Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Alfred

O n hearing that a mate has been taken, the barbarian clans have rallied. Not only the clans, but also the Blackrock and Crescent Moon shifter packs. They have come from far and wide to offer their support.

The final clans will arrive tomorrow. United, we will ride for Pershore and set this king to rights.

It is fucking freezing here, with snow carpeting the forest where we camp under the cover of the trees. But we are barbarians and hardy, and so we deal with it.

The leaders present gather in my tent, which is the only one big enough to take their numbers. Jack of the Ralston clan has brought a map of the city. It is spread out on the table where we can assess the course of action should the king not be congenial to offering up the stolen mate.

Technically, we stole the lass in question first, but that is a small matter where true love and mating are involved.

It will be a cold fucking winter if we must camp out here for long, but we are all determined.

The tent flap is suddenly thrust open, bringing a waft of frigid air.

"The centaurs are here!"

"Centaurs?" I lift my head and pin Aiden, a young warrior from my clan, with a glare. "What centaurs? What the fuck do those bastards want?"

"Lord Axton received news from the shifters," Aiden says. "He has rallied his herd to our support. I suggested he pitch his camp to the south."

"Do centaurs camp?" I turn to ask Lor, who stands to my right.

Lor shrugs, appearing similarly confused. "No idea. But they have human parts. I assume they get cold."

No mind, the centaurs are fearsome bastards. I'm more than happy for them to pitch in with their help. I don't get a chance to say more when another young lad, this one from the Ralston clan, bursts into the tent, colliding with Aiden, who grunts and scowls at the newcomer.

"Sire, we have apprehended a spy skulking in the forest."

"Unhand me, brute!" The voice is muffled by the tent wall, but it is unmistakably that of a woman.

What the fuck? We all surge out of the tent into the snow-covered forest. A warrior with a bloody nose tries to subdue a young woman… a particularly feisty young woman wearing form-fitting black leather armor that someone must have poured her body into. Gods, she is stunning with her long red hair spilling over her shoulders in a fiery mane. I just want to wrap my fingers around her tresses and use them as a leash while she… "Who the fuck is that?" I demand of the warrior, stabbing a finger in the direction of the lass. "What is wrong with you that you cannot manage one little girl?"

It's like every barbarian in the vicinity has lost his fucking balls.

"Sire! The lass has training. She disabled five warriors before we could subdue her." The warrior hands the lass to his companion before pinching his bloody nose. "We caught her riding in the forest. She is a spy!"

The lass rolls her eyes at the warrior. "Ha! It was a dozen. Had my dagger not become wedged, I'd have taken down a dozen more."

Lor poorly disguises a chuckle with a cough.

I admit, I also want to laugh, for the situation is absurd; but I'm a king, and I don't get that luxury.

"This is Penelope," Lor says, gesturing toward the lass like that might make a bit of sense.

It takes an effort to drag my gaze away from the wild beauty that my warriors are failing to take in hand and turn to Lor in question.

"The princess," he elaborates.

"Eh?" I am not usually so inarticulate, but it's like the lass has broken me, and my cock has hijacked my brain.

"The princess of Pershore. She has a reputation for being a brat and disobeying the king's orders. I don't believe she was spying. Probably just up to mischief. Also, they speak true. She has been an apprentice of the Raven Guild since she was a child. They are skilled shadow warriors, and she has been trained in their ways."

"For fuck's sake." I do not have time for the firm discipline the lass is in desperate need of. "Bind the lass and put her somewhere until this is over."

"She will get out," Lor offers, with no small amount of relish.

The bastard.

The lass smiles sweetly at me. Fuck. Her plump red lips would be better served wrapped around my cock. I shake my head to drag myself from the lusty thoughts that follow, which involve plowing her cunt until she is well-sated and I've subdued all that fire.

"I will get out." Her pert little chin lifts with unmistakable challenge. "Then I will slit your throat in your sleep for daring to put your hands on me."

I grunt, trying to keep up with this nonsense. "I have not fucking touched you."

"Yet," she says smugly. "You cannot trust your men, so you will be compelled to deal with me yourself."

Jack Ralston emits a deep guffaw. The alpha king steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. "She is all yours, Alfred. I'll go and speak to Axton and the centaurs, bring them up to speed."

Who am I to refuse the advice of a fellow clan king? I guess I'm dealing with the brat, then.

"Our meeting is adjourned." I crack my knuckles and roll out my shoulders. There is no point in denying myself this pleasure. "Looks like I have a brat to tame."