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“He is the king,” she said in rote defense.
“And that means fuck all to me. He’s not my king, and from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you have some pretty determined ideas to overrule the bastard and right the ship before he ties you and your people to a proverbial anchor and tosses you all overboard so he can steer the thing toward whatever greatness the fool thinks he’s earned.”
“That is not?—”
“Princess.” The word was a smooth stroke down her skin. “I know the game you’re playing.”
She froze, then forced out the most juvenile response her addled mind could offer. “I am not playing a game, angel.” Mother, could he really know? A fear like none she’d felt before gripped her heart, and her circumstances came into crisp clean focus. Her wolf whined and crawled beneath her skin, for she, too, felt the danger this male represented.
He can’t know. It’s impossible.
The corners of Bronze’s mouth lifted, taking his goatee with it and curling his usually charming smile into something predatorial. “You need a mate.”
She nodded woodenly, half surprised her spine didn’t crack with the force of the abrupt gesture.
“And you need daddy out of the picture.”
Again, slower, she gave him another nod.
“So that the new monarch can right the ship.”
The potency in his stare raised the goose bumps from her skin and tightened her nipples, even beneath her heavy cloak.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Clara didn’t remember when her steps slowed or when their little traveling party of two had morphed into something altogether significant. There was a weight to the hidden tenderness lurking beneath Bronze’s stance and statements. Even the afternoon sun poking through the treetops knew it was there, quietly illuminating what Clara suspected the angel didn’t wish to broadcast. The way his fingers loosely curled and didn’t tense around the rucksack strap where it fell over his collarbone, revealing no true abhorrence to the dark things she’d confessed. The flecks of olive green in his eyes that seemed to grow more vibrant when his levity connected with its target and he successfully coaxed a smile from her, despite her need to maintain propriety. It was almost freeing, in a sense, and she wondered what other sorts of surprises lurked within the angel.
If she wasn’t careful, his sly promise of such things would entice her to do far more than simply confess her true motives.
Not good, Clara. Not good at all.
She threw her shoulders back and continued walking, resuming her steady pace. “A matriarchy has its challenges among the lycans. My people have lived under my father’s rule, and his father before him, for many centuries. There are few alive who even remember a female monarch. And while, yes, I, one day, hope to change that, that day will not be today. Time and trust are the currency of any good monarchy, and I fear my father’s line has done much to manipulate and abuse that trust. If you succeed, however, assuming the throne as a male will not be difficult for you. I know it may sound unconventional, but the lycans in my father’s court are far more likely to put their faith in an outsider who won the crown by proving himself through demonstration of our core credos than a female who would have no hope of such practical applications of strength, even for one born into the monarchy. At least,” she hurried when he opened his mouth with what she assumed was an objection, “for now.”
“For now. Fine,” he ground out as he walked alongside her, though the edge to his words had been rounded off somehow, as if he was holding something back.
“Besides, it is not uncommon for monarchs to take consorts, even the females, from what I was able to learn. You shall not be questioned over much, I imagine. Among the lycans, strength recognizes strength.” She risked a peek at him, and her stomach fluttered. Golden sparks flared in his gaze in time with the pulsating tendon along his neck. Oh dear, had she angered him?
“What else?” he demanded.
“Well, I imagine it will take some time to establish a new way of doing things. You wouldn’t have to be in attendance except for a few occasions. Select public appearances, signing certain documents, and such.” Then she stopped and gripped his shoulder. “I am not asking you to give up your life, warrior. In return for what you offer, you would still have complete autonomy to be with your brothers, live as you always have, and, of course, be awarded unbridled access to any royal coffers, services, and properties. If you win the Betrothal Games,” she implored, “what is ours will be yours. I ask for no more than what you’ve already offered.”
The quiet sounds of the forest rose up around them, becoming a cacophony to the worried thump of her heart banging against her chest. She’d never thought in a million years she’d so desperately wish for a male to speak. Quite frankly, very little good had ever come from the phenomenon, but she was beginning to worry all her air would seep out of her lungs and abandon her entirely if he didn’t say something. Those worries were more than dangerous, because each time he studied her in that silent, stoic manner, the habit was beginning to mean something, as if he was collecting quiet pieces of her she hadn’t meant for him to see.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Do you find me pleasing, Lady Clara?”
His question stunned her, as did the spark of citrine flaring in his eyes again. “It’s just lady,” she whispered as she struggled to find her strength. “And why would you ask such a question?”
“It’s a fair question to ask a female, especially one who will soon be my mate.”
“You must win first,” she reminded him.
He dismissed her concern with a cocksure smile and lifted her hand from his shoulder.
Before she could pull her arm free, her skin had already begun to bloom with warmth beneath the surprising kiss he bestowed on her knuckles. Every muscle in her body tightened.
He held her hand for a heartbeat longer, then let it fall to her side. “Okay. Assume, rightly so, that I do win. Do you find me pleasing?”
