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“You will be good, too, Blanchette. You will be wise and just, and you will be good. You and I… we could change the course of history forever. These are your people. Now help me put an end to this winter.”
She stared at his much larger hand resting on hers; his palm covered her hand completely. Rowan savored the warmth of her smooth skin. The urge to bend forward and kiss her knuckles startled him.
Rowan pulled his hand from her own and returned it to his utensil.
Blanchette stared at him long and hard. “Even if I said yes—even if I… I wanted to… well, I am already spoken for,” she added haughtily.
A strange sensation pricked at his backbone. She was betrothed, probably since she was a babe. Of course she is. She’s a prize, with ancient royal blood running through her veins and the face of an angel.
“Indeed? You’re promised to whom?”
She visibly hesitated, then stalled the time by absently fiddling with her goblet. Rowan reached for her hand and wrapped his palm over her fidgeting fingers, effectively stilling them.
“Answer me, Blanchette. You already let it slip. You can’t squirt the milk back up the cow’s udder if you take my meaning.”
She shot a look at him and freed her hand from his. Then she surprised them both and laughed. She pressed her palm to her lips to smother the cheerful burst of sound. He couldn’t recall hearing something more beautiful. “In a moment, sir. I’m deciding whether it’s in my people’s interest for you to be privy to such sensitive information.”
Rowan tensed against the chair. “Need I remind you that I am Lord of Winslowe Castle now, and you are my subject. So long as I hold this fortress, any information regarding its affairs is mine to know and mine to do with as I please.”
She dropped her hand from her mouth and coiled her fingers into a fist. The signet shined defiantly, drinking in the candlelight.
“You’ve seized and held it. For now. The word shall spread quickly of your conquest. By mouth, by the wings of birds, by ship, and by horse… while many people and houses consider you their champion, I’m not sure my betrothal will share the sentiment.”
A threat, and a poorly veiled one at that. Admiration and anger wrestled inside him. However, he remained composed and confidently quiet on the outside.
“In fact, sir,” she dared press on, “my future husband may not like the idea of you warming his seat at all. And especially not his bed.”
Maybe she’s playing me.
Perhaps she’s simply buying time.
“So I shall be warming your bed? Is that an invitation?” He laughed outright at the blush on her cheeks.
Her bright eyes churned at his reaction. They were deep and mesmerizing and as blue as Norland’s sea.
I shall fall into those eyes and drown if I’m not careful. Edrick’s ominous warning flashed through his mind. He shook it away and pinned Blanchette with a sharp stare.
“Who is he? Your betrothal?” Nothing. “Come now, Blanchette. Don’t be coy with me.”
Blanchette brought the goblet’s rim to her lips, taking her sweet time, her eyes never leaving him. She took a small, calculated sip. Then she returned the goblet to the table with a loud bang. She moved with slow, drawn-out intention, and Rowan knew she was baiting him.
“I desire to have Jonathan released and returned to his child and home, where they shall want for nothing. My father’s soldiers—the ones who have remained loyal to me, to the crown—I want them released and pardoned, so long as they vow to remain peaceful in their queen’s name. I shall ask it of them myself if it pleases you.”
“They’ll say the words to you and walk free… and I’ll pay with a knife in my back. I’m not an idiot. And besides, I have already offered them freedom for their allegiance to me.”
“It pleases me to hear they aren’t bought so cheaply.”
“Some of them were. And pray tell, what man can afford not to buy his freedom?”
“Men who value their integrity and a sense of justice. The Black Wolf of Norland should understand such a thing.”
“Justice,” Rowan echoed, a growl churning in his throat. He leaned in close while blood-drenched memories soaked his mind. “Trust me, I understand it well, Princesse. I was your father’s man once. I know firsthand what he asks of his soldiers… and of the needless blood he spilled. Some nights, my hands still feel wet from it all.”
* * *
Blanchette felt cold inside. Only the supreme force of her willpower kept the goblet from trembling in her hands; only the sound of her grandmother’s voice stopped the panic from showing on her face.
Marry the Black Wolf of Norland? The very man who’d lead a revolution against her home? The man who’d torn down a dynasty that might have lasted a thousand years?
