Chapter 4 #3
“I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,” Bertrand continued, his indulgent tone suggesting he knew he’d be excused, if not forgiven.
His gaze, then, drifted past Alexander to where Yrenna stood.
“I was just telling your sister this afternoon, she grows more like your mother every day. The same grace, the same beauty. I predict days of beating away suitors with a stick in the near future.”
He chuckled at his own joke, even when it was a velvet-wrapped blade. Bertrand knew, as everyone did, that Yrenna had received no offers. Not a single suitor for the daughter of a traitor—her grace and beauty be damned.
“A shame my mother cannot hear you say so,” Alexander said.
“Please sit, my lord,” Yrenna murmured, gesturing at an empty chair beside Alexander’s. She poured wine for their uninvited guest, a picture of an accommodating hostess, but he saw the tension in her mouth as she called a maid to serve some food.
Bertrand accepted the goblet and sat, his attention finally away from Yrenna. The tension in Alexander’s chest eased.
“This marriage is a monumental task for any man, let alone one bearing the weight you do. How do you plan to prepare Parandor? It is a strong fortress, but times have certainly changed.” He gestured around the hall, the corners of his lips turned down.
“I imagine a princess accustomed to imperial luxury will find Parandor’s .
. . austerity quite the contrast to the gold and jade of her palace. ”
At the closest trestle table, Darion set down his fork a little too hard. Alexander caught a flicker of auburn at the edge of his vision—Tedric leaning in to pull Darion back.
Calmly, Alexander said, “Parandor may not offer the luxuries of her ancient and palatial home, but it will be a lump of clay for my wife to shape as she wills.”
Bertrand inclined his head. “I have no doubt she will rise to the challenge.”
His dark eyes sought Yrenna again, his fingers rubbing the neatly trimmed beard along his chin, the black now dusted with silver.
“Will you be overseeing the wedding preparations, my lady? I must say, your mettle is most admirable. It’s not every day one sees a noblewoman take such an active role in the affairs of her House. ”
Yrenna held his gaze. “House Wulfbane does not have the luxury of idle hands, but I stand with my brother and take my role as Parandor’s chatelaine gladly and proudly, my lord.”
“A commendable work ethic.” Bertrand lifted his goblet. “No doubt inherited from your father, gods rest his soul.”
Alexander’s jaw ticked, the fine hairs on his nape standing to attention. Here it comes.
Bertrand swirled his wine. “He was my brother in all but blood, you know? I miss him dearly. To this day, I still don’t understand why he did what he did.
Things were good. So good. Until he—” He paused, shaking his head, as though the words pained him too much to say aloud.
“Your mother begged me to plead with the king. And of course, I would’ve done it even without her asking.
I pleaded with all my heart, tried everything in my power, but alas .
. .” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Some offences are too grave to be pardoned.”
The words stung like they always did, unrelenting reminders of a wound that never healed. He had no patience for this ritual of regret, this retelling that framed Bertrand as a hero while tarnishing Teodor Wulfbane’s name all over again.
Bertrand set his goblet aside. “Well. I shan’t overstay my welcome. I merely wished to offer my good wishes.” His gaze met Alexander’s. “It is no small thing, after all, securing a brighter future for one’s House. I applaud you, my lord, to be so dedicated to the cause.”
He rose with the same practiced ease he did everything, adjusting the fall of his cloak as if they were in a royal court rather than a hall of weathered stone. Just then, a scullery maid approached, setting down a plate of food before him.
Bertrand glanced at the meal—one flick of the eyes, a wrinkle on his nose—and inclined his head. “Enjoy your evening, Lord Wulfbane, my lady.”
He strode out, and the hall seemed to breathe in his absence, the air stretching taut before snapping back into place.
Yrenna sighed and stared at the untouched platter. “That man is insufferable.”
Darion, still watching the doors as if considering whether to go after Bertrand himself, growled, “I’d have thrown him out the window, given the choice.”
Conrad’s fist hit the table. “Or misplace his horse and let him walk home instead. Imagine, forced to sully his fashionable boots on Parandor’s common dirt!”
Everyone around their table chuckled.
Tedric, leaning back in his chair, gave a half-smile. “Sometimes the sharpest weapon is silence. Let him believe his words matter. It costs us nothing, and it eats at him more than any missing horse ever could.”
Alexander didn’t speak. For all those smooth words, Bertrand had delivered his true message without too much effort.
Parandor had nothing, just as House Wulfbane had nothing.
But with Princess JingYi’s arrival, he would have more than an Omega bride. He would have legitimacy, an alliance, and the first foothold back to power.
And when the time came, no one—not Bertrand, the court, or even the king—could deny House Wulfbane again.