“We need witnesses. Many, many witnesses. Wrap it up. Slap each other if you need to. Get dressed. Don’t mind me.” She took a step back. “I will wait. Five minutes.”
Hugh was looking at her. Elara realized her robe was hanging open, showing off the thin white camisole that left most of her breasts bare and barely covered half of her butt. Suddenly she was sharply aware that he was half-naked and standing too close. Elara pulled the robe closed and glared back at him.
He no longer exhaled rage. Clearly, he’d changed his strategy.
“Compromise,” he said. “What is your biggest need as a settlement?”
“Metal,” she said. “We need iron and steel.”
“There are several smaller towns around here that were lost to the forest. There is metal there. Used cars, a factory in Brownsville, and so on.”
“That’s not a friendly forest. A lot of those places are infested with magic creatures. It’s too dangerous.”
“Not for my people. I’ll start making salvage runs. You will authorize the gas for the moat.”
Elara shut her eyes. “Fine. You’ll get enough gas for three days. More when you bring in your first load of salvage, and our smiths sign off on it.”
“There may be hope for you yet.”
“Rot in hell, d’Ambray.”
“I love you too, darling.”
Elara turned to Johanna and signed. “We are fine.”
Johanna gave them both a bright smile. “Good job.”
She turned and went down the stairwell.
Elara didn’t slam the door. She closed it very carefully, walked to her vanity, sat down, and shut her eyes, trying to control her fury. And there he was, coming out of the darkness. She knew exactly why Vanessa had climbed into his bed. Up close, Hugh was overwhelming. The size, the breadth of his shoulders, the muscle, the hard stomach. Power. So much male, brutal power and strength. And she hated every inch of him. If she could’ve pushed him out of the hallway window, she would’ve. He’d splatter on the stones below, and she would smile when he did.
That was the wrong thought. She checked herself.
A hesitant knock came.
“Come in,” she said without turning. “I decided what to do with my hair.”
“Yes, my lady?” Beth asked.
“We’ll leave it down,” Elara said.
Hugh stood at the altar under an arched trellis dripping with white clematis flowers. A gentle fragrance spiced the air. The castle rose behind him and slightly to the left. The hill leveled here before rolling down, and beautiful Kentucky countryside spread in front of him: the blue-green hills and pastures, with dense forests encroaching on them like waves from a rising tide, and in the distance, more hills, each lighter than the next, fading into the beginnings of what promised to be a hell of a sunset.
He turned slightly. Benches had been set up in front of the altar, with a path between them, and they were filled. On Elara’s side were women in pastels and men in suits or jeans, whatever qualified as their best. His side was black. The Dogs wore their uniforms, just as he wore the black of the Preceptor. It was the only formal clothes they had. They’d stowed their weapons under their seats, grim faced and quiet. He wasn’t taking any chances on Nez crashing the wedding.
Hugh surveyed the Iron Dog ranks. All the family he would ever need.
“Where is he?” Bale growled next to him.
“He’ll be here,” Lamar said quietly.
“He better,” Bale said.
The townspeople ran out of seats and formed a loose group, standing to one side of the benches. They waited, murmuring and shifting. Children chased each other. There were flowers everywhere. Looking down the center aisle, he could see the large white tent to the right where Elara hid, probably surrounded by her women, fussing over every inch of her hair and dress. Past the tent, tables had been set up with a three-tier black-and-white cake towering in the center.
Stoyan shouldered his way through the crowd. A fresh narrow scar crossed his neck.
“Speak of the devil,” Lamar murmured.
Stoyan ran down the aisle to them, reached into his pocket, and offered a small black box to Hugh.
“Any trouble?” Lamar asked.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Hugh opened the box. A white gold ring lay inside, a half-eternity band of glittering pale-blue aquamarines between two rows of small diamonds. That was more or less what he’d described to Stoyan. A jeweler in Lexington had owed him a favor for over twenty years. He’d remembered it three days ago during one of his moments of clarity between trying to get his people settled, fighting with Elara, and fucking Vanessa to keep the void at bay.
A year ago, if he’d chosen a wedding ring, it would’ve been a work of art shining with diamonds, steeped in magic, and costing a fortune. This one couldn’t be worth more than three grand, but the metal was white like her hair and something about the pure fire of aquamarines and diamonds reminded him of her. It showed some thought, which women valued. An olive branch.
They hated each other’s guts, but there was no reason they couldn’t coexist, at least until the threat passed. Hugh had no desire to battle to the death with her over every little thing. And Elara would fight to the bitter end. Although if she insisted on fighting with him half-dressed again, he was reasonably sure he could tolerate it for a couple of minutes. She wasn’t the worst-looking woman in the castle, and, for a brief moment, he’d enjoyed the show.
She’d also confirmed something he’d suspected when she discussed the arrangements for the wedding. Elara didn’t want him to see her in the wedding dress. It was a stupid tradition, but she clung to it. It was her first wedding, Hugh was sure, and like most women, she likely planned it since childhood, complete with sappy music and the release of doves.
The void bit at him. He blocked it off.
The castle harpy wanted a special moment. The ring would demonstrate that he took it seriously. For all he knew, she’d throw it in his face. His gaze snagged on the videographer filming the crowd. Maybe not in front of the cameras.
Stoyan took his place on his right. Bale handed him Hugh’s sword, and Stoyan held it in front of him, point down. A long-standing tradition among the Iron Dogs, established by Voron, Roland’s previous Warlord, who’d begun the order. Another void bite. Voron who had raised him.
The ghost stared at him from his memories.
I killed you because Roland willed it.
Hugh forced the memories down, concentrating on the weapon to keep them at bay. He missed his old sword, but the one Stoyan was holding for him now wasn’t bad. Thirty-three and three quarters of an inch-long blade with a simple cross guard and a four-and-a-half-inch grip wrapped with cord. At two and a half pounds, it was meant to be used from horseback, but it was lively enough for him until he found something better.
He glanced over at Elara’s side. Johanna stood in the Maid of Honor spot in a pastel-pink gown, holding a bouquet of pretty white flowers. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave with her free hand.
He shrugged.
Johanna tucked the bouquet under her arm. Her fingers moved. “Scared?”
He mimicked laughing.
The flaps of the tent opened. Music came from the speakers. It sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t the wedding march he’d expected. Hugh frowned. He’d heard it before…
Walking in My Shoes by Depeche Mode.
Lamar smiled.
“Your idea?” Hugh asked.
“It was a joint effort between me and Dugas. You said to pick something appropriate.”
Elara stepped out.
She wore a simple white gown that hugged her waist and cradled her breasts before flaring down into a wide skirt. Her white hair fell on her shoulders in loose waves. A silver circlet studded with shiny stones rode on her head.
He saw her face.
Wow.