Quincy
“Wait for the turn,” Lord Saran told him, voice soft with a joy that ran to his very core.
No words passed between them, because no words could possibly explain what it was like for this man to know he would be home soon with the people he loved, the person he loved. Right where he belonged.
He was still wearing the heavy red cloak his mate had insisted on lending to him, and he drew it tightly against himself at the sight. He had been warned of the altitude sickness, but it was only now that he truly understood what it meant.
“You will need a new wardrobe,” his mate explained casually. “Mar will send the tailor to you.”
And there was no doubt who he spoke of. His mate. Quincy exhaled slowly and made himself ask, “Is that your mate’s name?”
Lord Saran looked at him, but inside he’d just retreated in the bond as far as he could go. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I... Marlen, but she does not like it. Everyone calls her Mar. Lady Mar, I suppose.”
Quincy nodded at the information. He had a hundred more questions, and he did not think any of them would have helped even if he had felt entitled to the answers.
“I wrote ahead to tell her about you,” the alpha continued, too earnest.
And Quincy clenched his teeth hard, shocked by the flash of anger that rushed through. His new alpha had been with Quincy for nearly a week, and he hadn’t told him about her, but she got a letter sent over early to arrive before them? How considerate of him.
Nodding got him through the other details his new master saw fit to share with him about both the terrain and the plans for the day.