Page 54 of Wolf Duke

His enemy hissed at the insult. “I’ll enjoy presenting a royal head to King Guyyyy…wretched little turd!”

Blinking in confusion, Alaric tried to clear his blurry vision. Had Wesley truly appeared, a too-heavy longsword swaying awkwardly in his grip, and sliced the captain’s arse?

“Get away from my king,” said Wesley fiercely.

Their enemy laughed then swung his sword horizontally, easily dislodging Wesley’s weapon and cutting the squire’s shoulder. However, the diversion gave Alaric the opportunity to strike, and he lunged with his blade. The captain howled at the deep cut to his side, yet managed to raise his shield and block Alaric’s next blow. At the sickening impact of metal on metal, another jolt of agony passed through Alaric and he staggered back before sinking to one knee.

“Give my regards to Leto,” bellowed the captain. But just as he lifted his sword high to deliver the death blow, a snarling gray beast came hurtling through the air toward him like a battering ram, knocking him to the ground and slashing his throat.

Alaric beamed even as he slumped to the grass. “Evie,” he said. “You came back.”

She licked his face. “I never left. And the battle is won; Guy Saville’s forces are trying to flee!”

“I love you so much,” he slurred. Then everything went black.

When he opened his eyes, Alaric frowned at the murky darkness. Where was he? There was no pain in his arm and thigh, or anywhere for that matter. In fact, he felt rested and refreshed which was entirely suspicious. Had he succumbed to silver poisoning and been beheaded? Had he risen to the stars?

“Am I dead?” he mumbled.

“No, you’re not dead. But what kind of right royal arse fights on with silver poisoning? I should have dragged you to a healer myself. You don’t have the sense of a turnip, Alaric,” said the sweetest scold in the Western Lands, now in human form and wearing a borrowed robe.

“My mate,” he said lovingly.

Evaine huffed out a breath but she was stroking his hair and holding his hand like she’d been fretting. “I’ll send in the Chester healer to examine you again—she’s very experienced. Wesley is pacing the hallway. Oh, and we’re in a cottage because no one wanted to risk transporting you. There are hundreds of guards outside, I believe Blanche is in command. Do not dare move.”

“Yes, my queen,” Alaric replied, as meekly as he could.

As soon as she departed the small, simply furnished room, Wesley dashed in, his expression one of pure relief. “Everyone was terrified. They thought you might die. Mother hauled you to safety, it was the strangest thing, like for a short time she had the strength of a goddess. Then she demanded a flagon of wine, drank the entire thing, and more warriors fell in love with her. UGH.”

Alaric suppressed a smile at the details, far too glad to witness the return of playful Wesley. “Let us speak of events on the battlefield.”

His squire flushed. “I know I was only supposed to fire arrows. But I had none left and that Eastern captain had a silver sword! Then he wounded your thigh, so I picked up a sword from the ground and sliced him. I wanted to help…”

“You saved your king’s life, Wesley. You are as brave as any warrior and a skilled archer.”

“Awww, well, you know,” said the squire as he squirmed, his ears bright pink. “Couldn’t let anything happen when you have, ah, special duties tomorrow.”

Alaric frowned. “What? There aren’t any meetings or ceremonies.”

Wesley actually laughed. “Ohhhhhhh, my king, for the first time I know something you don’t! The queen has been out of sorts all day, yes? Irritable, too hot?”

“Being confined to a tower, tricked by a note, taken prisoner, then having to escape a burning stable and fight a vicious battle would make anyone irritable,” he replied, narrowing his gaze at the young wolf’s glee.

His squire kneeled beside the bed. “My king, everyone noticed. And we are so joyful for you both.”

“What in Leto’s name are you prattling about?” Alaric said, genuinely baffled.

“Mother said this always happens to a mated she-wolf the day before she goes into her breeding heat,” Wesley whispered. “Because it’s the queen’s first time, she might not realize either!”

Alaric bolted upright in bed as a storm of emotions battered him. Like so many males in his pack, soon he would know the sweet exhaustion of easing his mate’s need. Evie could conceive. They might have cubs by May.

Tears burned his eyes and he coughed to clear the boulder in his throat. Fated mate didn’t begin to describe the way she had turned his existence of cold, bleak duty into one of fierce lust and tenderness. Companionship and warmth and loyalty. With Evie at his side, together they could achieve anything. His queen. His mate. His love.

“Indeed,” Alaric said softly, trying not to grin like a nodcock and failing utterly. “Send in the healer, would you?”

Wesley bowed, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, my king.”

When the she-wolf bustled in, Alaric inclined his head. “I thank you for your care.”