Chapter 31

31

A islinn sat at her father's desk, her untouched breakfast before her, as Connor recounted his harrowing ordeal with the mercenaries again and Fia took notes.

Caught just before they broke camp in the Strait, his life had been spared only by his name. Jerrod himself had confirmed Connor's identity, saying the Brádaighs would pay a ransom for his return. To Dirk, the brutal leader of the largest band of mercenaries, this meant that Connor could be roughed up a bit.

Aislinn winced every time she glanced at the wicked cut bisecting Connor's left cheek, now stitched and covered in honey and ointment.

"And how does Jerrod seem?"

Connor sighed. "They kept us apart. I think Dirk feared there might still be some loyalty between us." He laughed once without humor. "Honestly, my lady, he seemed half-mad. You must prepare yourself, for it isn't the brother you knew coming."

"No, it's not." Aislinn wondered if the brother she'd known ever truly existed at all.

Her gaze fell to her hands, a familiar guilt gnawing alongside all her worries. What more could she and her father have done? Was Jerrod always meant for this destructive path?

She'd kept herself up late into the night wondering these things. No answer she settled on gave her any comfort or consolation, and she feared she would just have to swallow the truth that her brother was rotten. Whether born that way or allowing it to fester inside him over his life, Jerrod's heart was black with hate and resentment. He'd chosen this course, and Aislinn had chosen hers.

When she looked back up at Connor, she found him eyeing the tray of food. He'd cleaned his own plate, but the hollowness of his cheeks spoke of a desperate kind of hunger, one Aislinn was grateful never to have known. Keeping only a piece of toast, she pushed the tray toward him.

Connor thanked her, not minding that the porridge and sausage had nearly gone cold as he tucked in.

"You're confident of their numbers?"

Connor nodded. "More than five hundred, less than six. I'd hoped they'd fight amongst themselves, but the prize of Dundúran seems enough to get them to work together. For now, at least."

Aislinn picked at her cuticles as she watched him eat. Five hundred she could match; six hundred perhaps not. And that didn't figure in whether or not her company would have to fight off Bayard's. She couldn't afford to weaken her garrison—not to mention what it would do to morale, of both the knights and the townspeople.

She had announced the developments in the market square earlier that morning, unable to stomach food before knowing her people were aware. Horrified faces surrounded her, shouting questions and demanding answers. Aislinn did what she could, allaying the worst fears by assuring them that every preparation would be made.

Anyone was welcome to shelter within the castle walls until Jerrod was dealt with. Supplies would be offered to fortify houses and businesses, and her knights would be leading lessons for anyone who wished to learn basic combat and defense. She assured them it wouldn't come to that, but she knew, perhaps better than most, that worry and anxiety needed something to do.

When she left the square, she was full of pride for her people. They were resilient and resourceful. After their initial panic, they rallied, and already, preparations were underway to make safe the city and castle. From her window, she could see some had pitched tents within the courtyard already, and a steady stream of supplies flowed from the castle armory and storerooms.

All would be well—as well as it could be, at least, were it not for the annoyance of Bayard's knights.

Her belly burned with rage at the situation Bayard created, leveraging the lives of her people against each other. Their impasse had grown tiresome at best, but Captain Aodhan hadn't brought her any encouraging news. For whatever reason, Bayard's knights were holding fast to him.

She didn't need his company to fight—just to not get in the way. She'd received word back from her nearest vassals, all promising forces. Margrave Holt and several others said they'd come themselves to defend Dundúran.

No word yet from Gleanná, but then, that would take more time.

Her heart lurched painfully, and Aislinn focused on her breathing. She kept her face turned toward Connor as he talked, but she didn't truly hear him as she battled back her panic.

With effort, she imagined big arms wrapping around her. A warm chest to bury herself against and hide away.

She focused on the memory of how Hakon held her, talked her down, and it was enough to stave off the panic. Her breathing evened out, and she clenched her hands together on the desk to hide how they trembled.

Aislinn came back into the study calmer but was left with an ache deep inside. She didn't want the memory of Hakon. She didn't want him hidden away behind closed doors, nor Brenna scolding them for touching. She didn't want a tryst by night.

She wanted everything. She wanted him.

Hakon felt right in a way that few things or people did. Like an idea that translated perfectly to paper or a recipe that went right the very first time. Little felt truly right to Aislinn, and she spent most of her days content with tolerable. Hakon was far more than that, and in the same way reading, drafting, and inventing were parts of her, she thought he could be, too.

After all this was over, she would ask him about the mate-bond, if there was a chance one might form between them. If she could face and defeat her brother and his mercenary force, what was a little question compared to that?

Nothing. Well, perhaps something, but only a little. And that little could unlock everything.

A knock brought her round, and she looked up from her musings to see a page hurrying into the study. He stopped in the center of the room to bow before scurrying closer.

"Milady, it's Baron Bayard," said the page, "he's demanding an audience in the great hall."

She and Fia exchanged frowns before Aislinn rolled her eyes. "He's gotten entirely too comfortable." Pushing up from her seat, she joked, "Perhaps he means to announce his departure."

"We can only hope, milady," Fia agreed.

Together, the three of them and Aislinn's guards left the study to make the quick walk to the great hall, the page scampering off to other duties. Aislinn used the short march to hone that rage in her belly. The dueling with Bayard was tiresome, but she couldn't let her defenses lapse because of it.

They soon made the great hall, a herald announcing her arrival. The dozen or so people in the hall—a few staff, several town elders, Mayor Doherty, two magistrates, a handful of guards, and Bayard of course—turned to watch her mount the four shallow steps up the dais.

Aislinn stood beside her father's seat and folded her hands behind her back.

"Baron," she said coolly.

Bayard stepped forward and bowed.

"I'm not a dog you can summon," she admonished quietly.

"And yet here you are," he whispered back.

A growl, suspiciously orcish sounding, caught in her throat.

"I'm told you wished an audience with me?"

"Indeed. I find I am impatient for your answer, Lady Aislinn, and my poor lover's heart can't be made to wait any longer with the threat of battle looming." Dropping into an even deeper bow, Bayard spread his arms wide. "I declare my right to call a Choosing."

Surprise sounded through the hall.

Aislinn's was silent, her stomach dropping to her toes.

A Choosing was an ancient Eirean custom, unpopular nowadays but still sacred. At a Choosing, the suitor who called for it, as well as any other in attendance, could lay out their suitability, declaring why they were the best choice as they knelt before the intended.

The intended, often a noblewoman or princess, would then have to choose from the suitors. At least, in ancient times, she'd been forced to choose. Later Choosings allowed her to choose no one. However, once the suits were denied, they could never be made again. It forced chieftains to commit to an alliance or not, intractable children to marry, and scheming mamas not to string suitors along. There were also ballads and folk tales of how otherwise doomed lovers had used the tradition to plot their union.

If the potential bride chose a suitor, she sat upon their knee, and that was that. They were handfasted in promise to each other that very day.

Choosings were old-fashioned but legally binding. As a suitor with a provable history of pressing his suit, Bayard was allowed to call for a Choosing.

All eyes fell upon her, wide with morbid curiosity.

There was only one thing she could say. "I acknowledge your right and accept. But I invoke my right to a day to consider. And give any other suitors time to appear."

A tick jumped in Bayard's cheek, but he nodded in agreement. "Of course, my lady. We must do this right."

She nodded back, sealing their pact. "Very well."

Aislinn descended the steps numbly, mind whirring.

Fia rushed to her side. "Milady—"

"I must speak with Captain Aodhan. Now."

H akon waited as long as he was able, gleaning what he could from the whispers and gossip. The news was all over the castle within the hour, how the baron had called for a Choosing and Lady Aislinn had actually agreed. Preparations were underway amid all the current chaos of a castle soon to be under siege, and Hakon could hardly fathom the turn of events.

She's run out of time—and so have I.

A forge left to burn became too hot, and so Hakon was all morning.

Finally, late in the afternoon, when he could stand it no longer, he went in search of her.

Hakon found her in her father's study. He bit back his annoyance at the guard who stopped him and called inside, "My lady? The blacksmith wishes an audience."

"Yes, let him in."

Hakon pushed past the knights, relieved to find Aislinn alone.

She nodded behind him. "You may close the door."

He did, the click of the latch signaling they were alone. As alone as they ever were.

When he turned back to her, it was to see the beginnings of a smile on her face as she rose to greet him. He wanted to rush to her, to taste that smile, to gorge himself on the precious moments he had.

Instead, he rumbled, "What is a Choosing?"

Her face fell, and Hakon's beast growled inside him. Fates, she was going to tell him something he didn't want to hear.

As Hakon stood in the center of the room and Aislinn paced, she explained this Choosing to him. Suitors, claims, finality. He understood it on its face, even if he didn't see why it was so binding.

Bayard was forcing her to choose on the eve of battle, and if he didn't receive the answer he wanted, he intended to decimate her forces before Jerrod arrived to finish it. That was the sum of it, even as she told him every detail she knew about Choosings, from their beginnings to their current legal precedent, as was her way.

He let her talk, hoping at least the sound of her sweet voice would calm him, but it didn't. All day, since hearing of this Choosing, his body had buzzed as if some force compelled him to move . He thought her presence might help, but if anything, learning the scope of the Choosing only made it worse.

The buzz became an itch, a compunction. He bit back the need to throw her over his shoulder this moment and leap from the window, making off with his mate.

When she came to a stop in her pacing and her words, Hakon asked the question that scratched at him all day.

"Will you choose him?"

Aislinn shook her head. "I don't want to. I'm working with Captain Aodhan on a plan to mitigate his reaction, but…" Tears gathered along her lashes. "I fear the outcome. Hakon, I…I'm frightened."

He was there in a moment, taking her face between his hands. His green skin stood in such contrast to her warm golden colors. He loved her colors. He loved how she wrapped her hands around his wrists and looked up at him with such trust, such vulnerability. Without speaking, she asked for his comfort.

Fuck Bayard. Fuck all of this.

Nothing should be allowed to frighten her. She deserved all that was right and good in this world, and Hakon railed against all that wasn't.

" Vinya, " he murmured, "come away with me. We'll go somewhere new, somewhere safe. I will take care of you, always."

She gave him the most beautifully sad smile he'd ever seen, her tears slipping into the cracks of his hardened heart to erode away his resolve.

"I wish I could. But, Hakon, I can't." She squeezed his wrists. "Good or ill, this is my life. I can't run away."

He knew her answer before she said it, but he needed to hear it one more time from her lips.

Closing his eyes, he dropped his head to hers and breathed her in.

Fates, how na?ve he'd been when he left Kaldebrak. Thinking that finding and taking a mate would be simple, straightforward. Nothing in this life was ever so easy—and nothing in his life would ever be more worth it.

He was worse than na?ve, he was a fool. A fool for her.

Hakon loved her. More than was wise and more than he ever thought possible. He'd hoped the stories were true but hadn't been ready to be proven right. The truth had a way of doing that, rewriting hopes and amending plans.

The little life he'd built in his head was a good dream, and when he pressed a kiss to her soft lips, he mourned the loss of it. Grief didn't have to be tangible or reasonable, and he'd spent so long running from it. He allowed it its space, his kiss tinged with a sadness for the life that could have been.

He would have made her happy in that meadow. He would have built them a good life, full of happy days and warm nights.

That wasn't to be. And for the first time, Hakon knew that was all right.

Pulling her close, he held her tight to his chest as he told her, "I choose you, Aislinn. Today, tomorrow, for always." And he sealed that promise with a kiss, hoping it would be enough.

When he finally lifted his head, she met him with a curious gaze growing to concern.

He couldn't tell her his plan, for she might try to stop him. Her heart was too good, and he wanted it for himself. So Hakon would do what he should've done a long time ago.

With a final kiss, he bid her farewell and left the study.

It was a short walk to the rooms Orek and Sorcha shared. A swift knock brought his friend to the door, a look of bafflement on his face.

"I need your help," said Hakon.

And quickly. His time was short, and there was much to do.