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Drat. It appeared he was the next order of business.
“The Wild Lion of Wales.” His Highness paused, meaningful and portentous. “Descendant of the House of Aberffraw, in the line of succession from Rhodri the Great.”
Yes, yes,Alwyn thought, alone in his head without a whisper from his lion.Let us not trot out my entire lineage.
“Walk with me.” It was an order, and one Alwyn was not convinced he could fulfill. The column was for support as well as camouflage: going about on his human legs remained a challenge.
In addition, being at the beck and call of the prince made his feline nature revolt—but only in spirit, in muscle memory, for his lion had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but silence.
Disappeared, to the concern of the prince and two of his dukes.
Why Alwyn had been called upon to witness Arthur’s hole-in-the-corner nuptials was beyond him. Georgie had obviously orchestrated the whole thing against the will of both participants. If Alwyn recalled correctly—and it was a miracle he could do so—Osborn’s mother had been killed by hunters, and his father, diminished in his grief over the loss of his mate, had fallen in battle to a rogue Shifter. Arthur had disappeared from society, refusing to take up the mantle of duke; Alwyn wished him the best of luck in his marriage to that little cannonball—what havoc she promised to wreak. She appeared as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but anyone could see the banked fire in her eyes. If he remembered Arthur correctly from their childhood days, the bear Shifter was quick to react to the smallest provocation in a melodramatic fashion. Blessed Palu only knew what Georgie held over each, to force them into an indissoluble union.
Not that he cared about their future life. He would never see them again. With any luck, his torment would end. He and his lion would be free.
The prince, as ever, stood on display, decked from head to toe in showy attire that was the height of sophistication, unlike Alwyn’s own madcap apparel. He fluffed the ostentatiously lacy cravat that hung limply around his neck; the plaid waistcoat beneath it clashed quite violently with his striped knee breeches.
“Alwyn.” The royal tone remained light, which never failed to lure the listener into a false sense of security. Alwyn slipped from behind one pillar to the next, which had the added concealment of a large fern. “How distraught we were when we learned what you had suffered.”
Right under your nose, wasn’t I?
“To be fair, we did think you had returned home to Anglesey to take your place and do your duty. There was a letter to that effect, if I remember correctly.”
Fate intervened.
“To think you were lost to us and could have been so forever.” The prince’s voice nearly broke from an abundance of sentiment. “I can tell you the stipend gifted to your family has increased in your absence. There is much we owe you in recompense, not least the years of your captivity. For it was likely my however-many-great-grandfather who brought your ancestors to England—”
Likely? Certainly.
“—and installed them in the Tower menagerie. Although I do not believe you are quite that ancient. One does wonder thatversipellesat the top of our hierarchy should find themselves captured so often, but you and your kind are the highest prize of hunters, human and Shifter alike. I have only to think of the decimation of your pride…” George fussed with his ceremonial sash. “You have my apologies.”
George apologized to no one. Alwyn allowed himself to be flushed out.
The contrast between them had ever been there: a bear Shifter, the Prince was large, crowned with a profusion of curls, the center of attention, immaculately dressed. Alwyn was equally blessed when it came to hair, but his mane was straight and thick; he was tall but not nearly as wide. Both aspects of his person were now taken to the extreme: his locks were long and tangled and rough, nowhere near the elegant tresses he sported in his youth, and he covered his diminished frame in tatterdemalion vesture to hide his lack of flesh.
“And what form will this apology take?” Even to his own ears, his voice was barely human. “For words will not suffice.”
“The words of your prince—”
“Are wordy and princely. You know my wish.”
George resumed his stroll, the only indication of tension displayed by a tightly clenched fist. “It has been decided that you will be the honored guest of Their Graces of Lowell,” he said. “The duchess has a deftness with those of our kind, an empathy. But Lowell is not keen to spare her in the full efforts your return to health requires.”
So Alfred did not trust him with his new bride. Could Alwyn blame him?
The regent continued, voice as airy as though proposing a jaunt to the seaside, “Nevertheless, he is all that is eager to make you at home, and a suitable abode is being prepared. He is, of course, on his journey back to Sussex with his new bride, and his attention will be taken up with her.” Georgie winked salaciously then sobered. “Given we do not know if your escape will result in pursuit, we have determined it safer for you to remove from London. As it is, the days of Carlton House as a royal residence are numbered.” Georgie surveyed the gilded ceiling with a jaundiced eye. “We shall hide you in plain sight.”
“Clever. Imagine if there were an industry based on this notion.”
The royal fist tensed further. “We cannot be blamed for something we knew nothing of.”
A defense against guilt, Alwyn supposed, was to become offended. This offense was doubly rich, given the royal family’s history of displaying so-called exotic creatures. “I recall your mother and her lineage’s penchant for zebras,” Alwyn rasped. “Whatever became of the Queen’s Ass? Did you both not share a birthday of sorts?”
Georgie’s face flushed a deep scarlet, and Alwyn saw the threat of his Change, the claws peeking out from the tips of his fingers, a ruff of fur sprouting around his neck. The queen, Georgie’s mother, had been gifted one of the striped beasts on the occasion of her wedding; it became a symbol of the displeasure the populace had for its current monarchs. The animal was loathe to obey its handlers and often ran rampant, prone to kicking out. The gutter press dubbed it theQueen’s Ass, and thanks to George’s mercurial behavior, which was much like the zebra’s, the nickname soon became his own. Caricatures of the prince and the zebra were still displayed in the windows of print shops; Drake’s roustabouts had passed them around with spiteful glee. Reminding him of it was a calculated blow to George’s vanity, and yet the regent was equal to it and dampened his choler.
For all his faults, and they were many, the prince’s control of his bear was impeccable. The claws retracted, the fur disappeared, and his essential self was tucked away like a hand into a pocket. A pity, as a brawl would bring Alwyn to the resolution he desired.A consummation devoutly to be wished…
“I know what you intend.” The prince’s tone was as frigid as a winter’s day. “I will not be goaded.”
