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When he closed his eyes, he saw her brother’s mutilated body hovering in that blackness. He saw his wife lying across the bed, soaked with blood, her beautiful dark eyes staring and seeing nothing.
He saw Edrick’s disdain, and Rowan wondered if his friend had always been a monster. I’d known him since we were boys. Had I just not seen it?
What else have I been blind to?
Rowan sighed, then turned onto his side to admire Blanchette. She couldn’t escape those ghosts and questions either, he knew...
Persistent knocking cut off his thoughts. He jumped from the bed and threw on his bedrobe, cursing at the banging. He didn’t want Blanchette’s sleep disturbed. And he certainly didn’t want the castle to know she was with him.
He tossed open the door where Sir Jeremy and Sir Royce stood. They both looked restless and tired. Deep pockets hung under their eyes, and he could see the tension in their furrowed brows.
“What is it?” Rowan asked. He slipped out of the bedchamber and discreetly shut the door behind him.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but we have urgent news,” Sir Jeremy said. “News that can’t wait till morning.”
“Tell me.”
They glanced at one another. “A Demrovian fleet was spotted off the sea, heading for our coast.”
“They’re coming for her,” he muttered, speaking to himself.
“That’s not all. Another flag was flying from the masts—a goat-head banner.”
He knew the answer before he asked—but he had to hear it. “Have there been reports of Sir Edrick?”
They hesitated. Sir Royce spoke. “He was seen in Demrov, riding to the castle. We only have three days before they land.”
“Then there’s not a moment to stand idle. Call the council. Now.”
The council came, and Rowan laid out his plans.
* * *
Three days later
Jonas proudly bared the Black Wolf’s banner as they rode out to the parley. Despite the grim circumstances, Blanchette noticed a smile on his face that he had trouble hiding. He even controlled his courser with impressive and quiet confidence.
Rowan had opposed her attendance at the meeting, but she’d insisted most passionately. After all, this was her home—and her betrothed was coming to claim her. She’d be damned if she simply sat by and waited helplessly in her chamber.
Maybe I can stop the battle before it even begins. Nausea reared inside her as they rode out under the Black Wolf banner. Only a handful of men cantered from the encampment to meet them, and the King of Demrov wasn’t one of them.
Hope fled as quickly as it’d come. She knew little about her betrothed, Lord Peter Huntley—but she knew enough to understand he was a man of prickly pride and dangerous ambition. He wouldn’t be easily swayed.
Reining up next to Huntley, sitting tall and straight as an arrow on his black destrier, was Sir Edrick.
That nausea resurfaced. She had to swallow it back lest she vomited all over her red riding cloak. She glanced at Rowan’s expression. His face was as hard as stone. Unreadable. Determined.
She held her breath at the sight of him—the setting sunlight glinting off his armor, the way the breeze tousled his raven-black hair, and the gleam of his hazel eyes. Smoke also accompanied them. He padded alongside Shadow’s hooves, his magnificent head angled low, those lantern-like eyes missing nothing.
The five of them cantered up a steep slope. Straight ahead loomed the wood, the ancient trees clustered tightly together like sentinels. To the right was the army encampment.
It was bustling. She could see soldiers sharpening their swords and weapons, mending their armor and clothes, and practicing their fighting techniques. They’d arranged makeshift tents to sleep in. Banners flapped in the breeze: gnarled elm trees, the salamanders of House Delacroix, and Huntley’s eerie goat head.
Strong smells of sweat, dirt, and animal manure filled the camp. The scent of metal being worked on mixed with the aroma of cooking fires and food being prepared.
The noise level in the camp was high, with soldiers shouting and calling to each other as they prepared for battle. The clanging of swords and weapons being sharpened, the sound of horses whinnying and stomping their hooves, and the bustle of people moving about all added to the din. She heard musicians playing instruments and soldiers singing too.
Rowan, Sir Jeremy, Sir Royce, and Jonas came to a standstill. Four men met them where they stood moments later—two redheads with thinning hair who resembled twins, Sir Edrick, and a blond, handsome soldier who could only be her betrothed Huntley.
