Page 111 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

My smile grows. “Yes, please.”

“And what will your window seat overlook?”

I tilt my head, thinking. Then I say, “The east. I want to see the sun rise above the forest and the fields and the stream.” I take his hands, lifting up on my tiptoes. “Can it be on the third floor? So I can see farther?”

He laughs softly. “It can be wherever you want. Perhaps a tower above the third floor? With windows to see in every direction?”

I sigh. “That would be lovely, even if I know you’re teasing.”

His brows shoot up. “I’m not teasing at all. You’ll have a tower, and I promise never to lock you away in it.”

“Oh, you can lock me away in it,” I say. “Temporarily. By mutual agreement.” I waggle my brows.

“Bishop!” a voice calls from below, and Bishop turns with such a growl that I laugh under my breath.

“Bishop?” the voice calls again. “Someone said they saw you come in here.”

“It’s Doyle,” I murmur. “You’d better answer him.”

“Only if you promise we can finish this conversation later.”

“We will, and it will give you time to decide whether I’d be merely locked in my tower, or tied with—”

“Bishop!”

A string of uncharacteristic profanity from my husband, which I drown out by calling, “We’re up here!”

We start heading down, and Doyle meets us at the bottom of the steps.

“Good,” Doyle says. “You said you were going to speak to everyone.”

“Later,” Bishop says, that growl still reverberating through his voice. “I said I would speak to them later.”

I lay a hand on Bishop’s arm. “Perhaps you should do it now. Tell them your plans, and then we can have an early dinner.”

It’s the early-dinner part that does it, because he’ll know that’s code for “eat early and then retire.”

“All right then,” he says to Doyle. “Have a few of the others summon the wolves. I’ll speak to them in front of the house.”

The wolves have assembled. Everyone mills about, some seeming confused, others excited, and a few bored. They know Bishop is going to speak, and their responses predict what they expect. A dull speech about how they need to work together? A rousing one about how we will be stronger together? Firm plans for what comes next? Knowing Bishop, he’ll understand the need for a short speech but will quickly move on to actual plans.

I settle in with Ann and Tabitha. I won’t say I’m among the bored contingent, but the speech part really is just something we need to get through. A necessary part of being a leader, and the part of being a leader’s wife is looking as if I’m hanging on his every word.

“First,” Bishop begins, “I’d like to properly welcome the Cambrian Pack to Trevelyan. This is the seat of the Albion Pack, and I can only imagine how it must look to those of you who have never seen it.” He glances at the burned-out house behind him. “And how much worse it looks to those who have seen it.”

He turns back to the crowd. “I could have hidden this from you. Found another place to camp and avoided showing our allies just how badly we were routed, the ancestral seat of Britain’s oldest Pack reduced to this. But I wanted everyone to see it. I want to be clear and open and honest. This is how I started my reign as Alpha. Ushering in the lowest point for the Albion Pack.”

He waves at the house. “I should be humiliated to return after I ran away.” His gaze sweeps across others. “I wanted to stand and fight. Others counseled against that, and they were correct. We fled to save as many as we could, with every intention of returning to fight another day.”

He glances at me. “A few minutes ago, Cordelia and I were discussing the rebuilding of Trevelyan, and she likened it to a phoenix rising from the ashes. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with that lore. To say the phoenix is reborn is not exactly true. Its predecessor dies in fire and flame, and from those ashes comes the next phoenix. It is a story of cleansing and rebirth, and that is what has happened here. The Albion Pack has perished in fire and flame, but we are going to rise and create something better—”

“How much longer is this going to last?” a voice says, and we all follow it to Bishop’s left side, where Doyle leans against a stone post.

THIRTY-NINE

There’s silence. Absolute silence, and I can’t see Bishop’s expression, as he faces Doyle, away from me, but I can imagine the narrowing of his eyes. Doyle is trying to be funny, but Bishop will not appreciate the interruption.

“How long is what going to last?” Bishop says, his tone pure ice.