Page 16 of Wolf Duke

“My king?”

Alaric nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Beg pardon, Oliver?”

His steward peered at him, brow furrowed. “You groaned. Are you ill? I can have Blanche prepare a tonic.”

“No,” Alaric ground out. “I’m quite well, do not trouble your mate. Forgive me, it is overloud in here. You were speaking about an upcoming hunt?’

Oliver graciously repeated all the details regarding a planned fallow deer hunt, and mentioned a few wooden fence repairs that could not be delayed until spring. Yet Alaric was scarcely able to confirm instructions and dismiss the retainer before his attention diverted once again, to Evaine walking toward him. She progressed slowly; now that most tables had been cleared away, many in his pack were stopping to introduce themselves, but each step closer she came, his shoulders relaxed further.

Alaric took a deep breath and turned to his chamberlain. “Now, Larkin. What was your question?”

The younger wolf, whose father had served Alaric’s sire in the same position dedicated solely to the wellbeing of the king and his family, inclined his head. “Did you have any special instructions for this evening, my king? Regarding…linen or refreshments?”

Goddess. Larkin wanted to know if his king would be taking anyone to bed after the banquet so he could prepare the royal bedchamber accordingly. Over the years Alaric had been asked the question countless times in other castles, manors, even inns, because so many she-wolves wished to say they had bedded a king. However, since his great misfortune with Theda, he politely declined or offered vague excuses, the required steps in that blade-edge dance of pleasing or offending a host. Tonight, he yearned to order a complete linen change. And a tray holding supper and wine for two.

No. Evaine is not your mate. She is royalty with a bounty on her head, given sanctuary in your castle. Stop this madness.

Yes. She nearly touched herself at the high table! Now that she is recovering from her ordeal, the princess is awakening to a grown wolf’s lust and requires a discreet tutor. You could be that tutor…

Alaric scowled as the two thoughts warred relentlessly, one factual and rational, the other irrational and foolish. But he had to be the former. That was the lot of a diplomat, even a kingly one.

“No,” Alaric said eventually. “No special instructions. Actually, I might retire to my library soon and leave the elder queen to lead the dancing, for I have a great pile of documents to read. I would appreciate fresh candles in there, the fire stoked, and some wine. I fear it will be a long night.”

Larkin hesitated. “If you change your mind, just send for me. I serve in the best interests of the crown, always.”

The words hardly needed to be said; few positions held as much trust and influence as a chamberlain, due to their close proximity to the royal family. But they were appreciated all the same, and Alaric smiled as Larkin bowed then darted away to complete his tasks.

“You’re leaving?” said Evaine as she approached, her gaze traveling up and down his form as though assessing him for injury.

“I am quite well,” he replied hastily, albeit unsure why the need to reassure her was so important. “Just a small mountain of documents to read, including Henry’s ducal edict.”

She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “And that must be done tonight?”

No.

Just for a moment, Alaric feared he’d said the word aloud. Inexplicably, his much-vaunted skills, such as the ability to speak and reveal nothing at all, vanished when around Princess Evaine de Wynter.

“I merely desire a little peace and quiet,” he said eventually. “In my library.”

Evaine smiled. “I wish to return to my bedchamber. Will you escort me?”

Goddess.

Already he could imagine Evaine, naked in front of the fireplace, attending to an evening sponge bath. The warmed water would trickle down her luscious form, anointing those sweet pink nipples and gather in the tangle of blond hair crowning her mound. But she would linger with the sponge between her legs. Rub it back and forth, moaning softly at the burgeoning pleasure…

“King Alaric?” she repeated, a little impatiently.

Damnation. Clearly, he needed to be slapped out of his lust stupor. Not Wesley, for the squire would roll about the floor laughing if asked. Captain Bardolf? He had meaty fists and would administer a proper skull-shaker.

“Of course,” Alaric ground out, offering his arm. “Let us depart before we are waylaid further. Mother will host in my absence; she loves to dance and will still be twirling long after most are exhausted. I think only my father could persuade her from the floor.”

Unexpectedly, Evaine grinned as they strolled toward the hall entrance, nodding at various courtiers in farewell. “I’m sure he had methods of persuasion that others did not.”

“Do not remind me,” he groaned as they proceeded down the wide torchlit hallway. “Those two were insatiable, even as elder wolves. I will remain forever grateful for Blackstone’s thick, sturdy walls, especially in rutting season…”

Alaric’s voice trailed off, his cheeks flushing as once again his mouth formed words his mind had not given permission to express. For someone so experienced in diplomacy, the way his tongue loosened around Evaine was entirely unnerving.

Pressing his lips together as they passed two armed guards and ascended the spiral staircase to the royal apartments, Alaric inwardly vowed to remain silent until Evaine was safely in her chamber.