Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Penelope

J eremy has always been a weaselly noble who suffers delusions of grandeur. He is the second cousin of the disgraced lord, Marshal, who tried to take a mated omega and the reason I met Alfred at all.

It seems stupidity runs deep in their family. Jeremy was not close enough to be discredited, and yet I see echoes of the weakness in him. Oh, he is handsome, an accomplished swordsman, and is said to be renowned for his prowess in the bed, but he deluded himself that we might be wed.

I foolishly indulged him in a brief affair once, which led to him getting ideas above his station. Not that I care about a man's station. Alfred is a nobody in our world. My father has knighted him, given him a title and lands, a place we might call home and live until I must serve as queen, but I hope many years are ahead of us before that comes to pass.

There has been something off about Jeremy since he arrived at the castle under the pretense of attending our wedding, like he seeks to drive a wedge between Alfred and me, with the aid of his sister.

I trained with Joyce in the Raven Guild and considered her my friend once. Lately, however, I have questioned her loyalty, and whether her friendship was merely part of an elaborate plan to get me to marry her brother. At first, I passed off her gushing about him as my suitor as the enthusiasm of a good friend. When I knew it would never work between Jeremy and me, I told both of them separately, and in kind but plain terms.

She did not speak to me for a month, which hurt, but I told myself it was a reflection of her disappointment.

Then it was like I had never spoken to her about Jeremy, and she would continue to talk about him as though we were still destined to wed.

Today should have been an afternoon tea between two friends. Instead, Joyce has brought Jeremy along.

"But he's a barbarian," Joyce says, turning her little nose up. "Aren't they terribly uncivilized?"

Joyce is as pretty as her brother is handsome. She received a lot of attention from men of the court until the scandal surrounding her wider family.

Perhaps she is still hedging for me to marry her brother to elevate her place?

I plaster on a smile. "Oh, Alfred is very much a barbarian. But that is the appeal, don't you think?"

If she expects me to be concerned about her slight, she will be disappointed.

I told Alfred I loved him earlier today. He is so easy to love and admire. He has the ability to be himself with both people of high standing and low. He and my father are very different, but I have noticed my father listening to his opinions.

Alfred speaks plainly and is intimidated by no man. He goes to the barracks daily, where he trains with the other soldiers. It is clear they like him well. And not simply because he is about to marry the princess and their future queen. I have also seen many nobles, not just my father, softening towards him.

An unpolished gem is still a gem.

"I heard that you were" —her eyes lower to my waistline— "forced to marry him on account of being with child."

My laugh bubbles up. "I am not pregnant. Is that the best you can do, Joyce?"

Her expression turns pinched.

"My sister is only concerned," Jeremy adds.

"I am not with child," I say. "But it would be none of your business if I was."

"You should not feel pressure," Joyce continues. "Many men would take you either way. Jeremy would."

She is really not getting the point.

A little color enters Jeremy's cheeks, and I believe he finally recognizes the folly of pursuing this.

"My sister is handling her disappointment poorly. I see your mind's made. If there should ever be any... any reason for you to need to call on me, I would always be there. Others may speak of you being defiled by a barbarian, but you would not hear any such condemnation from me."

My brows have crawled higher with every word leaving his lips. "You are magnanimous, Jeremy."

His chest puffs up. I can be polite. I have spent a lifetime being polite.

Their opinions hold no sway. Soon, I will be married, and Alfred and I will move to our estate. If I never see Jeremy or Joyce again, I will not be sorry.

"Now, you must excuse me," I say, rising from my seat and forcing them to follow suit. "I have a dress fitting to attend."

I do not have a dress fitting, but my aim is achieved, and they leave, their half-drunk tea abandoned.

Barely have they left when my great-aunt arrives.

"I have taken to him," she announces, calling a servant to clear the tea service and bring a fresh set.

"Who?" I ask, distracted by her two Chihuahuas who make a bed on the plump carver chairs before the window.

"Alfred," she says. "I was off to visit my cousin in the city when the carriage wheel became stuck in a rut. The guards were floundering when Alfred came out of the barrack and plucked it from the rut. He is terribly strong. Also, my darlings adore him. And they are very discerning."

Her darlings are the two Chihuahuas. She is right. They do not like anyone well. I have seen them snap at Jeremy a time or two… and Joyce will not go near them. I can't imagine how Alfred might have won them over.

I sip a fresh cup of tea to hide my smile. It would seem Alfred has achieved the impossible and won my great-aunt over as easily as her dogs.

She chats away about the wedding. It is nice to talk to someone who is on my side. I should have known my great-aunt would come around in the way my father did. She is fierce, protective, and unafraid to test a person's mettle on her sharp tongue.

We enjoy a much more pleasant teatime than I experienced with Joyce and Jeremy. When she leaves, I ask my maid to draw me a bath.

I am ready to be Alfred's wife, his mate… His: in whatever way he desires.

He says when I am fertile, taking his knot will come naturally. He still pleasures me every evening, tormenting me until I am convinced I could take his knot then and there.

I take my time bathing, using my favorite scented oils on my skin, before selecting my prettiest silk dress. One that Alfred will love peeling from my body.

The time since I last saw him is short, yet I miss him.

He says that betas change when they mate with an alpha. I didn't believe him when he first said that. Maybe I am not changing at all, and these feelings are merely a manifestation of my increasing love.

I want all of him—to be his wholly, completely, to accept his knot, and to carry his child.

Becoming a mother was always a distant point on the horizon. Adventures and mischief called to me because I was empty and needed something to fill the void.

Something different awaits me: being a mate or wife, being loved… having children.

My mother died during childbirth, bringing me into the world—she never got to see me grow up. My father has told me often how she held me in her arms so briefly and that her face shone with joy.

I want children with Alfred. It feels like my very purpose. But I am also scared and mindful of the preciousness of time—that what I have with Alfred might be short, should the Goddess claim me as she did my mother. I want to cherish every moment, every hot kiss, every intimacy, and all the laughter. And even those worrying times, like when he turned up with broken knuckles and a bruised face because he would help another man.

I dress with care, slip my earrings in, and add a necklace around my throat.

A small, more intimate dinner is planned for tonight—Jeremy and Joyce will not be there. But my great-aunt will, and others who I know have already warmed to Alfred.

A knock sounds on the door, and before I can call, my maid rushes in.

"My lady," she says, the words tumbling out. "Sir Alfred has been taken ill. The doctor has been called to tend him and is with him now."

I feel blood leech from my face. "Ill? But how?"

"No one knows." She wrings her hands. "He's coughing up blood, my lady. Oh, it does not look good."

Alfred

I am sitting in a fancy bed coughing up blood. This is a new and alarming development, as is the weakness and the cold sweats that engulf my body. I have taken a beating many times in my life. Broken bones. I have got fucking stomach sicknesses more times than I can count. But they were positively joyful next to this.

Maybe it is the green room that is driving me to the end.

The doctor listens to my chest, then presses his fingers into my wrist while looking at his pocket watch—it is all very odd.

"I will be fine come the morrow—" Even those few words set me off a coughing fit that feels like a knife in the chest.

A hovering servant passes me a cloth. It comes away from my lips soaked with blood.

I can admit to feeling concern.

The door bursts open, and Penelope rushes in. Her eyes go from my face to the bloody cloth in my hand.

Gods, she looks so beautiful. Her jade dress is stunning. I hate the worry that I see on her face.

"Oh, what has happened to you?" she says. "Doctor, what is it? Was it the fight?"

"It was not the fucking f—" My words trigger another violent round of coughing that leaves me shaking and wheezing for breath.

She puts her hand on my shoulder. "Please do not speak, Alfred," she says, worry lining her face before she turns to the doctor.

The doctor shrugs. "It is possible one of the blows has ruptured something inside that we cannot see."

"I am not—" The coughing thwarts my attempts to speak. It is very fucking irritating.

A servant passes me a fresh cloth. Gods, I feel like something is ripping my chest out. I will be fine after I have a good night's sleep. I just need a bit of rest.

Another servant slips through the door. He makes a beeline for the tray of food that was brought to me. It seems an odd time to be worrying about such things. I was fine until… I gesture in the servant's direction, and mime eating food.

Penelope and the doctor both swing to face the servant who is scurrying for the door.

"Stop!" Penelope's voice cracks with command.

The man's eyes dart to her before he bolts for the door.

I frown.

Penelope leaps to block his path, lifts her skirts, and thrusts out one delicate ankle, sending him sprawling upon the floor.

The maid screams and shrinks back, clutching her skirts in fear.

The tray of half-eaten food goes flying. Penelope is on the man, her small fist in his hair and a knee to the center of his back.

I fight to get up, to fucking help, only to be wracked by another coughing fit.

The doctor pushes me back.

"Who are you?" Penelope demands, twisting his head back. "You are not one of my family's servants."

"Send for the guards," Penelope calls. The maid dashes for the door and thrusts it open, only for Dick, Wendle, and Poach to rush in.

"Princess!" Dick says, hastening to grab the man. Poach takes the other arm, and they wrest him to his feet.

"This man is unknown to me," Penelope says, her eyes shifting to the bed where I am coughing once again, for I cannot bear my mate dealing with a thug while I am too weak to fucking move. "I have never seen this man before and I believe he brought Alfred poisoned food."

"Neither have I," Dick says, his eyes narrowing.

"You say the food was poisoned? Only one way to find out," Poach agrees.

The man shakes his head and begins to thrash.

Gods, have I been poisoned? Is that why I feel so fucking wretched inside?

"Be careful with it," the doctor cautions. "Do not get any of it on yourselves."

Yet more guards arrive at the door to assist in holding the man. Food is scooped up in a spoon from the mess on the floor. The man is held. A spoonful is forced into his mouth before they clamp his jaw shut and pinch his nose. He thrashes and fights, but all too soon, he swallows.

The doctor approaches the food, lifts a broken plate towards his nose, and sniffs lightly. "It has no odor that I can tell. But if it is what I think it is, it will work swiftly."

The captured man is wide-eyed. He begins to sweat, shakes his head, and tries to pull away again.

They hold him fast.

And then he coughs. And coughs. And blood and spittle leak out the corner of his mouth.

"My father will see him hanged," Penelope hisses. "Find out who he works for."

"You will not have much time with him," the doctor says, rising. "Alfred's strong constitution is likely the only reason he is still alive."

"Take him from my sight," Penelope commands. "And inform my father."

The man is dragged from the room, and Penelope rushes to my side. She rests her palm against my forehead. "Settle yourself, please. You are making yourself cough."

Her frantic eyes shift to the doctor who has joined us at the bed. "What can we do?"

He shakes his head, expression grave. "Very little, my lady. There is no known antidote. The best we can do that can ease the symptoms. But his body needs to fight it on its own."

Tears begin to trickle down her face. There are many ways a man might consider himself to die. Being poisoned was never one.

Her hand is soft and gentle in mine. The doctor rummages in a bag. My chest feels like somebody is poking it with a hot knife.

The doctor produces a small dark vial. "This will help with some of the pain."

I shake my head and grunt.

"Please, Alfred," she says, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. "Let him help you. I trust him with my life. He tended my mother when I was born. He will give you naught that harms you. Nobody shall. Even if I have to taste the food myself before you eat it."

I growl at the mere thought of her taking poison in my stead. But I relent on whatever the doctor might give me that might ease some of this fiery pain.

It is hard to swallow it down. It feels like syrup with a strange bitter undertone. I cough. A fresh cloth is presented to me. My eyes grow heavy. Fuck. I am not ready to die.

Penelope

Alfred falls into restless delirium.

My father arrives flanked by his loyal guards, his countenance a mix of worry and seriousness.

"The man who disguised himself as a servant has met his end. He divulged no information about his accomplice." My father, his voice laced with concern, moves closer to me and, bending down, plants a gentle kiss on my forehead.

My cheeks are damp with the endless tears that fall.

"I love him," I say.

"I know," he replies. "I knew it from the first moment I met him and when he brought you to me. And that he was just as in love with you."

Another sob breaks from my chest. The servants are ordered from the room, although the doctor remains vigilant. My father sits beside me and holds me, even as I hold my beloved Alfred's hand.

"He is stable," the doctor says. "His pulse is slow but steady, and his breathing is steady, too. We can do no more but let it run its course."

"I need to know who did this," I say.

"Indeed," my father agrees. "I have an idea. One that is not without its risks. Given those risks pertain to you, I am reluctant to take such an approach."

I would take any risk for Alfred to see the culprit brought to swift justice. "Tell me," I demand.