Page 20 of Wolf Duke

“Alaric?” said Evaine softly, jolting him from the cage of his chaotic thoughts. “I can see you are sorely troubled. Talk to me.”

He rubbed his jaw. As a diplomat, as a king, he always had the words to reassure or explain. Yet right now he was as muddled and uncertain as a traveler newly arrived on foreign shores. “Forgive me. I know…I know I have ruined something special—”

“Nothing is ruined,” Evaine countered, her gaze steady in the bright glow of the well-lit library. “As long as I understand what is in your heart.”

Everything within urged him to step forward and hold her close. But naked Evie was far too tempting and the words that needed to be said were far too important. “I feel like I’m crossing the marshlands blindfolded, with no damned clue if my next step will be solid ground or swamp to suck me under. I truly thought I was mated already. But it was all a lie. Your mark is genuine, but I had to watch it happen to know the difference.”

Her brow furrowed. “How so?”

Alaric gritted his teeth and looked away. “I met Theda at a banquet in Gloucester. My father had recently passed, my mother was in seclusion, and I felt no desire for revelry. But I’d promised to attend. She was the daughter of a noble family. We danced, drank wine…well, I drank and she fetched more. One particular goblet tasted a little different, but she urged me to finish it swiftly then gestured to the door…next thing I remember, I woke up in her chamber with a mating mark on my wrist and her soothsayer demanding I crown her queen without delay. Word spread across the realm before I could even take a breath…but everyone was so happy at the thought of a mating ceremony and the prospect of heirs. Even Mother was pleased, initially…so I did it.”

“That wretched imposter tricked you while you were grieving,” said Evaine slowly. “Such evil is almost unfathomable. How very Hera-like. Theda and her accomplices must have planned that very carefully. An invitation, a sleeping potion, an etcher, her soothsayer arriving at just the right time.”

“It never felt quite right. But I didn’t believe I deserved better, after…after being away from Blackstone when Father passed. I was judging some foolish dispute in Cardiff, thinking myself very grand and important. I should have been here. Some part of me knew he wasn’t long for this earth, but I thought I had time. I didn’t. When Leto calls a faithful servant home to glory amongst the stars, nothing can change that,” finished Alaric, his heart heavy. Even now, the grief, the regret, was almost impossible to bear.

Yet when a soft, cool hand curled itself around his, somehow the load on his shoulders lightened. The healing magic of a simple touch.

“I remember when they came to visit,” said Evaine. “King Cyrus had silver hair even then. But he was so kind and his eyes twinkled. He adored your mother, and whenever anyone asked a question, he’d always say ‘Queen Siân knows best’.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped his lips. “Do you know Father tried to deny himself and her, insisting they couldn’t possibly be a match because he was so much older? Fortunately, Mother knew who her mate was.”

“And pounced on him in a stable,” said Evaine. “She advised me not to follow her lead, as straw was a dreadful bother to remove from clothing and hair.”

Alaric almost choked. “Mother never confessed that particular detail! Everyone thinks she’s so lofty and regal…they’ve never seen her dance ’til dawn barefoot, or drag Father from a meeting for kisses. But his passing broke her and I didn’t know how to offer comfort. How do you comfort the loss of a fated mate? It is unendurable. She went into seclusion, I was trying to be king and establish a new order in the pack, quell challenges from a few cousins…then came the Gloucester banquet.”

“Evil,” Evaine hissed, flashing her fangs. “Now I understand why Queen Siân was so wary about my arrival. I suppose Theda was Lady Innocent? Pure and untouchable?”

He flushed. “I thought I knew how to dissemble, so politely, so smoothly, that no one could ever be offended. Also how to lie and flatter to best advantage, the true currency of a diplomat. But I was a babe in the woods compared to Theda and her soothsayer, Silas. They moved me about like a damned chess piece. I thought I would never trust again.”

“Did you ever share your suspicions?” Evaine asked.

Alaric shook his head. “I couldn’t. In truth I couldn’t even admit it to myself. But looking back, there were other clues. Theda had a pleasant-enough flowery scent, but it never inflamed me, never made me want to pounce. Wesley could smell her also. Theda hated my squire and was always cruel, forever banishing him from our presence. That was why. Goddess, even now I can remember the raised hackles between Blanche and Theda. And Mother and Theda. They saw under her mask…but after a public mating ceremony and crowning, it can only be undone by death. I still don’t know why Theda did it, other than wanting power at any cost.”

“Because, my king, in a poisoned soul, power is a thirst that can never be quenched. But if Theda hadn’t passed, I would scratch her eyes out. For her lies. For hurting you. For touching what is mine.”

Alaric blinked at the sheer fierceness of the words. His petite princess indeed looked ready to do murder, and a new but peaceful feeling of warmth flooded him. “Yours?”

Evaine straightened her shoulders, her perfect breasts jutting forward in a way that made his supposedly spent cock jerk to attention. Then she met his gaze, those glorious de Wynter green eyes glittering, and placed her hand in the middle of his chest. “Mine.”

He sucked in a breath as an eye-watering pain slashed across his inner wrist, like he’d been seared with a hot poker. Shockingly, his etched mark disappeared, like mud wiped from glass. A moment later the symbols of a true royal mating mark rose on his skin, identical in every way to those on Evaine’s nape.

“Goddess,” Alaric whispered, abruptly torn between wrapping himself around his mate to imprint more of him on her…and waking every single wolf in the Western Lands to show them his mark.

This was real. Princess Evaine de Wynter was his fated mate, and future anointed Queen of the Western Lands. Perhaps, Leto willing, even the mother of his cubs. Indeed, a whole new horizon stretched out ahead of him. One with endless possibilities.

A low growl of complete satisfaction rumbled in his chest, and Evaine whimpered. “You are aware that sound makes me very, very wet?”

Inhaling deeply, Alaric smiled. “It seems so…my mate. But I shall have to examine the situation more closely, on my desk.”

She trembled, her nipples jewel-hard, then poked her tongue out. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Lust surged through him as Evaine darted across the library to the shelves of books, before halting to wiggle her arse, looking over her shoulder and winking. This she-wolf was perfection.

Alaric permitted the pretense of a hunt for a short while, his low growls echoing in the room as she teased him, tweaking her own nipples, even caressing her bush. But soon the need to taste Evaine’s soaked cunt overruled all else. He trapped his mate against the desk, lifting her up onto the polished oak surface.

Gathering her hair in one fist, Alaric tugged until Evaine arched her back, offering him those sweet breasts. “Do you concede, Evie?” he rasped, lashing one tender peak with his tongue then blowing softly.

She gasped. “A royal she-wolf concede? Ha…ohhhh…”