” I said to Henry and Arthur, hooking my arms under Luella’s shoulders and knees, lifting her up and walking to the drawing room across the foyer. Pain and exhaustion had marred her delicate face that was entirely leached of colour.