67. Arran

I love you.

In that moment of true fear, when Veyka thought one or both of us might not survive, those were the words she had given me.

That was how serious she considered the threat of the succubus. And she was right. Palomides may have been the first to see the utility of those mindless monsters, but he would not be the last. The ambitious lords and ladies of Annwyn, or even kings and queens on continents beyond, could take the amorite for themselves and set the succubus upon their enemies. The less powerful, the poor, the fae citizens of Annwyn, would be sacrificed to the succubus on the altar of power. If our enemies learned that the succubus wanted Veyka… it would be too easy.

But those concerns, the safety my kingdom, those were not what echoed in my head.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Before those three words, nothing else mattered.

My beast had tried to snarl them back. They'd been on my tongue in the moments when my bones cracked beneath the strain of the Black Knight's attack.

It should not have been possible. I had never said those words to anyone—not even my family. And yet Veyka—this Queen of Secrets, as she'd proclaimed herself at our first meeting—her soul spoke to mine in languages that my mind could not comprehend.

Why can't I fucking remember?

I wanted to.

I wanted to know what words had passed between us. What touches. Promises.

If I had loved her… did love her… as much as everyone around us seemed to believe, as my beast insisted with every snarl, how had it happened? Why had I been given such a thing, only to have it taken away?

For killing.

Three hundred years spent being the worst version of myself. A male who killed with impudence. When I planned a battle, I did not think about how to ensure the least deaths. I thought about winning. Glory for Annwyn, and ultimately, glory for myself. Power, to protect my mother. A reputation for violence that protected my family even when I could not be at Eilean Gayl myself.

Selfish.

I had not done my duty because I cared about the citizens of Annwyn. It was all for me. I was not worthy of love. That was the part of myself that I never let anyone else see.

But had I shown it to Veyka?

She turned, as if she could hear the intensity of her name flashing through my consciousness.

Lyrena sat at her side, their heads tipped together as they spoke quietly. The golden knight said something to make herself laugh. Veyka's full, pink lips quirked slightly. Then she rolled her eyes.

They snagged on me.

The smile dropped away.

Barkke shoved a cold sausage roll and a flask of mulled wine into my hands. I wanted to let the hot liquid slosh all over him, the ass. But I'd been scouting ahead in my wolf form and had missed breakfast.

If I took the food, maybe he would leave me alone.

Instead, he took a bite of his own luncheon, flakes of pastry sticking in his beard. "Trouble in paradise?" he said around a mouthful.

"You are an ass."

"And your friend."

Friend. Had I ever really had those? Barkke and I had grown up with one another. His father had brought him to Eilean Gayl as an offering. An agemate, to train alongside the monster of the north. I had not seen him in decades, though he appeared unchanged.

Guinevere was the closest to a friend I'd had in maturity. A competent lieutenant, proving her prowess and power on and off the battlefield. When Uther Pendragon died and Arthur assumed the throne, she'd left the war camps and went to Wolf Bay to compete for the title of Terrestrial Heir.

How would I have described Veyka, if I'd had my memories?

Mate, my beast growled.

A word whose implications I might never sort out.

I was still watching her, even as I ate. Even as Barkke blathered on.

"…all I am saying is that if I had a female like that waiting in my bedroll, I would not be sleeping outside," Barkke said.

Stupidly.

The beast inside of me surged up, ready to kill. Mine.

Barkke met the death in my eyes with an irreverent grin, wiping droplets of mulled wine from his beard. He looked past me to Veyka.

His eyes glowed.

I drew the axe from my belt, food forgotten. Nothing else mattered but punishment. How dare he—

But Barkke had trained at my side. His mace was in his hand just as fast, meeting my axe, holding steady. I could kill him—he was strong, but I was stronger. The strongest fae in millennia. The High King of fucking Annwyn. How fucking dare he desire my mate—

"You better get used to it, Majesty," Barkke said. He pressed his mace hard into my axe. Every member of our party watched us, but they could hear nothing over my growl. Barkke gnashed his teeth, his own growl meeting mine. His beast form may not be a wolf, but he could be just as vicious. "Veyka deserves to be worshipped by every male who sets eyes upon her. You cannot slaughter every male in Annwyn."

"I could slaughter you."

He threw back his head and laughed, exposing his throat. An act of submission. My wolf recognized it on a primal level. I stepped back.

"Maybe someday," Barkke said, lowering his mace.

"Consider it a promise."

His eyes were undimmed. "Done." He nodded over my shoulder. "Now go talk to your wife."

Veyka did not even pretend to not be watching.

Her white hair, loose around her shoulders except for the part in front that she braided away from her face, blended with the wall of snow behind her as the northern edge of the Spine rose toward the bleak winter sky.

We'd traded the thin layers of snow at the coast for thick drifts several feet deep. It was the most precarious part of our journey. We had paused on the edge of the forest to eat, but when we rose we would begin the treacherous trek across the ice field. The snow provided a barrier to give our feet purchase on the slick ice, but it also disguised any number of dangers. Solabear dens. Crevices so deep that even a fae could not survive. Another month, when the spring thaw began, and this area would be impassible for any but aerial shifters.

Veyka could have moved across it easily, avoiding the thick drifts of snow and precarious ice. But she had not offered. Maybe she was exhausted after the duel with the Black Knight. All magic had a cost.

I'd long ago accepted that the cost of mine was being alone, apart.

But there sat my mate, licking her lips as she ate her own sausage roll. I walked to her, not bothering with a pretense of anything else. There was no room for pretense and posturing between us.

Veyka stared straight into my eyes as she wrapped her entire mouth around the girth of the sausage roll. Ancestors fucking kill me.

Lyrena laughed at us brazenly as she left.

"Not quite chocolate croissants," I choked out.

Veyka licked her lips again. "Not even close."

She did not move over to make more room for me on the rock beside her. While everyone else stood to avoid wet backsides, Lyrena had melted the snow off of this rock so the queen had somewhere to sit.

Veyka tilted her head to the bare bit of black rock in silent invitation.

It was not big enough for me to sit without touching her. Veyka knew that.

An offering, after the harsh words we'd exchanged on the battlements of Castle Chariot.

I took it.

We sat in silence. Veyka offered me the remaining half of her sausage roll—she'd watched me drop mine in the snow in favor of trying to kill Barkke. I accepted it and ate.

The others moved around the edge of the forest, speaking quietly. Barkke was pointing out toward the horizon as he spoke with Lyrena, likely explaining our route. Vera and Kay had remained at Castle Chariot, to ensure Palomides' compliance and oversee the shipments of amorite.

We'd spent a day touring the mines, during which Veyka had deferred to me entirely. I told myself it was because of my history. I'd been fighting wars for hundreds of years; I knew the importance of weapons and necessary steps for establishing supply lines to support an army. But that was not the only reason she kept her distance.

The tenuous offerings of trust we'd made in Palomides' dungeons had been fractured by the duel. But maybe now, on the reprieve of the journey back to Eilean Gayl, with mostly each other for company, we could try again.

I forced myself to ignore the soft feel of Veyka's hip where it pressed into my thigh. Such soft skin, soft folds, that concealed a body and a will of iron.

It was so easy to give in to the physical needs of our bodies. The desire to take her, to bury my cock inside of her and forget the rest of the world… a thousand times simpler than sorting out the disaster that was our mating, our Joining.

"I did not know," I finally said. Veyka made a questioning sound, her lips forming a painfully kissable moue. I cleared my throat to keep from doing just that. "I did not know I was not at full strength. Not until it happened."

Her lips parted, a heavy sigh. "I should have sparred with you. I would have known."

I turned to look at her. Mistake. We were too close. My face was inches from hers. My mouth… "How?" I choked out.

She shrugged. "I cannot always explain it. The bond… it is like breathing. It is a part of me that I do not have to think about it because it is always just there."

"Always demanding." Like right then—demanding that I claim what was mine.

She smiled. "Yes, always." Very tentatively, she reached out and laid her hand on my knee. Heat surged through me, marking the spot, cataloging the pinpricks of contact between us. "It helps, the touching. To take the edge off."

"Speak for yourself."

Her smile turned absolutely wicked. She kept her hand on me, her fingers drumming casually across the fleece-lined leather stretched taught over my skin. With her other, she reached for a wooden cup nestled into the snow at her feet and took a long, savoring draw.

It was unusual, as tall as a wine glass by cylindrical. "What is that?"

Veyka held it up for me to see. "Osheen made it for me. I am always cold, even in Baylaur. But since we left, it has been worse. I don't know how it works, if he's infused it with flora magic… if that is even possible. But it keeps the tea warm."

"Osheen."

"You remember who he is," Veyka said carefully.

"Of course." That was not the problem.

The surge of anger I'd felt when I saw the glow in Barkke's eyes was nothing to what I felt when Veyka said another male's name with such affection.

Veyka's hand on my leg had stopped moving. She set down the special made cup on the other side of the rock—outside of my view. She knew exactly what was happening.

"He traveled with you to Baylaur for the Offering. He accompanied us to Avalon," Veyka said, her voice even.

"Where is he now?" I ground out.

She slid her hand up my leg, her fingernails leaving a burning trail of possessiveness to match my own. She pressed harder into my side, working her cloak up over her shoulder so that the curves of her body pressed into the hard planes of mine.

Every nerve in my body stood alert, ready. The need to possess her, to make her mine in every fucking way, was almost impossible to bear. Veyka was trying to soothe me, to connect with my beast, to bring me back to where I could wrestle control around my power again.

"He remained with the Faeries of the Fen," she continued, voice so carefully even. "Maisri—" her voice broke off, sharp as a knife. "Arran."

Something was coming.

The world around me sharpened—brighter, clearer than before. Every sense was at work, fae and beast.

Veyka's hand tightened around my leg. "Arran," she said again, breathing in sharply. Her hand already moving for a weapon. "What is it?"

I did not have time to answer as my beast wrested control and leapt for the the solabear as it lunged for my mate.