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“Blanchette,” he said again. She felt the heat of her own name gliding across her skin. One hand grasped her wrist. He lowered her hand away from her cheek and kissed her knuckles. She shuddered against him, her heart beating against her ribs like a battering ram.
Then Smoke was there with them, his muzzle and snout bright red from his hunt. He sat silently beside his master, his sleek fur glistening in the torchlight. His golden eyes shone brightly, seeming to reflect the very light. He held his head high, his ears perked and alert to the bustling castle, taking in its surroundings with a keen gaze. He was truly a magnificent creature, fierce and majestic.
Just like Rowan.
She’d never get used to that wolf. Not if he stalked these corridors for a thousand years.
Rowan wore his wolf armor, the snarling helm clasped tightly in his left hand. His other hand lay on the pommel of his sword.
“Listen to me. Should anything happen—should the castle fall… I want you to flee through the tunnels. I shall have guards there waiting. Do you understand me, Blanchette?” he asked with a rough shake of her wrist that jarred her from her trance. “You will vacate this place and flee with Mary. My men will take you somewhere safe. You will live and grow old. You will survive all of this. Promise me.”
“I… I promise.”
She watched as Rowan shifted uncomfortably, his hand planted on the pommel of his sword. He traced the snarling wolf head with long, nimble fingers.
“When you told me about your lady-in-waiting… about what Edrick did to her… I didn’t believe you. I didn’t believe he was capable of such horror.” He reached out and wrapped his large fingers around her chin. He grazed her skin tenderly, his hazel eyes alive with a torrent of emotion. “I’m sorry, Blanchette. About everything you’ve endured.”
She let the silence settle all around them. Her gaze tracked across her dimly lit chamber as if looking into her past. She crossed the room, her steps as quick and frantic as her beating heart. She came to her bureau, where an engraved glass hung above it. Her finger shook as she traced her family’s crest.
“My queen?—”
“Queen… I was never born to be a queen. I wasn’t born to sit on a throne. I was born to be the lady of some noble lord, in some castle, in some faraway land. Willem—he was born to be the king of Norland. He was bred for it. He learned to ride when he could barely walk. Learned to shoot arrows. He played with swords and shields, and I hunted the countryside for herbs and flowers. I hunted the countryside for myself,” she confessed with a frown. “I learned as much as I could. I armed myself with letters and numbers and as much knowledge as possible while Willem took up sword and shield.” She turned to Rowan.
“As I got older, I’d lain awake… God.” Her words choked off into a sob. She placed her fist to her mouth. Rowan came beside her, his hand curled about her shoulder in a gentle and reassuring touch. “I would lay awake so many nights, Rowan… wishing it were me. And when I dreamt, it was me. I sat on the throne, and Willem lay under me in the crypt.” She felt tears slide down her cheeks. “And you know what? In my dream, I was glad. I was glad he was dead and out of my way. I hadn’t dreamt of that for years. Not until months ago. But it’s different now. Now when I dream, I sit in the throne room—alone and in the dark. And down below me, I feel something stirring. Not Willem tossing in his grave… but a beast stalking the crypt. Then I hear its howl and realize—” She took Rowan’s hands tightly and squeezed his fingers. “I realize it’s not just howling—it’s crying. And I am too. I am crying!” She brought his hand to her tearstained cheek. “Oh God…”
“Listen, Blanchette. For countless years, I sought vengeance. Every move, every march, and every battle plan were all extensions of my anger. But what was right? I thought I knew, but I was blind. Stupid, even. It’s you. You are right. You are everything right with this kingdom… with this world. I’ve been fighting to set things right, but I was looking the wrong way. I’d fought for what I’d lost—what had been stolen. But now… now, Blanchette, none of that matters.”
He brought her hands to his lips and sweetly kissed her knuckles. His eyes fell shut, and he exhaled a long breath. Beyond the walls of her castle, she heard the blacksmith’s hammer striking the anvil and the hollering of men.
The hour was fast approaching.
“I am yours, Rowan,” she said, her voice as thin as the hope she felt, “as you are mine.”
“Je suis à vous. Pour toujours et à jamais,” he repeated, his voice heavy with palpable emotion. “Blanchette… I love you and wish to tell you that with every waking breath I have left. I will defend Norland tonight with everything in me. And you… you will rule as you were meant to rule. I shall stand by your side, now and always.”
Their gazes came together in a powerful hold. Rowan took Blanchette’s hand in his. He pressed his lips gently against hers, and she responded with passion.
Their lips moved together in perfect synchronization as if they had been made for each other. Rowan wrapped his arms around Blanchette, pulling her close and deepening the kiss.
Blanchette could feel her heart racing as she kissed Rowan again and again. She ran her fingers through his jet-black hair, feeling the soft, curling strands between her fingers. His hazel eyes glittered in the candlelight and drew her in. His lips came to her neck passionately, tenderly, kissing a line down her throat. A sigh fled her lungs, and as the sound of battle blossomed beyond the walls, she felt the tears slip from her eyes again.
Minutes later, they stood together and gazed out the window, where a brilliant red-and-gold sunset blossomed. She smiled as he embraced her from behind. “Isadora often said a sunset is like the brushstrokes of God. You’ll never again see the same painting again, even if you stared at the same sky, night after night, for the rest of your life. That sunset is there for just moments, and then it’s gone forever.”
She felt Rowan hold her tighter as if that movement would prevent them from ever losing each other. “That cave…” She rotated in his arms and whispered against his lips. “Let’s go back there.”
He gazed into her eyes and seemed to bury himself there. “That’s my dream, Blanchette. That’s what I’ve been chasing these ten years.”
“But we found the cave too late. Didn’t we, Rowan?”
The din of the coming battle filled the silence. It spoke for both of them.
* * *
The castle trembled as yelling and stampeding men echoed through the stone walls. Rowan stood at the wooden door to Mary’s chamber. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room. The soft, golden curls of his daughter’s hair framed her innocent face as she looked up at him from the bed, her big blue eyes filled with fear.
“Are you going to fight those bad men?” Mary asked, her voice quivering.
Rowan knelt before her, his rugged, battle-hardened hands gently cupping her cheeks. “Yes, Mary,” he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. “I must. I must protect you and our home.”
