“Not at all,” she says, passing our place at the table, and pulling me into the hall instead.
Empty at the moment, we are alone together at last. She toys with my jacket, hands finding their way beneath, and then she kisses me on the chin, before moving my cravat aside in an eager jerk and tug.
Liana presses smooth lips to my neck, and I groan.
I let her explore as long as I can before I spin her around, and press my prize against the wall with a growl.
“Husband,” she breathes.
“Wife,” I say, each of us running our mouths over every bit of skin we can find, and I’ve stumbled upon a wealth of it just above her dress line. Liana makes lovely noises when I nip at tender hollows and divots of flesh.
Never has the making of a person been more fascinating to me. I want to toy with every part of her, see what makes it work, and what makes her cry out in passion.
“To bed?” she asks.
I lean back and growl.
“We should stay longer,” Liana chides.
I laugh. “You’re being a tease.”
“I hear wolves like to chase their prey.”
I drop my gaze to hers in warning. “They do.”
She pushes away and walks toward the dining hall, her eyes beguiling me over her shoulder, her hips swaying with menace, and I scrub my hands over my face to wipe away the dumb look I must be giving.
“Let the chase begin,” I say, ripping my cravat the rest of the way from my neck.
My fellow wolves pat me on the back when I return, followed by good natured jeering about us trying to escape all too soon from the party. Everyone is enjoying this moment as the toasts begin. Well wishes are given to me and my lion wife who watches me across the room without ceasing. The doors open, and the noise dies like a fire snuffed out. A councilman stops mid-speech when we hear a commotion before a gasp and yelp of alarm.
After, a hush falls over the hall.
I see Oren, tall above party-goers, striding my way, still in his battle armor. Behind him more of our men have arrived, and they carry a burden.
I hear glass shatter as a plate is dropped. A keening moan begins of pure devastation that echoes in my head, rattling me to the core. Everyone’s eyes turn as one toward me, and before I even understand what my heart already seems to know, a dread takes hold at my core.
The burden they carry is my father.
Chapter 20
Noble
Oren rushes forward, bows to a knee. “My lord,” he says with a somber tone Oren has never used before, not to me.
With a bent neck, he has never given anyone but my father, he delivers the blow. “The great black wolf has died, sire. He fell in battle. We were attacked. I’m so sorry.”
It doesn’t register. “My mother, where is my mother?”
And then I remember that sound I’d heard. Women wolves cluster around someone, and I spot her between them. She’s on her knees, crying in a puddle of disbelief.
Her pale face turns upward, begging, “Whywhywhywhy?”
Pale and stricken, my mother falls to the side and Emilie catches her. I close my eyes as a terrible scream bursts from my mother’s mouth, the only sound in the hall.
I sway on my feet, the world spinning, and it forces me to open my eyes and watch as they bring my father’s body into the center of the hall. They won’t lay him down, they will hold him high. The king must not touch the ground again until he is buried.
On feet I cannot feel, I stride forward, steadier than I should be. It’s as if disbelief aids me in my motion.
“Attacked by men?” I ask.
I touch the cape that covers my father’s body, all except his slack face, as if he is sleeping.
Pushing at the fabric, I mean to remove it, but Oren leaps forward and tries to stop me. “You mustn’t, milord.”
I stay Oren with a hand and throw the cloak back.
The crowd gasps, and several of the nearest women fall into a dead faint. Oren rushes to cover my father’s body as I back away, and bite my fist to keep from crying out.
Oren pauses, and I nod. “Cover him.”
He throws the cloak back in place. I now see how soaked in blood it is. How it’s not the color red originally, but had been some other lighter color before. My father’s life-blood has turned it crimson.
Everyone is watching me, expecting me to crumble. It’s hard not to be the son I’ve always been. Not to be the three-year-old Noble wanting to ride on my father’s knee, or teenager Noble finding out he was rogue but knowing the black wolf would never disown his son. He’d taken care of everything, even when I’d killed my own betrothed as a child.
There is---was -- nothing he couldn’t do.
My mother is crying and staring at me, and waiting with the entirety of Winter to see what I shall do.
I glance at Liana. My wife’s eyes are sad, and she’s lost her tan to a white sheen of shock. She’s holding her own mother’s hand tightly and waiting as well.
Oren also glances at the lions, and his jaw firms when he looks back at me.
“Who was it?” I demand, knowing the marks across my father’s chest had been no hunter.
There had been no arrows.
Oren confirms what I’ve already guessed. “It was a lion, milord.”
Chapter 21
Noble
“Out. I want everyone out, right now,” I bellow, pushing my way to my mother.
I rush to her side, and she grips me tightly, rising to her feet, but she’s weak and I have to let her lean on me to stand. “See that she gets to her rooms, Emilie.”
“No,” my mother argues. “Please. I want to stay, Noble.”
“Mother,” I whisper seeing the pleading look she gives that threatens to undo me. “Let them wash him first.” I touch her face. “Let me deal with this. With justice. For him.”
Her eyes harden. “Son, you will not let this beast get away with this. Please, we mustn’t let this go unpunished. Noble…” She pauses, a realization in her eyes. My mother stands tall. “King Noble.” Her voice rings through the quiet hall.
I frown at her, and when I turn toward the others, my men take a knee. Even Oren sinks down low, head bent, and the rest follow. Everyone but the lions have bowed to the ground, and I search for Liana who is standing with a detached expression of confusion. It’s understandable. She’d married a prince just hours ago.
And now he’s king.
I feel as she does. Confused.
My own mother is stronger in this moment than I ever thought possible. Chin raised, she shouts, “Long live King Noble!” And everyone replies the same.
Oren rises, “My king, you must take the throne. It is tradition.”
“Not now,” I say but my mother grips my arm and shakes her head subtly.
Lip quivering, eyes holding an ocean of tears, she whispers, “He’s right. If you don’t, anyone who sits on it before you, may challenge. If your father were here… You must go now, Noble.”