Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
“ A s you can see, the carts are nearly fully loaded, my queen. Are you sure there is nothing I can add to make your travel more comfortable? Even a particular trinket or pillow?”
As the cold, misty dawn air swirled around the torches lighting up the courtyard, Evaine smiled and shook her head at Willie, the castle marshal. She couldn’t fault his attention to detail, or any of the plans he had made for the impending month-long progress to introduce her to Alaric’s subjects. The marshal had consulted her continuously on preferences for lodging and food and audiences, even inconsequential things like musical instruments to be played at entertainments or her favorite flowers. At no time had she felt like a piece on a chessboard, forever waiting to be moved this way or that. But now all the castle guests had departed, and the sketches for her and Alaric’s official portrait were complete. It was time to leave the sanctuary of Blackstone Castle.
“No,” said Evaine. “I am more than content. I don’t really have anything in the way of personal trinkets…well, none at all, actually.”
Willie winced and kicked at a small stone with the toe of his boot. “Ah, forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“You didn’t,” she hastily assured him, wanting to wince herself at the ill-thought comment. As a crowned queen, she needed to be far more mindful around servants. Far more discreet.
In truth, she was struggling to calm her inner nerves about the journey they were about to commence. The prospect remained daunting in so many ways beyond the obvious change that she was now queen. After ten years running from town to town and village to village, it was hard to be excited about a royal progress that had no less than twenty stops. Twenty ! And they would be traveling over 700 miles, in the middle of winter, for it was custom in Wolfdom to introduce a new queen to her subjects as soon as possible, rather than waiting for summer as the humans did.
Really, she felt rather foolish for not knowing just how vast Alaric’s kingdom was. While it encompassed the entire principality of Wales, it also stretched north to Hadrian’s Wall, as far east as Derby, and as far south as Cirencester. Although both Willie and Captain Bardolf had assured her she would have warriors dedicated to her safety, and that the king’s personal guard of fifty highly trained and heavily armed warriors would accompany them the entire way…the second half of the journey alarmed her most. On several occasions they would be close to the Eastern Lands border.
What if they were set upon by a large pack of mercenaries? Or Guy Saville himself? There were plenty of places where a traveling party could be ambushed.
Evaine shuddered. As Queen of the Western Lands, some might claim she was no longer a threat or easy target, and the usurper would leave her alone. However, there was an equally strong argument that she was now an even greater prize. Anyone could be tempted by a queen’s ransom, or if they were truly evil: strike a terrible blow by murdering a king’s fated mate, for without cubs, it would throw succession into chaos. She was very much afraid Guy Saville viewed her as the latter, especially if he had ambitions beyond the Eastern Lands.
Tyrants always wanted more.
Willie cleared his throat, then bowed. “Well, I know King Alaric wishes to depart very soon to allow the greatest amount of travel in daylight. Today you’ll go to Worcester. After that to Gloucester, then a few days at the Forest of Dean for some excellent hunting and hospitality at St. Briavels Castle. I know there’ll be many dignitaries for you to meet. Perhaps even some humans.”
Evaine couldn’t conceal a grimace. “Oh.”
The marshal laughed. “Fear not, my queen, they would all have heard by now what happens to those who displease King Alaric. The Oxfords got what they deserved! I know it’s not usually the Beaumont way, but we were all proud of our king for his small show of force. Sometimes it is necessary to remind others that just because a wolf prefers peace, he is by no means weak.”
Except if the human is powerful, and so aggrieved that it starts a war.
Abruptly chilled, even wrapped up warmly in a hooded, ermine-lined black cloak, Evaine rubbed her gloved hands together. Although there had been no human retaliation, or further contact by an emissary or King Henry himself, she didn’t believe for a moment that the matter was laid to rest. Not for an arrogant nobleman like Lord Oxford. “I suppose my main task is remembering I’m a duchess if around humans.”
Willie’s lip curled. “Bardy and I will never forgive the human king for such an insult. Why could Henry not just say ‘I am battle-poor, leave your gold pile here’? No need to bring a worthless title into it. Poor King Alaric. Not like he could refuse.”
Evaine nodded. Indeed he could not. But it was troubling that her mate had navigated that tricky situation yet not the Oxfords’ comments about their mating ceremony. Did Alaric regret his actions? Was the lapse in judgment with the earl and countess the reason why he wished to keep some thoughts private from her?
In all honesty, he wouldn’t be terribly aggrieved if she couldn’t hear everything.
Unfortunately, the memory was burned in her brain alongside the perfection of their bonded mating. How could she tell Alaric she’d heard that thought with absolute clarity, not just the ones he wanted her to hear? Goddess, she hated pretending. Hated lying. But perhaps her mate simply required more time to know he could trust her. That she wasn’t too delicate or too foolish to know everything. So for now, Alaric would be given the grace to be a right royal arse as Sian had so humorously described it. In future, she might have to take one of those solid gold plates and lovingly knock some sense into his stubborn Welsh skull.
“Will the king and I be on horseback?” asked Evaine. “Or travel in a covered wagon?”
“Your choice, really,” said Willie. “There’ll be fresh horses at each stop; in some places the roads might be impassable for a heavy cart. It depends on the weather, how much rain or snow, if the landowner has a care for the roads nearby. But it will be very cold and damp. And in some places…er…well, you’re very precious, my queen. I heard those words from the king himself.”
Warmth surrounded her heart and lifted her spirits. All would be well. A crowned queen certainly couldn’t hide in a castle her entire life, nor would she want to. Not Evaine the Bold. “The king knows his lands far better than I do. I’ll look to him for guidance.”
About an hour later, as the sun began to rise, the procession departed Blackstone Castle, the gold-and-black flags of the Beaumont pack fluttering in the cool breeze. Sian would remain to oversee Blackstone along with Rowan, Oliver and Bardolf, while Evaine and Alaric had the services of Wesley, Blanche, Larkin the chamberlain and Willie to ensure the journey progressed smoothly. As they would be staying at castles and manor houses along the way, they didn’t need to bring a great deal of food, but one cart near-groaned with barrels of wine, gold plate, goblets, eating knives and spoons, and napkins if needed. They also had their own sheets and pillows, something Evaine was very grateful for. She’d become shamefully particular after sleeping on such fine linen.
Another cart carried chests with her clothing: shifts and petticoats, gowns and shoes, gloves and wool stockings, and cloaks. A separate locked chest held a selection of jewels: necklaces and bracelets and rings, and her new diamond-studded circlet crown that she would wear to each gathering. Alaric had his own clothing cart, and other carts carried gifts to be distributed to his subjects. There was also an eye-watering collection of weapons such as extra swords, daggers, bows and arrows, pikes, maces, and shields. All the carts were covered in heavy canvas to keep the weather out.
Evaine and Alaric, Wesley, Blanche, Larkin, and Willie had all chosen to ride horseback to Worcester, about a twenty-mile journey from Blackstone. However, there were also two well-appointed wooden wagons with a door and small windows covered by canvas that could be rolled up for fresh air. Inside there were cushioned bench seats, furs for warmth, flagons of mulled wine, and parcels of honey cakes and dried meats to ease hunger.
Goddess. No wonder Willie appeared a little fatigued—what he had organized in such a short time was quite frankly, a miracle.
“Are you ready, my queen?”
Alaric’s voice, low and amused next to her ear, startled her out of her thoughts. How could just his voice make her heart beat faster? Especially when she was both hurt and irritated by his opinion on sharing thoughts through their bond link.
“I…ah…yes, of course,” Evaine replied, a little flustered.
“You were studying the carts,” he continued, his eyes glinting. “I promise Willie has thought of everything and then some. And we have ample gold to purchase any item we do not have.”
“Good,” she said crisply, grasping her horse’s reins tighter. “Then let’s not tarry about in the cold. Onward.”
Alaric nodded then tilted his head back and howled, a raw, guttural sound that seemed to carry for miles. Now, everyone around would know, the King and Queen of the Western Lands were officially on progress.
Leto protect them.
St. Briavels Castle, Gloucestershire
It wasn’t Blackstone, but never had Alaric been so glad to see a castle.
While he’d enjoyed Worcester and Gloucester—both possessed cathedrals so majestic even wolves with no attachment to “God” or the “Holy Trinity” were compelled to stop and admire the craftsmanship—Gloucester had been especially difficult. Theda’s family had long since fled abroad, but he would forever associate the place with her. In truth, he’d been genuinely shocked when Larkin asked if he wished to lay flowers upon her tomb. The thought was abhorrent, but Alaric at least had the excuse of dozens of meetings and audiences, and Larkin did beg forgiveness for the blunder.
Perhaps Alaric was just irritable without his queen.
The past few days had been nothing but duty and travel. His palm ached from shaking hands, his throat felt raw from speaking, and he’d spent countless hours in damp, shadowy rooms signing documents, judging disputes, receiving dignitaries, and hearing fresh reports from border guards on mercenary sightings or attacks. Evaine hadn’t fared any easier; convening her first Western Council meeting, where she-wolves discussed battle training, trade, elder care, education, medical advances, upcoming state visits, and notable events since last time. By all accounts his mate had excelled, and he was very proud.
But now, after following the River Severn from Gloucester then cutting inland, they’d arrived at St. Briavels Castle and he could show her.
As their procession approached the huge double gatehouse fashioned of red sandstone and local limestone, Alaric’s spirits lifted. The Forest of Dean was truly beautiful: fresh air, plentiful game, and no large hordes of humans.
Wesley rode up, fresh and jaunty as only a wolfling could be. “My king, we have circled the area. It is completely secure. Shall I inform the queen?”
“Yes, do,” said Alaric, glancing back at the covered wagon sheltering his mate. Rain had settled in just after they’d departed Gloucester and Blanche had bundled Evaine into the wagon to protect her fine clothing. No doubt she was clawing at the wood to get out; no wolf would ever choose slow, bone-jolting wagon over horseback or run.
As the castle drawbridge was already lowered, the procession passed over the deep moat and entered the outer courtyard. Soon after, the Warden of the Forest of Dean and Constable of the Castle, Robert Poyntz, stepped out with his mate Margaret, and several of their cubs. All beamed and waved enthusiastically in greeting.
Alaric dismounted from his horse, grimacing at the cling of his wet, mud-splattered clothing, and his stiff muscles. Then he turned and helped an equally unhappy Evaine out of the wagon. A hot bath and time to really talk would cure these ills. After linking arms, they approached the Poyntz pack, who immediately dropped to one knee.
“My king,” said Robert. “You honor us with this visit.”
“Our pleasure to be here,” said Alaric. “And it is my honor to present Queen Evaine.”
Robert smiled. “My queen. You are thrice a miracle, to be found, restored to position, and now ruling us on the Western throne. Leto has blessed us all. Here is my beloved mate, Margaret.”
After exchanging informal forehead presses and giving gifts to the excited cubs, Robert gestured for them to enter the gatehouse. “My king, we’ve prepared your usual rooms on the upper floor. Would you both prefer to rest and refresh before supper? Or stroll about the keep, perhaps? We’ll rise early tomorrow to hunt; I’m sure the weather will be much improved.”
Alaric nodded, eager to be alone with Evaine. Their recent time apart only reminded him of the frantic week before the ceremonies, and he was frustrated beyond belief. “Rest and refreshment sounds ideal. Lead on, Rob…beg pardon, Sir Robert?”
The warden chuckled as they walked up the narrow spiral staircase. “Ugh yes, the human king awarded me a knighthood. Could be worse, though, Henry could have made me a duke at Bosworth Field! Unfortunately my wolf strength and skill set me apart; I wasn’t even trying. But Henry promises peace, and Leto knows this realm needs it. Damned Yorks and Lancasters and their quarrels…ah, here we go. I hope it meets your approval, my queen.”
Evaine entered the spacious, airy chamber and after inspecting the sturdy four-poster bed and the magnificent forest view, went straight to the fireplace. Closing her eyes, she sighed happily at the blazing warmth. “Lovely.”
Alaric smiled at the sight. “Thank you, Robert. We’ll see you both for supper.”
The warden bowed. “My servants will bring up whatever you need from the wagons. Enjoy.”
As soon as Robert departed, Alaric gathered Evaine in his arms and kissed her soundly. She melted against him, twining her arms about his neck.
Eventually she drew back, her eyes sparkling. “I needed that so much, I’ll even accept the odor of wet fabric. You desperately require a bath, my king.”
He removed his cloak, his cock already hardening. “Our hosts have kindly provided soap, sponge and hot water. Be thorough, my queen.”
Evaine moaned softly. “I’m going to suck—”
At a sudden frantic knock, they both glared at the door.
“Yes?” barked Alaric.
“Forgive me, my king,” came Robert’s muffled voice. “I must speak with you urgently.”
Evaine stepped back reluctantly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important.”
Alaric sighed and nodded. After adjusting his hose, he marched over and pulled open the door.
Robert looked grim. “Henry is here! I suppose it’s his right, he does own this castle…but we received no prior word and he has no procession. Just four mounted yeomen.”
Alaric snorted. “While you are excellent company, Robert, I don’t believe the human king is here to drink ale and relive past battle glories. I’ve been waiting for this. Let us meet in a private chamber.”
“Of course, my king,” said the warden, before hurrying away.
Sighing again, Alaric turned to his mate. “Henry is not trustworthy and you are too precious. I should meet him alone.”
Evaine hesitated, her brow furrowing. Then it smoothed, and she nodded. “As you wish. I’ll stay here by the fire. Will you take Wesley?”
“No. If Henry has come alone, I must do the same. But I’ll return as soon as I can,” he promised, kissing her hand before departing the room and marching down the stairs.
Gah. The only annoyance about St. Briavels: how long the passage into the keep proper was. Over forty feet! As a royal hunting lodge, the place actually had three deadly portcullis for safety, and Alaric always kept one uneasy eye on the wrought iron spikes as he passed underneath.
Bloody damned humans. Why had Henry come?
Soon, Robert ushered Alaric into a small antechamber off the Great Hall. Henry waited inside, his hands wrapped around a tankard of steaming mulled wine. Both Alaric and the warden inclined their heads in a pretense of deference, but when Robert made to leave, the human king pointed to a chair. “Stay, Sir Robert.”
The warden exchanged a glance with Alaric, then sat. “As Your Grace desires.”
More curious than ever, Alaric pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sank onto it. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
“Blackstone,” said Henry, as he sipped his mulled wine. “God’s blood, that is good. Infernal rain never stops around here.”
Alaric and Robert exchanged another glance.
The warden coughed. “Is aught amiss, Your Grace? I received no word you were coming.”
Henry actually smiled. “Perhaps I merely desired some time alone, away from the royal court and wedding preparations. At one of my hunting lodges.”
Weary of the game, Alaric slapped the table. “You wished to speak to me. I’m sure Lord Oxford wasted no time with his report.”
Henry sat back as though relaxed, but his brown gaze was watchful. “Ah yes. That. A story so far-fetched he surely dreamed it. Imagine, a battle-hardened earl claiming he and his wife were picked up by the throat and shaken about like feather pillows. That would take uncanny strength. Even for a Welshman! Why, it sounds like one of the ancient myths my uncle Jasper told me around the campfire when we were in exile. I always pressed him for more tales about werewolves. Now, what was the word in Welsh? Bla…blade…”
Oh, this human was cunning .
“Blaidd-ddyn?” asked Alaric politely, as though the topic bored him.
“That’s it! Apparently, they walk among us. Large creatures, with the strength of ten men and the ability to turn into wolves at will. Ruled by kings, worship an ancient Greek goddess, but unlike other realms, born rather than bitten or cursed…I always wondered if it might be true. Surely in Wales, the land of dragons and lake maidens, anything is possible. What say you, Blackstone?”
His heart thumping, Alaric studied the human intently. “I certainly agree that anything is possible, Your Grace. Werewolves…a Lancaster wedding a York and bringing peace to the realm…”
The heavy silence stretched as two kings assessed, measured, and judged the other. Robert hadn’t so much as blinked, but sweat glistened at his temples.
Abruptly, Henry set down his tankard and cleared his throat. “The Oxfords were presumptuous to impose. I shall caution them to refrain from wine, lest they have more fanciful dreams. The English throne has enough enemies; I desire no more. Especially not…well. I propose we be friendly neighbors who tend our own gardens and strive not to encroach. Is that agreeable?”
“Quite,” said Alaric, nodding slowly. “In that spirit, my mate…er, my duchess and I will certainly send a generous purse to celebrate your wedding once you receive papal dispensation.”
“Thank you,” said Henry, as he stood and bowed deeply. “I know Elizabeth will join me in receiving it most gladly. Good morrow, Blackstone. Sir Robert.”
And with that, the human King of England departed the room.
Robert exhaled heavily and slumped in his chair. “Goddess. You were so calm , my king! My claws were all the way out and I nearly shredded my hose. I did not want to disembowel Henry Tudor, but…”
Alaric smiled and rotated his rigid shoulders. “I think he understood that was a distinct possibility and I’m glad he chose to extend a hand of friendship. It’s rather even…we might have the strength, but he has the numbers. Now, shall we drink?”
“Several barrels. At least.”
Wrinkling her nose at the sour wine smell, Evaine shook her head as she stared at the sleeping, softly snoring form of her mate. Fully illuminated in the pale, early dawn light streaming through the large gatehouse window, Alaric was half-dressed, wearing one boot, and lay exactly where Wesley and two sturdy guards had placed him mere hours ago, on a fur-covered pallet beside the smoldering fire.
The previous evening, she had initially been alarmed when so much time passed and Alaric didn’t return. Then Margaret arrived, apologetically explaining that after Henry had departed, her mate and King Alaric had immediately opened a barrel of wine, and were now on their second. Although both she-wolves were deeply curious to know what had transpired, they decided to leave their mates be. After enjoying a delicious supper of roasted pork and hearty vegetable broth, and playing some games with the cubs, each retired to bed. Not even Alaric’s high-spirited squire was foolish enough to put his drunk king into bed with her; no doubt Robert would be waking in an equally uncomfortable place with a sore back, roiling gut, and crumpled clothing after his night’s efforts.
For now, Evaine was torn between tossing dried fruit at Alaric’s partially opened mouth, emptying an entire bucket of frigid spring water onto his head, or perhaps sounding a horn next to his ear. Unlike him, she was rested, refreshed, and ready to hunt. It was entirely too long since she’d been able to do so, and her whole body nearly twitched with the desire to bound along a flattened forest track, to leap over rocks and fallen logs and tiny streams in pursuit of deer or wild boar. Her fangs were tingling at the thought of sinking into warm flesh, her claws ready to rake and shred.
She was a she-wolf, after all. A lean, nimble killer.
“Good morning, my queen.”
Evaine swallowed a giggle. Her mate peered up at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes, the glittering gold currently dull. His glorious ebony hair was a matted mess, and his chin and jaw covered in beard shadow. “Good morning, Alaric,” she trilled, loud enough to wake everyone in the gatehouse.
He winced. “Such cruelty toward your king. I suppose I should ask forgiveness for drinking with Robert rather than returning to your bed?”
Evaine rolled her eyes. “That depends,” she replied sweetly. “Do you ever wish to return to it?”
Alaric struggled to a sitting position, groaned and clutched at his head, then looked at her so morosely that this time she couldn’t hold in her laughter. “Do I truly look as bad as I feel? We should not have opened a third barrel. Foolish mistake.”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” said Evaine merrily, her heart softening enough to cross the chamber and fetch some fresh water for him to sip. “Here.”
After taking several gulps, Alaric splashed the rest on his face. “Much better. I don’t suppose now you’d like to give me that special sponge bath?”
“I think not,” she said with an imperious glare. “It is dawn and time to hunt. If, however, you impress me in the forest, then I may consider…rewards.”
A slow smile curled his lips. “Challenge accepted.”
With Wesley’s assistance, Alaric bathed swiftly and downed some foul-smelling tonic, then he and Evaine both dressed in heavy robes to walk downstairs. In the ground floor antechamber, they hung their robes on iron hooks provided, before changing into wolf form. These days it barely hurt at all, and Evaine tossed her head and arched her back, tapping her claws on the stone floor as she stretched. Indeed, after all the wagon travel and endless meeting rooms, she was eager to feel moss and dirt under her paws and the wind ruffle her fur. To be the hunter rather than the hunted.
Outside, it was cold and damp, but the sky was clearing and there was no snow underfoot. Perfect.
Robert, Margaret, Blanche, and Willie were also in wolf form and waiting for them, while Wesley and the ten armed guards who would accompany the party remained in human form on horseback, their swords and shields gleaming.
Alaric flashed his fangs. “We’ll go in pairs; a bag of gold to the best kill. With all glory to Artemis, our goddess of the hunt, I hereby declare…onward!”
As they needed no horn or call, the group exploded into action. Robert and Margaret went left, Blanche and Willie went right, and Evaine and Alaric charged straight down the middle. Already Evaine could scent game in the air, and she bounded forward, wanting to yip in delight at the prospect of bringing down a stag or wild boar.
“In which direction, my queen? I can see fresh antler marks on that great oak over there.”
Evaine smiled as Alaric’s voice reached her clearly through their link. “ Bah, only a six-pointer. I’ll find real game for my bag of gold .”
“ I’ll give you gold. I brought along a certain toy you like, ” purred Alaric.
She almost faltered at the heady memory. Wicked wolf, trying to distract her from winning! “ You’ll have to do better than that, my king. ”
“ Then lead on ,” he replied. “ Just look out for adders napping in the greenery or in hollow logs, they are common around here. While adders prefer to hiss in warning rather than attack, if you step on them or try to pick them up, they’ll strike.”
Evaine shuddered. While royal wolves couldn’t perish from snake venom, it would still hurt a great deal. “ I understand .”
For the next hour they loped along, sniffing the air and listening for prey. At this pace they could hunt all day, but she wanted to win the contest well before then.
Abruptly alert, Alaric lifted his head. “ A herd .”
Evaine inhaled deeply and her heart began pounding with excitement. Deer, at least five or six, including a full-grown stag, less than a mile away. “ Let’s isolate him .”
The battle was surprisingly short; several loud snarls frightened away the rest of the herd. Although the stag stood its ground, bellowing and pawing at the earth with one hoof as it dipped its eight-point antlers, Evaine and Alaric continued to circle it, gradually drawing closer and closer. Then, when the stag attempted to flee through a small clearing, they charged after it, easily keeping pace.
“ Go, my queen ,” said Alaric. “ Now .”
Evaine sprang, her powerful hind legs launching her onto the stag’s rear, and she soon brought the beast down. Alaric ended its life, then he threw back his head and roared in triumph. Once Wesley and the guards appeared, Alaric gestured for his squire to cut two wooden poles to transport the stag back to the castle to be prepared for a feast.
Content beyond words at such a successful hunt, and the way they had so easily worked together, Evaine licked her muzzle and sighed. “ Magnificent .”
“ You were magnificent ,” said Alaric, his gaze admiring. “ I’ve never enjoyed a hunt more . Perhaps we could do this again .”
She twitched her tail, both annoyed and saddened at his hesitancy. “ We will do this regularly, Alaric. That is what bonded mates do. They spend a great deal of time together, in bed and out. They share their joys and sorrows, their burdens and victories. All of them. How can we continue to grow our bond if you conceal your thoughts from me? ”
Alaric bowed his head, his massive torso slumping a little. “ You heard .”
“ Of course I heard ,” Evaine snapped at her very own right royal arse. “ But what really matters…your actions henceforth .”
Her mate straightened and padded over, nuzzling his cheek against hers. “ Evaine the Bold. I will need the occasional reminder, until it lodges in my skull. Sharing everything is not easy for a wolf who has always worn a diplomat’s mask. But I do feel. As you saw with the Oxfords ,” he finished ruefully.
“ And so, Alaric ?” she replied pertly.
“ Let me make it up to you .”
Evaine licked him in return, a little approval grooming. “ With a bag of gold? ”
He growled, her favorite sound in the world. “ Among other things. ”
Surrounded by their guards and with Wesley leading the way, they ambled back toward the castle, even stopping several times to rest under the rustling beech trees that flourished in the forest. At the keep wall, Robert and Margaret stood next to their six-point stag while Blanche and Willie had brought down a rather impressive wild boar, but all agreed that Evaine’s eight-pointer won the gold.
Robert nudged his mate, then dropped his head in a wolf bow. “A magnificent morning’s work. But please excuse us, castle duties await.”
Alaric snorted softly. “ And by castle duties they mean rut .”
Somehow, Evaine didn’t giggle. “Of course,” she replied graciously. “Blanche, Willie, Wesley, I’m sure you have tasks of your own. The king and I will be in our rooms.”
Outside the gatehouse, two servants waited with wooden buckets of warm water to rinse Evaine and Alaric clean. Then they entered the ground floor antechamber and changed back to human form. Alaric swiftly put his robe on, but when Evaine reached for hers, a small square of parchment dropped onto the floor.
“What’s that?” he asked curiously.
Evaine frowned. “I don’t know,” she replied slowly, unfolding the square, then walking over to the small window for better light to read.
Queen Evaine,
Nothing is as it seems. The king will do to you what he did to Theda. If you wish to know more, wrap a note around a stone and drop it from your chamber window. I am prepared to meet any place, at any time.
A friend
Shock robbed her of breath. While every wolf in the Western Lands knew where they were, who could come so close to put a note in her robe? And make such an outrageous claim?
“Evaine?” said Alaric sharply. “What is it?”
She handed over the note. “Read it.”
Shortly afterward, he sucked in a breath. “They dare imply I killed Theda?”
Evaine met her mate’s furious gaze, her own grimly thoughtful. “Someone holds great malice toward you. Who would say such things yet claim to be a friend?”