The Wolf Queen by Sam Hall

Author:Sam Hall [Hall, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Evidently we did. We returned to the manor and, on Axe’s urging, we went down to the guard house and Gael helped heal the wounded. While we waited, we got through quite a few tankards of ale, celebrating the victory. I’d seen this kind of thing before in my father’s men. The relief of having made it through a fight crashing down upon you, loosening you up and you could either descend into a strange kind of apathy, completely wrung out, or you could recharge with wine, women and song. Unfortunately for the men, I was the only woman. But I noticed that during it all, the prince was a largely silent presence.

“To His Highness!” one of my grandfather’s knights said, springing to his feet and holding up his tankard.

“To His Highness!” replied almost everyone else.

Everyone but me and my mates. I caught a few sidelong looks being thrown our way and realised we were being terribly rude. Granian customs dictated that once a toast was made, everyone echoed it and raised their cup, lest they slight the person being toasted. Bryson’s lips twitched when he saw me join in, one elegant eyebrow rising. But it seemed to me that those golden eyes weren’t starting to gleam because the men were toasting his health. Rather, they seemed to be taking me in with increasing interest, right up until Weyland reached for my hand.

“Come with me before this gets too out of control.”

He escorted me from the guard house and back towards our suite. When we got back to the manor house, we paused first in the doorway of the children’s bedroom, drinking in the peaceful sounds of their breathing—in some ways that was more refreshing than the beer. Both of us were reluctant to move away until the quiet arrival of the others drew us out of our reverie, and we shot each other sheepish smiles as we followed them across the sitting area to our own room.

Drinking, carousing, singing dirty ditties were all an attempt to hold tight onto life, to reject death. And I felt that same strong urge to celebrate the fact that I was alive—that we all were alive—rise in me as I led Weyland into the room. The door was closed with a decisive click and then I was kissing him with a desperation born of that same impulse.

To feel alive.

“I’m filthy,” I said between kisses, as Weyland trailed his lips along my jaw, along my neck, before coming back to my mouth over and over. He only stopped kissing me to pull my shirt up over my head. “I need a bath.”

“And I need you,” he said, his voice hoarse as he looked deep into my eyes, cupping my cheek and stroking his thumb along the side of my face.

That bald admission was said with a curious mix of boldness and trepidation. He didn’t want to hurt me—something I knew almost instinctively—but I could tell there was more driving him. He didn’t want to miss out on this for a moment longer, not if I was ready to reconnect.

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