Chapter 9

9

H akon indeed found Orek within the nearly finished house he was building for Sorcha. He knocked on the open door and entered when he heard Orek call from deeper in the house to come in.

It was a beautiful home, all polished wood and warm hues. Very human in construction and design, but then again, Sorcha was human and Orek's clan lived in elaborate tents, so.

As he passed through the fine construction, all a testament to the fierce love of a halfling for his mate, Hakon couldn't help a twinge of jealousy. How long until it was his own home he walked through, built for the mate who held his heart in her palm?

All right, it was more than a twinge.

Does Lady Aislinn truly enjoy living in a castle or would she prefer something cozier?

The thought had him pausing in the kitchen entryway.

Fuck. He'd told himself to stop doing that.

A frustrated sound pulled him further into the kitchen. Orek stood at the freshly waxed countertops, three door handles laid out before him. A concerted frown pulled down his face, and if Hakon had to guess, he'd say his friend had been standing there debating handles and hinges for a while now.

"Which do you think?" Orek asked by way of greeting.

The brusque clip of orcish had Hakon huffing a laugh. He hadn't heard his native tongue since he'd last seen his friend, and the little reminder of home—even if Orek spoke with an odd sort of accent only found in the splinter camps of the Griegen foothills—was welcome.

He'd been fantasizing, living in his head too much lately, and an hour pressed to the subject of his fantasies hadn't helped matters. His pulse still strummed a little quicker from the extended contact, and he doubted his ears would return to a normal color until tomorrow.

Coming alongside his friend, Hakon peered down at the samples he'd made. His gift to Orek and Sorcha for the wedding was all the metal handles, hinges, and knobs they would need for their new home—but first Orek needed to decide which to have Hakon fashion.

"This one." He plucked one of the options from the counter. It was a simpler design but his favorite. "It's big enough for halfling hands and will be smooth on human ones."

Orek nodded gravely. "That's true. Sorcha has soft hands, even if she insists otherwise."

Lady Aislinn's hands are softer. She had exactly one callus, on the top of her right ring finger, from how she held her quill. Otherwise, she was all soft, smooth, supple skin, a small, warm weight in his hand.

Riding in that death trap beside her, his arm pressed into the contours of her side, he'd found her body just as soft and supple. She wasn't a small woman for a human, but Hakon was confident he could lift her with one arm, pull her up into his body, off her feet, off into the wilds where he'd hide her away and —

He hardly heard Orek holding the examples up to the cabinets and drawers one last time. Only when his friend finally admitted, "You're right," did he wake from his daydream.

"How many did you need?" Hakon forced himself to ask, to pull away from the woman who'd managed to make a harrowing ride not so stomach-churning with the mere sound of her voice.

They spent a few more minutes counting everything that would be needed and taking final measurements. Hakon assured his friend the metalwork would be finished with plenty of time to spare.

"I'll make a few extra, just to have."

Orek sighed with relief. "One day, you'll know the agony of choosing handles for your mate."

By the old gods, let that day be soon.

Hakon agreed, and then they left through the front door, prepared to make the short walk to Varon's new farm.

With a low whistle, Orek summoned his companion, a rotund raccoon he'd named Darrah. The animal chirped and scrambled up Orek's body to drape across his shoulders.

Hakon and Wülf exchanged a look.

He'd forbidden Wülf from chasing Darrah when they'd first arrived at the Brádaigh estate, but it warranted a reminder since they were castle folk now.

Pointing a finger at his mutt, he said, "Not food."

Wülf huffed in annoyance as they made their way into the forest.

T he gifts were quickly distributed and then Aislinn, Sorcha, her mother Aoife, and aunt Sofie ensconced themselves around the expansive kitchen table with tea and pastries. Each of the younger siblings went off with their treats and the guards made themselves scarce as the women settled in for wedding talk.

"I didn't know there were so many flowers to choose from—or how many we'd actually need," proclaimed Sorcha.

If their hands weren't busy drinking or eating, the women prepared flowers. Only two hours and Aislinn had already braided dozens of stems and pressed hundreds of petals. The dining room had been commandeered for wedding day storage, full to the brim with baskets and crates.

Aoife fretted over where all the visiting family would sleep—she and Sofie came from an extensive extended clan.

"And of course you and your party," Aoife said to Aislinn. "We'll put your father in our room, but for you I was—"

"Please don't worry over us," Aislinn insisted. "We'll bring father's camp tent. It's quite spacious and can fit our retinue comfortably."

Aoife made a face. "I don't know if I can let the liege and heiress of the land sleep in a tent in the courtyard."

"Father has used it numerous times."

Aoife continued to mutter unhappily until finally Sorcha said, "Let them, mama. It's not like it's a one-bedroll tent. It's bigger than this room and the front solar combined. They'll be fine."

"I promise we will," Aislinn agreed.

If not happy, then at least mollified, Aoife poured Aislinn another hearty cup of tea and slipped more biscuits onto her plate.

They chatted the afternoon away like that, Aislinn soaking in the warm perfection of a visit with friends. The feminine laughter and banter, the soft teasing and praise, all fed something inside her that withered and nearly perished with her mother.

As the afternoon waned, though, Aislinn knew she still needed to tell them the main reason for her coming. She had much more important news than which guild-masters were feuding and which knights were wooing which maids. Yet, she didn't want the day to end, the Brádaigh kitchen so warm and welcoming. And…the news brought back a nauseating dread she'd carried ever since she discovered what Jerrod had done.

Still, when she finished the last of her braided stems, she made herself say, "There's something I must tell you."

Their gazes shuttered at her tone, preparing for something, and Aislinn detested being the one to do it.

Folding her hands on the kitchen table, she said to Sorcha's shoulder, "We received word from the Ward not long ago. Jerrod has run away."

A chorus of outraged gasps filled the kitchen.

"Where will he go?" asked Aoife.

"Has anyone had word of him?" asked Sofie.

Aislinn looked to Sorcha, her friend's face cast in a dark frown. She knew the expression wasn't directed at her, but she couldn't help her guilt and shame. Her own blood had done such a horrible thing to Sorcha, to the family who welcomed her as their own. Their families had always been so close, and to betray those bonds so completely…

The tea and cake churned in Aislinn's stomach.

"Father said he'll look for him when he and Sir Ciaran head south after the wedding."

The Brádaigh women all grumbled with displeasure. "Yes," said Aoife, "we've been told the new plan."

"Men who feel their business is unsettled can never rest," Sofie said, shaking her head. "They don't understand that their business can never truly be settled, only passed on."

"I was thinking of asking Connor to track him down. I know he's meant to go south with them, but if Niall is already going, I'd like to send at least someone to find out where Jerrod has gone."

Sorcha perked up at the mention of her eldest brother. "Niall knows Jerrod better, but I'd trust Connor more to find him."

Aislinn and Sorcha shared a nod. Niall, the second-eldest brother, and Jerrod had been friends once, before Niall got serious about his knightly training. Although Aislinn trusted Niall as a knight, she didn't know if she could trust that he would serve her over Jerrod.

And besides, when there was a choice, she'd always choose the older, calmer, wiser Connor. He was a kind man, a carpenter and artisan at heart, which was why many were surprised when he followed his father into knighthood. It may not have been his truest calling, but Connor was noble, loyal, and effective.

"All this would be after the wedding, of course," Aislinn hurried to add when she saw Aoife's worried expression.

"You'll have to tell that man of yours," Sofie said to Sorcha. "I doubt he'll take it well."

"No, he'll want to go after Jerrod at first light tomorrow." A sneaky smile spread across her face. "Although, I have my ways of convincing him. I'll tell him tonight."

Her mother and aunt chuckled and rolled their eyes.

Aislinn smiled at the joke, but she couldn't help the jealousy that nipped at her. She'd seen the way Sorcha was with Orek—and more importantly, how Orek treated her friend.

Aislinn had never seen a man more devoted to his woman, and she felt almost voyeuristic witnessing how connected they were. It was almost as if they could read each other's thoughts. The little looks passed between them, the small touches and gentle banter; they had a language all to themselves.

She was a little jealous of her friend's attention being lured away—but more so seeing what a true love story could be.

Aislinn knew it hadn't been easy for them, and there would always be challenges to a union between human and otherly folk. Yet, when she saw them together, Aislinn understood how meaningless those challenges were to them. The sacrifice, the battle was worth it.

Her friend deserved nothing less.

It'd been a long time since Aislinn had seen such love between people, or a couple so well suited to and supportive of each other. Certainly, there were always flirtations and affairs going on within the castle. Every now and then, staff married each other or a knight or someone from the city. Many of her noblewomen friends had married for love, and she'd seen how happy they looked at their own weddings.

None of it quite held the same luster and depth as the love she felt between Sorcha and Orek.

She supposed it could be nothing short of that sort of love that could tempt her, to make her want what she never truly had before.

Aislinn had vowed to never fall pregnant, to never be in a position to have her life stolen away like Róisín's had. That meant, most simply, that she never intended to marry. There were certainly ways of avoiding pregnancy that didn't involve abstaining, like silphium powder, and Aislinn practiced those too, but a nobleman with a highborn wife would want children, heirs. And with a Pyrrossi-dominated court, he would want sons.

Her plan had worked excellently so far. Her father never seemed anxious to marry her off. He and Róisín had married for love and companionship, as did many in the Darrowlands and elsewhere in Eirea. Yet, Aislinn wasn't na?ve enough to think the world in which Merrick and Róisín married was the same one she now inhabited. In an Eirea devastated after the wars of succession, expectations were different for nobles, particularly noblewomen.

This change was being resisted by many of the country lords, as her father was. The rights of women had always been equal to those of men, and Eirean inheritance and nomenclature often followed matrilineal lines. Sorcha herself was a Brádaigh, not a Byrne, and as the oldest daughter of an oldest daughter, would inherit the estate and business.

And yet, Aislinn's choice could never be as simple as love and companionship and who suited her best.

She'd known that since she was a girl. So she resolved never to choose.

Seeing Sorcha with such a well-suited match, with a man who looked at her like she was the sun in his sky, though, had Aislinn aching.

It wasn't that Aislinn had never been in love. Far from it. She'd fancied herself in love with her math tutor as a youth. He was a dashing prodigy from the capital, only a few years her senior, and she'd been dazzled by his brilliance. Her father had brought him to the Darrowlands specially for her, as she'd surpassed her other tutors early in her learning.

Brenden's mind worked in such interesting, different ways—having someone who also thought differently, more analytically, had been almost addicting. Brenden had been the first person she let close since her mother's death, and they had fallen in love over theorems and diagrams.

Eventually, though, the dazzle of him began to tarnish. He believed all the things people said of him, that he was meant for greatness. Aislinn hadn't mourned his departure back to the capital.

Then there had been Sir Alaisdair, a noble second son and newly made knight. He'd come to train with Lord Merrick and Sir Ciaran and served under them for several years. Aislinn had allowed an affair to blossom between them, swept away by his good looks and easy confidence. He'd been easy to talk to, and Aislinn was flattered by his attentions.

Still, like Brenden, Alaisdair too had begun to push about marriage. To state what he would do differently if he was Liege Darrow.

Aislinn hadn't missed either of them by the time they left Dundúran. Her heart may have grieved for a time, but she'd known she could never truly love someone who loved not her but what she meant for their political future.

She would be no one's steppingstone.

Seeing Sorcha with Orek, their love outshone anything Aislinn had ever known. She understood that what they had was rare, as well as that such a love wasn't necessary to be content.

And yet…

"Speak and it shall be so," quipped Sofie. "There they are now."

Aislinn looked up, startled from her thoughts, out the kitchen window to see two huge green figures cutting across the courtyard.

Orek was striking in his leathers, and his height dominated any space he was in.

Hakon was a hair shorter but broader, those shoulders and arms bulging from his jerkin.

Pitter-patter went her heart.

"I wonder if they looked at land on their way back," Sorcha said absentmindedly, beginning to gather their cups and plates.

Aislinn's mind snapped around her words with a metallic clank . "Land?"

Sorcha nodded, her focus on stacking plates. "Before getting his position at the castle, Hakon had said he was interested in acquiring land as well. I don't know that he wanted to farm, but land all the same."

"It would be nice to have another blacksmith out this way," Aoife said. "Especially if we could catch him for ourselves. The horses always need shoes."

Sorcha threw a smile over her shoulder as she set the used dishes by the sink. "Careful, Aislinn. Sounds like my mother intends to steal away your new blacksmith."

Aislinn forced a grin. "Well then, I'll have to make good use of him while I have him."

T he pack of manticores led them in one last rowdy drinking song, their short whiskers twitching in merriment as beer and mead sloshed over tankard rims.

Over a dozen of them crowded outside Varon's tiny homestead, celebrating the new life about to be lived there. Green skin and golden fur and blue feathers all joined in a cacophony of textures, their toneless voices ringing in good fortune and fat harvests for the new farm.

As they all belted the last word, their loudness shaking the doorframe, the manticores led them in pouring their drinks on Varon's head in a show of celebration and good luck. The male took it well, grinning around his tusks as foam ran along his brows.

After slaps on the back and more well wishes, many headed to the cask to refill their tankards.

Before he could refill his own, Hakon looked down, feeling feathers rustling against his calf.

Maritza, the eldest of the harpy flock who now called the Darrowlands home, squeezed between him and Orek, smiling up at them in that unnerving way of harpies. They lacked beaks like birds, instead having rows of sharp teeth perfect for swooping down and taking a bite out of prey—or partners. Big round eyes, dominated by overlarge irises, dilated and focused on him.

He felt her tail of blue-black feathers swish against his calf again. She and her sisters were all of similar coloring; long inky black manes of hair; gray-blue skin on the face, chest, and legs; violet eyes that were always moving; and blue-black feathers. All harpies had wing-arms—not true arms but instead wings with a clawed, four-fingered hand at the middle joint—and legs with backward-facing knees that ended in birdlike feet with three talons each.

Maritza's sister Andreen scratched a few symbols around Varon's new house with those strangely elegant feet. The other two, Ysera and Nareeda, had already cornered J?r, another half-orc, their tails swishing behind them. When unfurled, their tails fanned around them at least five feet, and Hakon had learned in his time in camp that harpies flirted with their tails.

Looking between them, Martiza smiled, tossing her glossy black hair over her narrow shoulder. Martiza, though, flirted with everything she had.

"We miss you in camp, Hakon," she crooned. "And Orek's become a stranger, finishing that house."

Hakon could feel his ears burning, and Orek looked like he'd swallowed a rock.

Harpies were known to be lusty creatures, with a fierce love for hunting, flying, and fucking. They often mated for life, sometimes a flock of females taking just one male, but that male had to earn his place. In the meantime, harpies enjoyed testing potential partners.

Hakon knew that Orek being a mated male wasn't a qualm for Maritza—he'd heard her invite Sorcha to join them more than once.

Their little camp on the outskirts of the Brádaigh estate was often a hotbed of intrigue and flirtation. He knew at least one of the manticore pack, probably Balar by the way he was glaring at Nareeda fawning over a flustered J?r, had taken the harpies up on their flirtations.

Hakon himself had been sorely tempted, but if he was honest, Maritza and her sisters terrified him. Something in their hungry gaze…he was male enough to admit he might not be enough male for them.

"They keep me busy at the castle," Hakon said, quick to put his empty tankard to his lips for something to do.

"There are many pretty human women there, I suppose." Swish went her tail.

"And men. Many knights."

Her brows arched in interest, feathers rustling. "Are there now."

Hakon had the sudden image of Maritza and her sisters descending on the courtyard of Dundúran castle, catching Captain Aodhan unawares and unprepared. The knights of Dundúran wouldn't stand a chance.

"Perhaps you can visit the castle," said Hakon, happy for the diversion. "I'm sure Lady Aislinn wouldn't mind."

"You've spoken with Lady Aislinn?"

They looked up at the deep rumble, the festivities muting at the sound of Allarion's resonate voice.

The imposing fae warrior stood a few steps away, his face severe and attention trained on Hakon. It was unnerving, to say the least. Little was known about the fae and their kingdom in the western highlands. Tales told of great castles that overlooked the sea, sparkling cities that shone brighter than the sun, all ruled over the powerful Fae Queen and her court. The fae were ancient; no one knew how long they lived nor how long they had inhabited the western coasts.

What little was known was that fae were deeply attuned and attached to their land. They imbued their own magic with that of the earth, intertwining themselves with the forests and mountains and lakes. Their kingdom was considered impenetrable, for how could any force break the combined magic of all fae.

So to see a lone fae warrior, detached, was startling enough. Although more human in appearance than harpies, they were no less striking. Their sclera were black rather than white, and their grayish-purple skin so pale the black blood in their veins was visible in patterns and whorls just below. Allarion's hair hung in a long sheet of silvery white, kept back from his face by the long points of his ears.

A cloak of purple velvet so dark it was nearly black shrouded him, in stark contrast to his pale skin. Those dark eyes, a rich amethyst color set in a whirl of black and framed in long white lashes, fixed on Hakon, and he made an effort to lock his knees. An ancient being looked at him now, older than the forest around them.

No one knew what drew Allarion here, nor how he'd come to be so far from the high court of his queen. The fae were known to be led by females, who were jealously guarded by the bigger, more aggressive males. There were stories that the females, while significantly smaller, had wings more beautiful and more delicate than stained glass.

An enigma, Allarion was nevertheless a pleasant enough male—so long as you got over your initial fright. He'd been nothing but polite, if aloof. Hakon had been a little surprised to see him at their celebration, but then, Allarion had been one of the first to arrive here seeking a new life in the Darrowlands.

Clearing his throat, Hakon answered, "Yes, I've spoken with Lady Aislinn. I came with her here, she's back at the Brádaigh estate."

Nodding once, Allarion said, "I will accompany you back. I wish to speak with her."

He said it in that mild way of his, without malice or aggression, but it didn't stop Hakon's beast from taking notice. He stood no chance against an ancient fae like Allarion; even so, he looked the male over, assessing the threat.

No harm was allowed to come to Lady Aislinn.

Allarion continued to stand there; his expression hadn't changed, but there was an expectance to the air now.

Maritza fluttered her wings and moved along to flirt with the dragon Theron and his half-sister Briseis instead while Orek and Hakon said their farewells and congratulations to Varon.

By the time they returned to Allarion, perhaps the most striking thing about the fae, as if the way he exuded magic wasn't enough, trotted from the forest to join them.

The hairs on the back of Hakon's neck rose, and he had to put a hand on Wülf's head to stop his growl.

Dark as the shadows he emerged from was Allarion's steed—the unicorn Bellarand.

Perhaps even rarer and more mythical than the fae were their terrifying steeds. Larger than the draft horses humans used to pull great loads, sparks seemed to burst from every great hoof-fall as the unicorn stepped forward. With a mane of midnight black and coat as dark as a starless night, the soft light of the meadow seemed to bend around him.

Fangs rested just behind his muzzle, and black sclera nearly obscured the dark red of his irises. The muscles of his great chest and flanks shivered under the velveteen coat. And his horn…

A long, wicked spiral, the horn thrust from the center of his forelock like an obsidian blade, the tip sharper and stronger than any spear or sword.

There were old stories, from when the orcs had first crossed the western seas, of the clans uniting to fight the fae and claim land for themselves. The idea of facing down a charge of unicorns, enchanted fae blades right behind them…it made Hakon's stomach curdle.

Nothing could stop, block, or break a unicorn horn.

When the unicorn tossed his head in expectation, all eyes stayed on that horn as it cut through the air.

Orek carefully extended his arm, Darrah all puffed up and holding perfectly still on his shoulders. "Shall we?"

Allarion nodded amenably, as if he and his steed didn't raise the hackles of every being there.

Hakon patted Wülf again, flattening those hackles. "Not food, either," he muttered to the mutt.

The walk back to the estate was quick and quiet. The only time Hakon's pace slowed was to take a look at a little nook of a meadow near the border of the estate. He'd spotted it many times before, but with the uncut gems in his pocket, he observed the lands around the Brádaighs' with fresh eyes.

He only had a moment to linger—something instinctual told him the unicorn didn't want him falling behind, where he couldn't be seen—but it was enough.

The meadow was a beautiful place, blanketed in clover and lined on one side by a tall outcropping. The tree canopy let in enough light for a thicket of blackberry bushes and splashes of blue cornflowers to grow. It was charming, and Hakon could just see his own home there, with a respectable forge on one side and a workshop on the other.

His homestead would be larger than Varon's, something much more akin to Orek's house for Sorcha. Hakon's mate deserved nothing less.

He hurried to catch up with the others, his mind made up and his spirit content. It was a good plot of land; one he'd happily share with a mate.

Work, along with everything else, seemed to stop on the estate as they passed into the courtyard. The many horses being trained or reared nickered at Bellarand in awe, their ears swiveling forward and their long heads bobbing, as if acknowledging a king among beasts.

They'd almost made the house when the front door opened and out walked Lady Aislinn and Sorcha, followed by the knights from Dundúran and the three younger Brádaigh children. All gaped at the fae walking alongside his horned steed.

Even though she smiled in greeting, Sorcha held her arm out to prevent her youngest siblings from drawing any closer to the unicorn.

"Allarion, we haven't seen you here in some time."

The fae's attention settled on Sorcha, and Hakon could feel Orek stiffen beside him.

"I have been searching the western forests for the right place. I believe I have found it." That eerie gaze moved from Sorcha to Lady Aislinn. "I have written several times petitioning for an audience."

A frown erased the shock from Lady Aislinn's face. "I'm sorry, I…Varon's farm was the only petition I've seen."

"I have sent you numerous requests."

"No other land grant petitions have passed my desk."

The fae shifted infinitesimally, and though his expression didn't change, the air around him cooled.

"I am not a liar, Lady Aislinn."

Her frown deepened, bewilderment plain on her face. "I never said you were, only that I haven't received your petition."

"Then someone on your staff is keeping things from you."

Lady Aislinn's mouth fell open in affront. The air crackled, and Bellarand's great head bobbed, the point of that wicked horn pointed Lady Aislinn's way.

His beast howled, and Hakon stepped forward, angling himself between the fae and Lady Aislinn.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," he insisted. "There's no need to accuse Lady Aislinn or her people of wrongdoing."

Allarion's frigid gaze turned on Hakon, but he felt no fear. Perhaps a smarter male would, but he'd stand between far worse than Allarion and Lady Aislinn.

After a fraught moment, the fae finally nodded.

"I apologize. I am short-tempered in my haste. Being untethered as I am, my soul calls to choose a home. I have found a place that would suit Bellarand and I."

Lady Aislinn nodded slowly and extended her right arm. "Shall we talk in private?"

"My lady…" one of the knights argued.

"You can't protect me from a fae, even standing right next to me. So what will a few yards truly mean?" She said it so matter-of-factly, and the knight's clear distress mirrored Hakon's own.

His heart lodged in his throat as Allarion stepped forward.

"I would never harm a woman, especially not an innocent," the fae hissed at the knights.

And as if in defiance, he came alongside Lady Aislinn and offered his arm. She blinked at it once before slipping her hand in the crook of his elbow, just her fingertips touching the fine black leather of his coat.

Hakon watched with all the intensity of a predator as Allarion led her a short distance away, his head bent toward her as they spoke softly.

Jealousy writhed under his skin—that the fae would touch her so easily, would presume to claim her attention.

Their words were hushed, and Hakon didn't know if he'd be able to understand even with all his hearing—but he hated that his right ear couldn't pick up the soft tone of her voice. They bent their heads together with their faces pointed away from the others. He hated the small intimacy, of seeing her standing so close to another male, one who was powerful and worldly and clearly of noble blood.

Everything I'm not and never will be.

The thought gnawed at him like Wülf on a bone, tearing him to pieces.

"Look away," Orek muttered to him in orcish. "Others are starting to stare at you."

The warning had his beast growling. He couldn't look away, he couldn't risk it. What if she needs me?

He heard Orek let out a long sigh.

"Are you sure?"

The question surprised him enough to finally draw his gaze away. "What?"

"Are you sure she's your mate?"

Hakon's blood ran cold.

"She's not my mate," he forced through his lips.

Orek huffed, obviously unmoved. "That's why you're standing here glaring like you want to attack a fae . And growling louder than your dog."

Hakon realized only then that his chest shook with the heavy vibrations of a growl. He bit down on the sound, muffling it, but his beast wouldn't totally relent. His throat ached with the strain of keeping it inside.

"I didn't know if I had a beast myself, being halfling," Orek told him. "It was dormant for the most part. Until the night I walked into a supply tent and found Sorcha."

The words cast their spell, trying to lure Hakon's attention away from Lady Aislinn and the fae. He heard the warning, and worse the truth, ringing in Orek's admission.

He knew what danger was about to come.

"It knew I couldn't leave her there. It knew I couldn't let her travel home alone. It knew she was the one I wanted. Didn't matter how I tried to stop it, the beast knew. Sounds like your beast knows, too."

"She's not my mate," Hakon repeated, for himself as much as for Orek. The words grated against his throat.

"Not yet. But know, my friend, that once it's begun, it cannot be stopped."

"I know." That's why he had to forget his foolish infatuation. There were many lovely women in Dundúran—any would be a better choice, a safer choice than the heiress of the Darrowlands, a woman he would never, could never have.

He wanted a good life, a simple life, one filled with family. He didn't want intrigue or complication.

Yet I want her.

Except he'd never be accepted as her mate. It may have been fine for Sorcha, the daughter of a knight and yeoman, but the chieftain's daughter? Never.

He was stupid for even entertaining the thought.

"I know what hell it is, for the mate-bond to go unrequited. Whatever you choose, decide now. You must be sure."

Hakon could feel the tendons of his neck pressing against the skin as he clenched his jaw closed, keeping back the roaring frustration.

Fucking fates, it wasn't supposed to be like this!

Everything inside him, all his hopes and dreams and aspirations, roiled beneath the onslaught of a beast that was already sure. He felt himself ripping in two, between two desires, two fates, and worried that he stood on a precipice too high and dangerous to leap from.

For what could truly await him if he leapt? Nothing ended with her as his mate, safe and comfortable in the homestead he'd built for her.

That dream would never be.

So she can't be your mate.

The truth sliced him down past the marrow, into his very spirit. His heart cracked under the strain.

Hakon watched in a daze as Lady Aislinn and Allarion came to some sort of agreement. The fae escorted her back to their party, and with a final bow to Sorcha, he leapt onto the back of Bellarand in one graceful arc of his cloak.

"My lady," he intoned, and then the unicorn turned toward the forest.

No one spoke until the two had long since disappeared between the trees.

Sorcha blew out a breath. "Well, that was something."

"What did he want?" Hakon asked, unable to help the desperate bark of his tone.

He could feel everyone staring at him, but he didn't care. He needed the answer like his next breath, the unknowing crawling over him like biting ants.

"He wants to claim the abandoned estate on the north side of the forest," Lady Aislinn said, her expression unreadable.

"Scarborough?" said Sorcha.

"Yes. He's sending his petition in again for me. The previous ones must have gotten lost—or father didn't remember to send them over. I'll have to look into it."

Her answers were solace enough to herd the beast back behind the cage of his ribs. With effort, his temper cooled, and the rumbling in his chest went quiet.

When he glanced at Orek, his friend only looked on gravely.

Nothing else needed to be said.

"We should return before it gets dark, my lady," said one of the knights.

Lady Aislinn agreed, and so farewells were said and promises of a future visit made. Hakon shook Orek's hand in the human way and accepted a small peck on the cheek from Sorcha. The Brádaigh children all patted Wülf a final time and extracted promises from Lady Aislinn for more gifts on her next visit.

Hakon held out his hand to help her climb into the chaise. She took it without hesitation, slipping her palm along his. A frisson of awareness crackled from his arm down his spine, and he couldn't help a deep breath, taking in her sweet scent.

Fates, I'm a stupid male.

He climbed up after her, the children tittering at seeing the chaise sway under his weight. When they were settled, they waved farewell as the knights mounted their horses.

With a gentle crack of the reins, Lady Aislinn had them back on the road, on their way home to Dundúran.

The day had long since waned, and it would be dark before they reached the outskirts of the city. Still, Hakon wouldn't take this for granted—a little time with her would soothe him, he knew it.

He opened his mouth to ask her a question, to get her started on one of her topics, when she turned to him first, her eyes glittering with interest, and said, "Tell me everything you know about the fae—and unicorns."