The hall erupts with lions and wolves arguing. The tension is high enough that someone is bound to change, and it would mean more bloodshed.
“Silence,” I snap, and Liana stiffens when I make sure she knows I mean her, too.
My anger threatens to undo me, and hearing her so…rational, it’s too much. I bend to it, to her, but the pack needs a firm leader, especially now.
I see my father’s body all over again from when I’d unveiled the wounds. His chest ripped open. The lion had not been merciful.
“Sire,” Oren prods.
“Bring me my sword!”
Liana rushes forward as the wolves loudly agree with my decision.
My wife latches onto my arm. “You mustn’t!” she cries. “He could have been in the heat of battle. Please, do this properly. We risk the peace, the lions demand trial. It could ruin all that we have planned. Noble, husband, we must hear his side.”
I shake her off roughly, and yank my sword from the sheath that Oren carries. Stalking toward the lion, I do not hesitate for fear that Liana is right, and for fear that I will weaken to her womanly thoughts and the lion’s traditions over my own.
“Blood for blood,” I call. “That is the wolf way!”
“Wait!” Liana cries.
I turn around, sword in hand, and point it at my wife.
Liana’s so surprised at the violent move, she backs away from the blade, eyes wide.
Her father lunges, the wolves press forward.
The room is mere moments away from pandemonium, but I cannot stop the anger, the rogue that demands that no one, not even Liana, will stand between me and my duty. What is owed to my flesh and blood.
Right is right.
Eye for eye.
Lion for wolf.
My voice shakes with rage, as does the sword in my hand that is still between me and what I promised to defend only hours ago. “My father was the one who decided we should marry. That there should be a union against the humans between wolves and lions to save the realms. And what did he get for that? Huh?” I motion with the sword at her, at all of the lions. “Your people murdered him!”
I glare at the king of the lions who is wise enough to see that his choice now may cause all-out war between us both.
Chapter 22
Liana
Stuck, neither of us willing to bend for the other. Stubborn hearts anchor us to our own cause.
Noble, my fierce Noble, is visibly broken by his father’s sudden death. Rage and disappointment roll off him in waves that slam into me. Guilt rises in me, knowing one of my own did this to him and his pack, but I smother it down, unable to give into such weakness, when my pride needs me. Both my pride and Noble’s pack need to see that Noble and I can rule together justly, that we can compromise our traditions as we did in our wedding ceremony.
Only the wedding is over. The perfect day ruined by the unforeseen death of the king wolf. Now, we must prepare for a funeral, and a trial if I have my way.
My chest tightens, my ribs seeming to collapse around my heart, and I fight back the onslaught of foreboding tears. Because I must remain strong and have my way – the lion’s way. There must be a trial so that true justice may be served.
Long seconds pass with Noble pointing his sword at me while I quietly dare him to act on his silent threat. I tip my chin, watching the rise and fall of his expansive chest behind his tailored suit. He’s dangerous and wild, and yes, still beautiful.
When Noble neither speaks nor acts, I walk away from him, careful in maintaining a strong appearance for my pride, and stop when I stand before the accused murderer, my cubhood friend Arlo, and place a firm hand on his shoulder. Brown eyes peek up at me from behind the messy mop of blond hair that sits across his face. Blood cakes his tan skin, the scent of his blood mixes with the great wolf’s blood and I can’t stop the aching in my chest from growing.
My husband, now the King of Winter, pounds his feet into the ceramic floor as he makes his way to us, his hold on the sword so strong his knuckles have grown an ashen white. Sadness and desperation war against one another, neither taking control nor letting go of the firm grip they have around my poor husband’s broken heart. I want to sooth him, to let him know he doesn’t have to face this alone, but I hold my ground, unwavering in my need to protect Arlo, who may very well deserve Noble’s wrath.
“There is a right way to do this, Noble,” I insist.
His body tenses and shakes in anger. The lines on his face contort and he opens his mouth, no doubt to bellow in my direction, but I cut him off.
“Rise,” I tell Arlo, giving Noble my back.
Noble’s pack mutter their displeasure at my defiance while my pride watches me with the respect I long ago earned. Already, I know I’m in the wrong, but I can’t seem to will myself to stop. Knowing if the roles were reversed, if wolves had killed my father, blood would have already been spilled, knowing Noble and his pack have shown far more restraint than my pride is capable of, doesn’t stop me. It only fuels me and my need to get my pride to safety and away from a pack that will surely never accept me as their queen.
“You will not rise. You will remain kneeled before me.” Noble’s voice booms and I tremble at the power and anger behind it.
Loyal to his pride and to me, Arlo keeps his head bowed and eyes downcast as he follows my command.
“My lady,” he says and then turns his face to Noble. “You are not my king,” he hisses, his lips pulled back as he bares his teeth. “You do not command my obedience.”
“Arlo.” My throat convulses when I try to swallow, but I keep my eyes steady, my voice strong. “You admit to killing the king wolf.”
He bows his head when he answers me. “I do.”
I cup his cheek, trailing my thumb over stubble on his chin. He turns into it and presses his face against my hand. “Of your own accord?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Noble growls and shoves Arlo back down. “Enough!” His voice ricochets off the walls and echoes in my hollow chest. I brace a hand against the drumming of my heart and reach for Noble, who steps away before I can touch him. With his sword still in hand he turns to his weeping mother and brings her to him for a tight one-arm embrace.
I move back to Arlo and too low for anyone else to hear me, I whisper, “Why?”
Familiar light eyes meet mine. “It was the only way. You’ll be queen now, my lady. As you should be.”
A slow smirk builds on his mouth and shaking my head, eyes wide I back away from him, away from my kin and collide into Noble’s hard chest. He grips my elbows, steadying me, but quickly lets me go as if the thought of touching me repulses him, as if the feel of my skin on his burns him.
Face pale, hands trembling, Noble lifts his sword, and I understand this moment for what it is. It’s archaic and medieval but it’s just and swift.
“Do what you must, my king,” I say, addressing Noble.
Dark, almost black eyes, dig into me. I fall to my knees and bow my head.