Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

E vaine stretched and yawned, then cuddled closer to Alaric’s shirt-covered chest. This tiny, unfurnished room above the stables was bitterly cold, poorly lit with just one small torch, and more than a little dusty, but it was the only place in the entire castle that wasn’t overrun with guests or servants.

No doubt there were assorted courtiers and pack members gnawing their own paws trying to find Alaric so he could decide this final detail or that final adjustment for today’s mating ceremony and her official crowning as Queen of the Western Lands. But a stolen hour at dawn, alone with her mate, had been well worth it. Her whole body was wonderfully relaxed after the glorious release Alaric had brought her with his talented fingers. Now she was ready to face the day.

“Do you think they’ll find us soon?” Evaine murmured as she pressed kisses to his neck.

He chuckled and held her tighter. “Alas, I think at least a few of my servants know where we are, including my marshal. Willie has diverted at least ten wolves from entering the stables.”

She bit her lip. “Poor Willie. He has enough to think about, organizing our upcoming procession around the Western Lands. In some ways, I wish we could just run away together like the younger humans do.”

Alaric leaned back slightly, his gaze intent. “Are you nervous about the ceremonies?”

“Not nervous exactly,” said Evaine slowly, her heart twinging. “Of course I don’t want to make a mistake with everyone watching, trip over my gown train or jumble my words. But it’s more…I’m just sad there are no other de Wynters here. My sire should read from the Book of Lore and take our thumbprints and combined blood drop to recognize the royal union. My mother should plait my hair and tell me all the jaw-dropping details about…well, you know. Biting and knotting. Breeding heat. Pregnancy. And my s-sisters would have challenged you to a swordfight. We’d share spiced ale and exchange gifts. You and my brother would go hunting for the ceremonial stag h-heart…”

Tears burned her eyes and she hastily blinked them back lest Alaric think she was upset about today. It was exciting to finally be joining with her mate and to take her place beside him on the Western throne. It was just…she missed her mother and father and sisters and brother so very much. And on the most formal occasion possible for royal wolves, the absence of anyone from the de Wynter pack would be somberly noted. She didn’t want somber. She wanted joyful .

“Evie…” said Alaric as he stroked her back and smoothed her heavy robe. “I swear that we’ll find Isabel and Cecily and Lucan. They will forever have sanctuary here until Lucan can reclaim the Book of Lore and his throne. I know that Darius and Ranulf pledge the same. If your sisters and brother can make it to a royal castle, they’ll be safe. And, just like Apollo and Artemis mercilessly avenged all offenses against our Blessed Leto, we shall brutally punish those who murdered your mother and father and enslaved the de Wynter pack.”

Evaine growled. “The hatred I feel for Guy Saville knows no bounds. He will pay. One day.”

They sat in companionable silence for another quarter hour or so, then Alaric glanced out the small window. “More wolves are waking. I fear we must return to our chambers and pretend we weren’t rolling about on hay bales. Mother will be disappointed we ignored her practical advice,” he finished, smiling ruefully as he brushed straw from her sleeve.

“I wonder if that particular detail will make it to Henry in London,” Evaine replied tartly as she reluctantly stood. “He heard about us before the ink was even dry.”

Alaric went still. “That is exactly what continues to bother me, how swiftly those Hera-spawned Oxfords arrived to scold us for offending their king. How did Henry even find out? No human would know of our plans, or the preparation here. It’s too remote.”

Her stomach sank at the implications. “Surely a wolf wouldn’t dare interfere. Do you think…a pack member or servant wants to stop this ceremony? Perhaps collect the bounty on my head? I know the amount is very large.”

He shook his head firmly. “I would hope to the depths of my soul the answer is no. Gold wouldn’t be an inducement to anyone at Blackstone Castle. But even with hundreds and hundreds of guests, I have armed guards everywhere. Save my brother kings and their personal attendants, no one is permitted to carry weapons within these walls. Blackstone is your home, Evie. Your sanctuary. By this afternoon, you’ll be crowned queen. By tonight…my bonded link mate. Mine in every way.”

Evaine shivered at the hot promise in his gaze. Indeed, while Alaric’s tongue and fingers were truly magical, she yearned to be joined with him completely, his cock lodged deep inside her, flooding her with seed as he bit her mating mark and unlocked their mind link. “And you’ll be mine in every way.”

“I will. Now, let us go before the castle runs mad. I’m sure Oliver and Larkin will have lists a mile long.”

After pulling their warm cloaks around them, Evaine and Alaric left the stables and crossed the courtyard to the castle. One lingering kiss later, they each returned to their own chamber.

When Evaine pushed open the door to her room, the last time she would ever use it, Sian was waiting for her. The fire had been stoked, several candelabra were lit, and fresh water was heating in a wrought-iron bucket.

The queen’s lips twitched. “Straw? Really, my dear? Have I taught you nothing?”

Evaine poked out her tongue as she batted the stray evidence from her sleeve. “I’ve no idea what you speak of, Mother.”

They both froze.

“Beg pardon,” said Evaine swiftly. “I’m not sure why I said that.”

The queen hesitated, her fingers twisting together. “I would never seek to replace Magdalena. I know you loved her beyond measure, may Leto bless her star-soul. But should you wish a mother figure…someone to ask certain questions of, or tweak Alaric’s nose if he is being a right royal arse…I am here.”

A giggle bubbled in her chest. “Was King Cyrus ever a right royal arse?”

“He had his moments,” said Sian fondly, her gaze faraway. “Especially when he overindulged in wine and snored like a thunderstorm. Or grumbled about wolflings being too loud. Or the time he tried to help by changing the den I made before I birthed Alaric.”

“Oh dear.”

“But none of that ever compared to my worst trial: his mother, Ana-Maria. She was an Ilustrisima Senora , overbearing, rude, and quarrelsome, and never missed a chance to tell me I wasn’t nearly good enough for her son and his blue Spanish blood. I swore there and then, if I was blessed with a male cub, I would never behave like that. I wanted to be a friend to my new daughter, not an enemy. I won’t tell you how to be queen, Evaine, or insist anything remain my preference, for this will be your castle. But should you seek my counsel or experience, I shall offer it gladly.”

“Did you like Theda?” asked Evaine, the words rushing out before she could haul them back in.

The queen’s eyes widened briefly, then she shook her head. “No. I was in seclusion, so I missed a lot. But when I met her, I knew in my bones she wasn’t my son’s mate. Theda treated Alaric horribly. She accepted the crown but shunned him. Rejected his touch. They never shared a chamber and rarely shared a bed, even in rutting season. I never thought I would say this about a queen, but no one was saddened at her death. The only comment I kept hearing was regret that Alaric would never sire an heir.”

Evaine exhaled slowly. Alaric had spoken freely of Theda, but it was reassuring to hear the same message from another source, to know what felt right was right. She and Alaric were fated mates and Blackstone Castle was exactly where she was meant to be. As queen. “I did have other questions,” she said awkwardly. “Those I might ask a mother…”

Sian grinned, so much like her son it was uncanny, and beckoned her over to sit on the fireside cushions. “A she-wolf’s first biting and knotting experience is almost impossible to describe. Pleasure and pain intertwine like a rope. I wasn’t sure I could bear it, but kept demanding more, more, more. The release is like a storm wave and a starburst and I screamed myself hoarse. As for your first breeding heat…your body offers clues it is coming, because the day before, you’ll feel terrible. Headache, sore limbs, fever, sweats. There’ll be tears and snarls and you’ll want to hurl your mate off the ramparts. Then the next day…Goddess. The need to rut, all the time, will consume you for an entire week. Eat, drink, rut, sleep a little, then start again. That’s all. And do not fret, everyone understands.”

Her cheeks burning, Evaine nearly rocked on the cushion at the frankness, but she greatly appreciated not having to coax or drag the information out. While she was certain Alaric would teach her everything, it was lovely to not go in completely unaware. “And, uh…what about cubs? I mean, do you know if you conceive?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” said Sian with a laugh. “Not long after unknotting, you abruptly change into wolf-form, and stay like that until you deliver. Which is such a blessing. Wolves carry for two months, humans carry for nine . Ugh. Imagine that! Now, do you have any other questions, or shall I call for Blanche and my ladies to assist you? The mating ceremony is scheduled for mid-morning, and we need to brush your fur and scrub your claws. After I’ve removed that straw, hmmm?”

All Evaine could do was grin. “Yes, Mother.”

“It’s time! It’s time! It’s actually time for your mating ceremony. Well, your real mating ceremony. With your real mate.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow as Wesley darted about the bedchamber as though his hose was aflame. His squire had been ready for hours, his boots polished, his hair actually combed, preening in his new gold and black livery. The eagerness was almost endearing .

“Yes,” Alaric replied simply. “A half hour and we’ll be standing in front of Leto’s shrine.”

Wesley halted in front of Alaric's looking glass and bowed. “My queen. My queen . All hail Queen Evaine of the Western Lands, long may she reign…oh, this is wonderful. A queen means lots of beautiful females will visit…one day she might have cubs! Do not fret, my king, I will ensure your young know all the important skills such as…coaxing more pork slices from Cook. How to stalk a squirrel. And remove a splinter from their thumb with an embroidery needle. Mother taught me that.”

Alaric blinked. The way Wesley’s mind bounced from one topic to the next was enough to give anyone a severe headache, but today, nothing could change his mood. It was a momentous and glorious occasion indeed. “I am glad to know they’ll have such a dedicated tutor.”

His squire halted. “Wait. Cubs must be created first. My king, do you know what to do? I can fetch Father, he sired two litters so I presume he has some knowledge. Then again, perhaps Mother just gave him a list of instructions. Father adores lists.”

“I am confident on this matter, yes,” replied Alaric, his lips twitching. Wolflings were such a curious mix of mature wolf and cub, and it continued to fascinate him how they swayed between the two.

Wesley sighed, actually looking relieved. “Excellent. Is there anything else you need? I will examine all your garments again before the main ceremony, to ensure they are perfect. But that crown is so heavy, I don’t even know how you keep it on your head.”

Alaric nodded solemnly. In truth, he wondered himself. He usually wore a plain circlet crown and a doublet badge made of gold and jet. But for formal ceremonies, the Western Crown was hauled out of the heavily-guarded Treasury. It had been fashioned centuries ago to resemble Blackstone Castle, with four points that rose several inches above the base of satin-lined, solid Beaumont gold, affixed with pearls and amethysts. One pigeon egg-sized diamond, surrounded by smaller diamonds, decorated the front. The damned thing was wretchedly heavy. Fortunately, he only had to wear it for Evaine’s official crowning; during the first ceremony at Leto’s shrine both he and Evaine would be in wolf form. This was the private, very personal part of the day, only attended by Darius and Ranulf as witnesses, his mother, and Wesley, for it was protocol for a king’s squire to attend all formal events.

Once again, his heart clenched for Evaine. The King and Queen of the Eastern Lands should be here to witness their eldest cub’s mating ceremony, not star-risen. Isabel, Cecily and Lucan should be challenging him to prove he was strong and brave and clever enough for their sister—not in hiding, perhaps sick or injured, terrified for their lives.

“Did a search party go out, as normal?” Alaric asked abruptly.

Wesley frowned. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they thought not, due to the ceremonies?”

“Run and tell your sire to dispatch a group. The crowning ceremony won’t begin until they return. Perhaps one of the princesses might flee here, hidden among the guests.”

His squire brightened. “Concealed in a cart, even! Or if not today, while you are out on progress. When I look out my window to the stars, I often ask Leto to restore Princess Evaine’s sisters to her, and her brother to the Eastern throne.”

“You and me both,” said Alaric gruffly, briefly patting Wesley’s shoulder. His squire beamed, then dashed away to find his father.

After discarding his heavy brocade robe, Alaric closed his eyes and changed into wolf form. Even now it took a moment to adjust to the change in height and shape, but when he ran his tongue-tip over his fangs, pure lust jolted through him. This night they would have a task far more important than hunting: sinking into Evaine’s mating mark, fusing her to him as he knotted inside her and unlocked their bonded mind link.

Anticipation burned brighter than fire, although if he were brutally honest, nerves fluttered in his stomach. What would it feel like to be fully bonded? To speak to each other without talking? To know Evaine’s thoughts, and have her know his? For a diplomat, it was actually disconcerting. His mate would know if he dissembled, told a partial truth, or attempted to hide his emotions. Evaine would know everything . He would be utterly vulnerable to her and she would be utterly vulnerable to him.

Alaric huffed out a breath, then indulged in a full-body stretch, his claws digging into the rug as he rolled his shoulders and arched his back. Goddess, that always felt good. Next, he padded over to the looking glass to inspect his fur, his tail, even his ears. Never had cleanliness been so important.

“You’re in fine form, my king. I swear,” said Wesley, as he bounded back into the room. “And a search party will scour the area. There were countless offers; so many wolves want to be the one who escorts a missing de Wynter princess into the castle as a gift to you and the new queen. The guards nearly fought each other. But can we go to the shrine now? I’m ready to present the offerings!”

He almost sighed; Wesley had made no secret of his role in the private ceremony. “Yes, we’ll go to the shrine now. Be humble, lest someone accidentally bloodies your nose.”

Wesley sketched a solemn bow, but nothing could extinguish his jaunty pride as he smoothed his livery then led Alaric out of the royal bedchamber. “Make way! Make way for King Alaric! He travels to Leto’s shrine to be mated!”

Alaric almost rolled his eyes. And yet how different the ceremony procession felt this time! Going to Theda, there had been no sense of urgency. No excitement. Today, Alaric had to force himself to move slowly down the hallway. To not leap downstairs, but regally acknowledge all the cheering servants and guests who had formed lines to toss sprigs of herbs as a wish for good fortune and fertility. Evaine would receive the same as she was led by his mother.

But why was it taking a thousand years to reach Leto’s ground-floor shrine? Damn it, when had his castle grown to twice its size?

Alaric growled under his breath, but at last he stood outside the sacred chamber. The double doors were wide open, the stone floor strewn with flowers, herbs, and gold coins. The arched entrance was draped in satin; green and white for de Wynter, and black and gold for Beaumont, and a beautifully embroidered tapestry depicting their crests hung proudly on the wall. His mother had been busy. Inside the chamber, Darius and Ranulf waited next to Rowan, the longtime soothsayer of Blackstone Castle.

“My son and king,” called Sian as she approached from the opposite direction, wearing the traditional plain white linen gown of female attendants. “With a glad heart and a merry step I present Evaine de Wynter, blooded princess of the Eastern Lands and your one true fated mate.”

“Come to me, Princess Evaine,” intoned Alaric. “Let us give thanks to the revered Goddess for her many blessings.”

His breath caught as the small crowd parted and Evaine strolled through, her sleek, elegantly deadly form padding soundlessly across the floor. How could he be so fortunate to have this glorious, passionate, saucy she-wolf for a mate?

“I am yours, King Alaric,” said Evaine, her green eyes glowing. “Lead me unto Leto.”

As they approached the gleaming seven-foot-high marble statue of Leto with the twin flames representing Apollo and Artemis burning brightly, a familiar sense of peace overcame Alaric. Except now there was a warmth and contentment he’d not thought possible. Last time with Theda everything had seemed off; one of the flames had even extinguished and had to be relit!

But not today. Not with Evaine. This was right.

Rowan cleared his throat. Then the kindly soothsayer lifted his arms, his flowing black robes swishing around his ankles. “Beloved Leto, your humble servants King Alaric and Princess Evaine come this day to seal their fated union as decreed by you. In grateful joy, they swear to protect and cherish each other, and bring these offerings to give thanks unto you: the fresh heart of a stag, a flagon of red wine, a bag of gold, and two perfect white blooms.”

Smiling proudly, Wesley stepped forward with the items. Darius and Ranulf then carefully arranged them at the foot of the shrine.

Next, his mother curtsied deeply to the statue. “We remember those who have risen to the stars and sit at our revered Goddess’s right hand: King Cyrus of the Western Lands; King Hugo of the Eastern Lands; Queen Magdalena of the Eastern Lands. Blessed are their names.”

Alaric bowed his head, pressing his paw over Evaine’s at her faint sniffle. In truth, it was difficult to hold back his own grief at such profound loss.

“Thank you, Queen Sian,” said Rowan, inclining his head. “Now I shall take this needle and draw a blood drop from King Alaric and Princess Evaine to formalize their union.”

The sharp pinprick made them both wince, but the soothsayer caught their blood drops on a parchment square and expertly blended them with the needle. Alaric and Evaine pressed their paws to the blood, then together, then onto the parchment once more. Unlike last time, when Theda’s soothsayer had snatched the parchment away, a brief blue spark lit up the room, turning the square into unbreakable clear stone and capturing the moment for eternity.

Alaric turned his head. “Greetings, my mate,” he rasped unsteadily, quite overcome.

Evaine grinned tearfully. “Greetings, my king.”

It was done.

Not even being born a princess had prepared her for the sheer overwhelm of royal mating ceremonies. Or the storm of emotions at being so alone .

Evaine closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool stone of the privy chamber wall. She needed a little time for composure; after the private mating ceremony she and Alaric had eaten a small but sumptuous meal with Sian, King Darius and King Ranulf. Although very different to Alaric; Darius so battle-hungry and frightening to behold, and Ranulf so scholarly and sharply amusing, both wolf kings treated her like a cherished sister.

However, once again, the lack of any other de Wynters had scratched her soul. Having someone, anyone to share a memory with, not about the rest of England just the Eastern Lands. The particular scent of the frigid, raging North Sea spray. The feel of newly shorn wool from the staggering number of sheep. Nibbling on freshwater fish plucked straight from the River Yare. Watching Father trade with merchant ships from the Low Countries in all manner of languages. The way certain winds shrieked around the turrets of Ashcross Castle like Hera in a temper…

Where were Isabel and Cecily and Lucan? WHERE?

Evaine gulped in several breaths and dashed a hand across her eyes lest she start sobbing. The Queen of the Western Lands would never display reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks at a formal occasion. Especially the celebration of a mating that brought her immeasurable happiness.

A soft tap sounded at the privy door. “Evaine? May I come in?”

She stumbled over, her legs still a little unsteady after changing back to human form, and pulled the door open to smile at Sian. “I’m quite well and ready to dress for my crowning.”

Sian nodded, clear sympathy in her gaze. “I understand needing a moment, my dear. Do you know how many times today I’ve turned to Cyrus and he’s not there? I am so glad you met my mate, even if you were just a cub. Cyrus would simply adore you now. But it is very, very difficult when a joyful time also reminds us of great sadness. Or great anger.”

Stepping forward, Evaine clasped the elder queen in a tight hug. “Thank you. For your welcome. Your kindness. Your humor. And Alaric, of course.”

“Ha! Of course! Now, let us get you crowned. I’m afraid the garment layers and jewels are many, it is a miracle a Western Queen can move at all.”

Evaine laughed, but two hours later she wasn’t nearly so amused. Perhaps outside in the cold January air it would be better, but in a ground-floor dressing chamber with a well-stoked fire blazing and ten attendants darting about, it felt like she might suffocate. First, she’d been sponged with herbed water and dried with soft towels. Then, after being dressed in a whisper-thin embroidered linen shift and silk stockings fastened by satin garters, came a cream velvet kirtle that tied at her waist. Next was a heavy gold brocade gown trimmed with diamonds and pearls that actually required several attendants to lift over Evaine’s head due to the weight and voluminous train. Sian had then laced on Evaine’s cream-and-gold sleeves, lined with satin and ermine for warmth, and fastened a solid gold and jet girdle around her waist.

Evaine almost swayed as she peered at the looking glass in front of her, but alas, there was more to come. Bejeweled rings for her fingers, wide gold bracelets for her wrists, and a sturdy gold necklace set with twelve diamonds the size of her thumbnail. Her hair was brushed to a crackling shine, then plaited and coiled at her nape, secured with gold pins and a short sheer gold veil. “Oh my.”

“I know,” said Sian, grimacing. “And there’s still the queen’s crown to come. Fortunately, you only have to wear that on the dais.”

“How do I walk to the courtyard?” asked Evaine, only half-jesting. A fully laden carriage would weigh less than this gown and gold.

“Very slowly.”

It took a full half-hour to walk from the dressing chamber to the spacious courtyard; by the time Evaine reached the thick crimson carpet near the foot of the dais, sweat dripped down her back, even in the crisp, cold winter air. Goddess! The crowd! There must be thousands of wolves dressed in their best clothes, crammed into the space. While most stood, some were seated on tiered wooden benches, others lined the ramparts, while more still leaned out windows or were perched on the roofs of various outbuildings. Darius and Ranulf sat on cushioned chairs to the rear of the dais, their guards kneeling around them.

But finally Evaine’s gaze reached Alaric on his throne, equally bejeweled, gilded and miserable in his majestic attire, and her mood improved. They were in this together.

A trumpet flourish sounded and a herald stepped forward. “Hear ye! Hear ye! The union of King Alaric of the Western Lands and Princess Evaine of the Eastern Lands has been decreed and blessed by Leto herself. May it now be known to all: Evaine is queen, long may she reign.”

“ Evaine is queen, long may she reign !” echoed the crowd.

Alaric rose to his feet and held out a hand. “Come and be recognized, Queen Evaine.”

With the assistance of Sian, the attendants, and Rowan the soothsayer, Evaine was discreetly hauled up four steps to the stage and escorted to Alaric’s side. When he took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, she reveled in the reassuring touch.

Two armed guards carried in the queen’s crown, an elaborate, only slightly smaller version of the king’s, except it was entirely covered in diamonds and pearls and lined with gold velvet. Rowan took the crown and lifted it high. “To the North! Queen Evaine of the Western Lands. To the South! Queen Evaine of the Western Lands. To the East! Queen Evaine of the Western Lands. Evaine is queen, long may she reign.”

“ Evaine is queen, long may she reign ,” bellowed the crowd.

The soothsayer then placed the startlingly heavy crown upon Evaine’s head and offered an ancient blessing before he turned to the crowd, his arms outstretched. “Wolves of the Western Lands, greet your anointed ruler King Alaric and his true mate Queen Evaine.”

The cheers and applause were deafening. Alaric smiled and lifted their clasped hands, before turning, very slowly, to acknowledge his subjects.

Alaric squeezed her hand. “Not long to go now. I’m so very proud of you,” he murmured.

About to reply something saucy, Evaine instead froze as her gaze settled upon a cloaked figure standing on the stone ramparts. A tall, plump female who at first glance appeared to be an elder wolf, with a walking stick, lined face and silver hair. Until their gazes locked…and the she-wolf blew her a kiss and traced a heart in the air.

Evaine gasped. Only one female she knew had ever done that. A beautiful ray of sunshine who raided the kitchens for honey cakes, loved to dance, and could always be depended upon to provide a reassuring hug or kind word when anyone was sad or scared. Someone so reluctant to leave a warm bed or cushion in front of the fireplace that she would blow a kiss and trace a heart rather than get up .

ISABEL.

A cry tore from Evaine’s throat and she staggered forward, intending to run. Naturally, her ceremonial garments prevented that entirely, and she barely kept the queen’s crown atop her head as she wobbled in place on the dais. Wretched train! Wretched jewels!

Alaric moved closer. “Sweetheart? Do you feel faint?”

“No,” she replied breathlessly, looking frantically along the ramparts for her sister. But the cloaked figure had vanished. “I thought…I thought I saw…”

Her voice trailed off as doubts crept in. It had been ten long years; all she remembered was her sister as a cub. Just because Isabel had been plump then didn’t mean anything now, especially if she had gone without food on many occasions. As for blowing a kiss and tracing a heart, perhaps many did that. Besides, the female had been easily fifty feet away. Too far to see her eye color, or examine her ankle for the small crescent-shaped mark Isabel had since birth.

No, seeing her sister was wishful thinking. Evaine had wanted another de Wynter to be present so badly for her crowning she’d conjured something that simply wasn’t real. The time had come to accept that she might never see her sisters and brother again.

“Saw what?” asked Alaric, his low tone more urgent. “A mercenary? Concealed weapons?”

Evaine sighed. “Nothing like that. It’s foolish, really. I thought I saw Isabel, but I was wrong. It was just some poor elder wolf wishing us well.”

Her mate hesitated. “Are you sure? It would make sense if your sister was in disguise. I can send out another search party. With a signed note from you, so Isabel knows she has sanctuary here.”

“No,” she said firmly. “The female wore a long cloak and had silver hair, and was gone in the blink of an eye. To be honest, with this anvil crown crushing my head, I’m surprised I’m not seeing fairies and unicorns.”

Alaric smiled ruefully as he waved to a group of wolves who were toasting them with tankards of ale. “The sooner these crowns are back in the Treasury, the better. I’m sure my skull has a gold imprint. But we can leave the dais at any time, all the official parts are complete…my queen.”

Evaine whimpered softly as fierce desire coursed through her body. “Not all .”

A slow smile curled Alaric’s lips and his eyes glittered. “Then let us retire and attend to the remaining matter most thoroughly.”

She inclined her head. “Yes, my king.”