“Justice is yours to serve as you deem fit. But I ask you, my lord, please permit me to stay here as a witness to Arlo’s life and to his death.”
Strong hands grip me and force me to my feet. Noble’s face is no longer smooth but lined and reddened with anger.
“Did your murderous pride member grant anyone in my father’s pack the honor of witnessing my father’s death? Did he show any mercy when he spilled my father’s blood?”
“No.” My face tips down further.
“Then tell me, wife,” he sputters out, hatred warping the title into something vile. “Why should I grant this creature anything?”
I look up at him, my expression void of any emotion. “Because you are better than him. Because you are king.”
His grip on my arm tightens and I flinch in pain but stand firm in front of him. Toe to toe, we stare off, and I resist the urge to pull away from his hurtful fingers.
My father takes a stand beside me and puts a strong hand on Noble’s shoulder. I look back at him, my eyes narrowed in warning, but he only regards Noble. The wolf he betrothed me to.
“Your anger is understandable,” my father says to him, his voice booming over the commotion of the agitated crowd. "We, the lions, grieve with you, but Noble,” he dips his head slightly in recognition of Noble’s new title, “reign in your temper and act in a manner that serves your pack and not your dignity.”
“My dignity?” Noble scoffs, his grip on my arm intensifying. “This has nothing to do with dignity, but with your desire to save a murderous lion. I won’t have it.”
Crede steps away from our pride and when he turns to us, his eyes collide with Noble’s. Never breaking his focus on Noble, he pries Noble’s fingers from their grasp. I rub my arm, taking in the angry red marks left by my husband.
“Touch her again,” Crede growls and Noble stands so close to me I feel the heat of his body on my own, “and your father’s death will look merciful compared to what I’ll do to you.”
“Get out!” Noble yells, spit flying from his mouth and onto my face.
Two guards take hold of me, each on either of my side. I shrug away from their grasp and glare at Noble and at Crede.
None of us are wrong, but none of us are right either.
“We are given choices in this world. Choose wisely, husband,” I say with a finality I don’t feel, tasting the bitterness of our new relationship begin to end.
I’m guided out of the room of thrones, carted away like a prisoner. I hold my head high, my eyes meeting anyone who gazes in my direction.
Words of betrayal, of murder and conspiracies spread around me as I’m led to my room and I find it hard to keep panic at bay. Because they’re not completely wrong. It just wasn’t my betrayal that killed their king.
A knot twists in my gut. An onslaught of remorse and fear and a glimmer of affection Noble and I had begun to feel for one another. And sadness. A desperate kind of sadness for the loss of a great king that affects us all.
Maybe me more than even Noble or his mother, because his death is on my hands. I didn’t ask for the king’s death, but it was given to me like a gift on my wedding day. Now I’m to be queen of a realm that rightfully cannot trust me, beside a husband who surely hates me.
Tired bones carry me over the threshold of my bedroom door. Defeated, I slump my shoulders forward and rest my face on my trembling hands.
“Remove your dress,” one of the guards instructs me.
“I will undress when I’m ready.”
The second guard stalks to me and before I can react, he grabs the top of my dress and tugs it hard enough to rip the fine fabric. I gasp, covering my exposed breasts with a hand while I ball my other one into tight fists. The other guard rounds behind me and tears into the back, the soft sound of my wedding dress being destroyed slashes at my gaping heart and I feel my body tremble in response.
A hard kick to my legs knocks me to the ground. On my hands and knees, I heave in deep breaths as I slowly give myself to the lion, letting the lion’s senses take everything in before I transition for the fight.
“Change and we’ll kill you,” one of the guards grumbles in my ear. “Then your husband will have two funerals to plan.”
The other man snorts. “At least we’d be celebrating one death.”
They both chuckle at their joke as I crawl away from them. As my father has taught me, I control my emotions. And I surrender. I can’t fight them, not without inciting a war between our realms so I keep the lion closed inside of me and hope these men have their fill of violence soon. Fingers dig into my hair and one of the guards pulls me back while his counterpart kicks me in the stomach.
Bile rises, and I taste blood when the back of my head slams onto the hard floor. Groaning, I bring my knees to my chest and hold myself while these men abuse my wasted body.
When one of them reaches for my hand, I press my nails into my palm, not wanting to give them the last remaining bit of my hope for Noble and me. Whether they’re stronger than me or if my will to fight has simply vanished, they open my hand without much struggle. Far too easily, they take my exquisite wedding ring from me.
Chapter 23
Liana
Hours have passed since I was taken to my room. I know nothing of my pride and how they fared out of Winter nor do I know if Noble’s blade shed the last bit of Arlo’s blood from his body.
All I’ve heard are the jeers from the pack members who have stopped by my room to throw their hatred in my direction. I’ve been stripped of my wedding dress, my body pushed and shoved, kicked and punched. And when the two guards left, they left me with nothing but the sheets on my bed to cover me. While food was sent to my room, and dropped haphazardly by my bedside, it remains uneaten. I don’t know if it’s the stale scent of the meal or simply my stomach that protests, but I can’t fathom the idea of eating.
A quiet knock jolts me and I sit upright on the bed, holding the covers to my chest. Fear digs into me so deep, it tinges my soul a wretched black. I square my shoulders and calm my breathing.
“Come in,” I say loudly, proud I can still portray a self-confidence I no longer feel.
The door edges forward and I squeeze my fingers tighter around the sheets. When a small woman enters, her head peeking in before she comes in fully, I feel my body relax. Slowly, limb by limb.
She curtsies, and her lips kick up into a small smile. “I’m Winnie,” she says. “May I come in?”
“Yes, of course, I remember you.” With easy movements, I smooth out the corner of my bed, but keep a strong hold on my sheets so I don’t expose myself. “Here, Winnie, have a seat.”
Her bottom hits the edge of my bed and she scrunches up her nose. “What’s that awful smell?”
“Oh,” I breathe out. “That’s my supper.”