Page 25 of Wolf Duke

Both humans inclined their heads. They were disappointingly unremarkable; of a similar average height, each with dark hair. The earl had the lean build of a soldier, with a scar across his cheek that looked like an old arrow wound. The countess was equally slender, with arched eyebrows that made her look perpetually surprised. However, both were richly dressed: him in a black velvet doublet and hose with a heavy chain of office about his neck and a badge with a blue boar on his chest, and her in a costly gown of deep blue velvet with silver underskirt and sleeves.

“Lady Siân,” said the earl crisply. “A pleasure to see you again. How grateful you must be that our generous and esteemed King Henry bestowed such an honor on your son. Duke of Blackstone! Quite the elevation for your family.”

The queen exchanged a glance with Evaine before tapping her fingernails together. Somehow Evaine swallowed a belly laugh. No. There would be no claws out this evening.

“Such a shock,” Siân demurred.

“And this eager creature is your betrothed?” said Lady Oxford coolly. “I suppose any young lady dreams of being a duchess; no wonder she forgets decorum and runs to greet you, Blackstone. Perhaps you’ll teach her restraint and courtly ways. One does not address one’s husband so informally, child. Especially a duke. Are you from a small village, perhaps?”

Evaine nearly hissed. “Forgive me,” she ground out eventually, as Alaric discreetly rubbed his thumb against her palm, a soothing motion. “I was overcome by tender feelings for my ma…my betrothed.”

“Something I shall never grow weary of,” said Alaric, his voice caressing her even if his tongue could not. “I am fortunate beyond measure to have found a match surely written in the stars. Allow me to present the Lady Evaine de Wynter.”

Lady Oxford tilted her head, her expression warming slightly. “I have heard the name de Wynter! Are your people from over Norfolk way?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Wait,” said Lord Oxford, his brows furrowing. “Not kin to Sir Hugo de Wynter? Now he was a decent soldier. Damned decent indeed. Well, until he wed the tavern wench. God’s blood, scandal of the year, that was! She must have been a witch, no idea how they were received by anyone of standing. People were laughing behind their backs at court, then her cousin of all people kills them both! Such a tale belongs on stage. Or preached from the pulpits as a warning. The perils of marrying far beneath one’s own rank.”

Scalding, blinding rage surged through Evaine. This pathetic sewer rat dared to speak ill of her beloved parents? One swipe. One claw swipe was all it would take to spill the innards of both these humans on the library floor. Yes, it would create a terrible mess, but Blanche’s lye soap had yet to be defeated by anything.

A low snarl rumbled in her chest, and she actually felt her fingers curl and canines sharpen. Lord Oxford might have enjoyed good fortune in battle until this point, but his luck had just run out. Tonight, this human sack of excrement who thought himself noble would die most horribly at the hand of his sworn enemy…

Princess Evaine de Wynter.

Did the Earl of Oxford understand how close he was to having his throat ripped out?

Alaric studied the unwanted visitor like he might study a rat cornered by a barn cat. No, Oxford was still twittering like a foolish little squirrel about Hugo and Magdalena. It was laughable. As though the revered and star-risen King and Queen of the Eastern Lands would have cared one whit what a passel of completely unimportant humans thought of their union. Leto, all-powerful and all-knowing, matched hearts and souls. A mate’s position or employment, their past lovers, the heaviness of their purse…none of that mattered.

A heartbeat before Evaine slaughtered the most important human noble in the land, Alaric curled his arm around her waist, yanking her to his side. Then, ignoring the shocked gasps of the humans, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, tangling his tongue with hers until she moaned softly. When he’d had his fill of Evaine’s sweet lips, he nuzzled her cheek. “No, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You may not decorate my library with the earl’s entrails. Not this night, anyway. The guests must leave as they arrived, hale and hearty.”

Evaine hissed, but eventually took a deep breath and relaxed against him. Alaric knew a moment of relief. If she’d killed the earl, the entire party including the countess and attendants would require culling, and so many bodies would be a nuisance to dispose of. Besides, many humans would be aware of the Oxford’s destination; with the new dukedom and rumors of goldmines already swirling, Blackstone Castle didn’t need any further attention.

His mother smiled brightly, although there was clear disappointment in her eyes at his intervention. Bloodthirsty she-wolf.

“Shall we proceed to the Great Hall, my son?” asked Siân archly. “I find I’m quite famished, and crave a side of rare beef. Fresh, juicy and red.”

“That sounds delicious,” said Evaine, shooting another deadly glare at the earl. “Although aged meat can also be very tasty.”

Lord Oxford bowed, his expression revealing both irritation and disdain before it smoothed away into a polite mask. “It is still Christmastide, the season of goodwill and forgiveness to fellow man. Unseemly behavior is easily forgotten, and my countess and I welcome generous hospitality. Lead on, Your Grace.”

Alaric gritted his teeth. Between fellow man and the condescending reminder of the dukedom, Evie might have to wait her turn with the Oxfords. He had no doubt that Lord Oxford was jealous, but that tone, as though the earl was humoring small children in the nursery, was beyond provoking. Their visitor truly thought himself in the position of power.

Forcibly suppressing his irritation, Alaric linked arms with both Evaine and his mother, and they walked toward the Great Hall, the two humans in tow. Shortly afterward the Oxfords began whispering to each other, and Alaric rolled his eyes at the comments regarding a lack of furniture, liking or disliking carpets and artwork, and coveting certain trinkets. These two were actually assessing his holdings; no doubt Alaric would receive further tribute requests from King Henry in due course. Removing so many valuables had indeed been the correct path.

Evaine wrinkled her nose. “Do you think,” she said softly, “we should offer quill and parchment for their list-making?”

He grinned. “Better that than their own innards to swallow.”

His mate deliberately bumped her hip against him, and Alaric nearly laughed at the unspoken reprimand. He certainly understood the warning, though: if Lord Oxford insulted Hugo and Magdalena again, she wouldn’t be stayed by a kiss. In truth, he wouldn’t attempt it. If the visitors were that foolish, they deserved whatever happened next, diplomacy be damned.

Evaine leaned closer. “The Oxfords certainly require stronger herbs in their bathing water. I know wagon travel makes it more difficult, but surely human inns could offer much better service.”

“Don’t remind me,” muttered Alaric. “My stomach hurt for days thanks to the fare provided. No wonder humans are often ill.”

When they entered the Great Hall, he gazed about with pure pride. Despite the burden of ceremony preparation and no warning of the humans’ arrival, the cavernous room looked cozy and welcoming. All four fireplaces were lit, fresh rushes had been scattered about so the hall smelled pleasantly of dried mint and lemon, and a trestle table sat in the center with carpets underfoot and five cushioned chairs. Servants waited to pour ale or wine in the pewter goblets provided, while others were already carrying in trays laden with roasted meat, vegetables, a wheel of cheese, loaf of bread with a pat of butter, honey cakes, and even some almond sweetmeats. Alaric sat at the head of the table, with Evaine to his left, and his mother sitting next to her. The Oxfords would sit to his right.

Lady Oxford glanced around as servants pulled out their chairs, her gaze still assessing. “Well, this looks most adequate. Let’s eat.”