The King

SEVENTY-TWO

It was as he had promised.

Wrath was good to the word he had given his shellan. He was, in fact, back at dawn.

As he rode toward home upon his horse, he was exhausted to the point of agony, unable to hold himself up for more than a walking gait. But then again, there was another reason for his slow progress.

Though he had gone out on his own, he did not return as such.

There were six dead bodies being dragged over the ground behind him and his steed, and two more to the rear of his saddle. The former he had tied with ropes at the ankles; the latter were secured to the horse with hooks and netting.

And the others he’d killed had not had enough left of their remains to take with him.

He could smell nothing but the blood he’d shed.

He heard nothing but the muffled rush of the bodies over the dirt of the road.

He knew nothing except that he had murdered each one of them by hand.

The wooded glen he proceeded through was the last distance to be crossed before the castle … and indeed, as he came out into a clearing, there it was, rising ugly out of the earth.

He did not relish what he had done. Unlike a barn cat who enjoyed his duty, the mice he had slain had not been a source of sly happiness for him.

But as he thought of his unborn young, he knew that he had made the world a safer place for his son or daughter. And as he considered his beloved mate, as well as the death of his own father, he was well aware that that which had been uncharacteristic to his nature had been very necessary indeed.

The drawbridge o’er the moat landed in a rush, providing him entrance as if he had been waited for.

And he had been.

Anha ran out onto the planks, the fading moonlight catching her dark hair and her red robes.

He had known her for so little time when judged by the passage of seasons. But through the course of events, he believed they had been together for lifetimes.

The Brotherhood was with her.

Pulling up on the reins, he knew she saw everything as her hands went to her mouth and Tohrture had to take her elbow to keep her upright.

He wished she had not come. But there was no going back now on any of it.

Dismounting, even though he was not even upon the bridge, he left his horse where it was and crossed onto the thick planks.

He thought perhaps she might run from him, but, no, it was the opposite.

“Are you well enough?” she said as she threw herself at him.

His arms were weak as they went around her. “Aye.”

“You lie.”

He dropped his head into her sweet-smelling hair. “Aye.”

At least with her, he did not have to pretend. The truth was, he as yet feared for the future. He may have taken his revenge out on these traitors, but there would be more.

Kings were targets for the ambitions of others.

That was reality.

Closing his eyes, he wished there was a way out of the legacy—and he worried for his future son, if he had one. Daughters had a chance. Sons were cursed.

But he could not change who he was born to be. He just prayed for the courage that had served him this night to come again when it was needed most.

At least now he had proved to himself and his beloved that he was not just a leader in peacetime. In war, he could wield the sword if he had to.

“I love you,” he said.

As his mate shuddered against him, he knew she was going to shudder again on the morrow evening—when she saw what he was going to do to the heads of those dead bodies.

Messages had to be sent in order to be received.

“Let us go unto our chamber,” he said, tucking her into his chest.

As he nodded to the Brothers, he knew they would take care of his horse—and his prey. There would be time for the beheadings later. Now? He just wanted some sanity amid the madness.

Heading into their castle, she was, as always, his only tether.

“If we have a son,” he murmured.

“Yes?” She looked up at him. “What for him?”

Wrath glanced down into the face that stared upon him, the beautiful face that defined his hours as well as his years. “I hope he finds someone like you.”

“In truth?” she whispered.

“Yes. I pray for him to be half as lucky as I.”

As Anha squeezed around his waist, her voice grew rough. “And for a daughter … a male half as good as her father.”

Wrath kissed the top of her head and continued them onward, through the great hall and up to their chamber, the Brotherhood with them, but keeping a discreet distance.

Yes, he thought, to survive, one must not be alone.

And one must have a partner of worth.

Possess that? And you were richer than any King and queen who e’er roamed the earth.