Page 7 of Wolf Duke

Alaric cleared his throat, his wolf senses near-drowning in the emotions hurtling toward him like poisoned arrows. Envy from those who had fought at Bosworth Field and been granted far less. Seething fury from the Yorkists who’d watched Alaric pledge to their own side so recently and hated Henry Tudor with every fiber of their being. And contempt from the rest who believed anyone with Welsh blood sat far beneath them. “Your Grace, surely that is too great an honor.”

Henry waved a hand. “It is long overdue, Blackstone. We shall meet in the treasury on the morrow before you depart; you’ll receive all the documentation and seals for your new title. In return, I’m sure you will offer generous tribute to your king.”

And there it was, the heart of the matter. Alaric’s elevation to duke had nothing to do with his pack’s service or Welsh blood, but their goldmines. Henry needed money, and one way to gather it was conferring titles then taxing the new titleholder.

No doubt becoming a duke in the human realm was a very costly exercise.

Alaric gritted his teeth and swept a low bow. At least now he had the measure of the man; Henry was also a diplomat of sorts, hiding a cunning and avaricious soul behind a pleasant smile. Perhaps he would hold the English crown for a while. “As Your Grace wishes.”

The human king nodded then turned and whispered to Lady Margaret, “See? I knew it would work. You fret overmuch, Lady Mother. I shall not be a beggar for long.”

Such impudence! Alaric took several shallow breaths, the urge to change, bare his fangs and claws, and unleash mayhem in the hall nearly overwhelming. That was yet another human flaw: their whispers were a shout to wolf ears. It was time to leave this palace while his sanity remained intact.

Straightening his shoulders, Alaric walked backward ten steps as protocol demanded, then turned and marched to the double doors. All eyes remained upon him, so he forced himself to be cool and calm, to not hurl bodies or tables. But to add insult to injury, the guards inclined their heads and murmured “Your Grace” as he passed them.

Needing friendly faces, Alaric continued directly to the antechamber where his brother kings waited.

Darius immediately sprang to his feet. The warrior was perhaps the only wolf in England larger than Alaric, with the scarred countenance and piercing amber gaze of one who embraced war. Human clothing never sat well on Darius, always appearing on the verge of splitting, and his wild brown hair was only partially tamed by a plait secured with a leather strip. Both wolves and humans avoided Darius if possible—he truly looked like Death and Destruction coming to claim them. And he was.

“Well?” growled Darius. “What news? The human king kept you long enough.”

Alaric scowled; only in their presence would he ever allow such emotion to show. “Henry conferred a title upon me. I am now a duke.”

Ranulf burst out laughing. “Imagine if he actually did. It might start a civil war between wolf and human, just for the insult.”

“I’m not jesting,” Alaric bit out. “Duke of Blackstone.”

Both his brother kings stared at him in shock.

“Henry has a death wish,” spat Darius, his lips twisting.

“What exactly did that wretched human say?” said Ranulf, all trace of amusement gone from his too-handsome face.

“That a knighthood did not adequately honor the service of the Beaumont family. Oh yes, and in an entirely unrelated matter, he expects the first generous tribute to be deposited in the treasury tomorrow.”

Darius snorted. “So, ’tis you who’ll be funding the Tudor court. I wondered who they might rob, for the Plantagenets bled the coffers dry and Henry barely has two pennies to rub together after his campaign. The others ennobled should be damned grateful they won’t owe as much, but I wager they aren’t.”

“No,” said Alaric. “They just glared. Mother is going to be furious about this, but at least she’ll understand that I couldn’t refuse the title. Others won’t. Damn Hera-spawned Henry. I wanted to avoid trouble, now he’s gone and put a target on my back. It’s one thing for wolves and humans to both want Beaumont gold, but must I be dishonored with the rank of duke?”

“You have my sympathy, brother,” said Ranulf, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thank Leto we were not so blessed, Darius and I would not have borne it with your calm. The only remedy is wine. Let’s drain Eltham Palace dry, then hunt all their deer. Oh, and remember it could have been worse: Imagine Guy bloody Saville standing there watching.”

Alaric sighed deeply. As Bosworth Field was within the Eastern Lands, the coward Saville had already made his pledge. He rarely set foot outside the border, usually sending mercenaries to do his evil deeds.

In any event, wine would be a good start. Being Duke of Blackstone promised nothing but strife.

Chapter

Two

Blackstone Castle

Evaine lay sprawled on a pile of soft velvet cushions in front of a roaring fireplace, her tail flicking lazily as she rested. There might be one square inch of her belly that wasn’t stuffed full with roasted venison and the most delicious vegetable pottage she’d ever tasted, but Blanche had left a tray with dried beef strips and a bowl of wine in the event she wished to fill that tiny gap.

Food was all that mattered right now. Not wanting the servants to go to any trouble with a hip bath, Evaine had assured them that a light scrubbing with a bristle brush and warmed bucket of water would be quite sufficient. Even though she was a horribly gaunt and rather tragic collection of fur and bones, as a blooded royal wolf, she was still much larger than most. Attempting to fold her stiff, sore form into a bath would be far too painful, and also offer a frustrating reminder of her continued inability to shift to human form and heal faster.

How she hated feeling so weak!

But she was safe. No, not just safe, cocooned in a well-fortified yet sumptuous castle. Blackstone might look stark and threatening from the outside, but inside it was spotlessly clean with elegant linens, elaborate tapestries, fresh rushes, and an astonishing amount of gold. Plates and goblets, spoons and eating knives, even trays and ladles.