Chapter 31 #2
"We have four days until the accounting feast," Torion gritted out, nuzzling against my ear as I opened my mouth and whined down into my desk.
"And you're going to get your wish if it kills me.
Now cover your mouth so no one hears you screaming, because I know what it means when you get tense like this. "
I rested my forehead to the cool, dry pages of my open notebook and held my hands tightly over my mouth as Torion drove me to oblivion.
Perhaps Ned MacIntyre was a little right to worry about Torion and his responsibility to Grave Hills, because after carrying me up to nap in bed, it only took him another two hours with Alpha Worthington and his men before he returned to me to make good on his promise.
If I was walking funny at the accounting feast, I hoped the attendees would blame my now apparent pregnancy and not notice Torion's incredibly languid and smug expression.
We'd barely made it out of bed in time to get ready this morning.
There'd been as much quiet conversation—whispered dreams and worries, gentle reassurances and teary eyed hopes—as bright cries of ecstasy in the past few days.
I found myself smiling shyly every time I looked at Torion and was just satiated enough to manage the public event.
"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?" Torion asked, bowing his head to murmur the words in my ear.
I flushed as he lifted my hand and pressed a long kiss to my knuckles, holding my gaze and letting the whisky heat in his eyes warm me throughout.
"You have," I said, pulling my hand free when I realized he had no intention of releasing it.
But I found myself smoothing a few stray curls away from his face.
"It bears repeating," he said with a shrug.
I glanced around the full great hall at the many couples gathered—so many young betas grinning madly at one another, women in small groups huddled with heads bowed and more subdued smiles.
My eyes landed on Emily Anderson leaning against Samuel, her beta, and caught the moment his head bowed and his mouth landed on the exposed skin at the edge of collar, before sliding up her throat to whisper something in her ear.
She flushed and glanced around, checking to see if they were observed, but I smiled as her head jerked in a brief nod, face sharpening with a familiar expectation.
Then the couple stepped back away from the crowd and moved to the shadows of the departing hallway.
Years ago, I'd never imagined myself having a pleasant conversation with the woman, but earlier this evening, I'd laughed at her dry humor and sharp wit.
"Young dragons are so exhausting," she'd said, her gaze traveling across the room, where Samuel shoved at a friend of his and laughed loudly. And then she'd looked at me, eyes glittering warmly, and we'd shared a conspiratorial smile.
"I do find myself sleeping heavily," I allowed, smirking.
"When he lets you sleep," she added, grinning.
They had no pregnancy to announce—Emily was a slim woman, and the waistband of her dress made no attempt to disguise that fact tonight—but I predicted they'd have a daughter soon enough, if they wanted one.
"Will we start the announcements?" I asked Torion, leaning against his shoulder.
He shook his head, and his arm lifted to tug me closer to his side. "We'll finish them. Are you still eating?"
"I'm a little too nervous," I admitted.
Torion rubbed my shoulder. "I'll make sure there's a tray in our room when this is over. We can take our leave before the betas get too deep in their celebrations. Are you ready?"
Nerves spiked, little bolts of ice that shot up my spine, urging me to retreat.
But Torion's arm was heavy and warm over my shoulders, and by the time they reached the nape of my neck, his steady presence melted them away.
I nodded once, and he smiled before his gaze flicked over my shoulder, sharing a look with one of the men at the far right of the hall.
A bench squeaked as the man rose, and the large rustle of conversation fell away easily, as if everyone had only been biding their time until this moment.
"Grave Hills will welcome a son by harvest," Lord McKinney called out loudly. He hadn't brought his omega with him, but he beamed and clasped a hand over his heart.
As the whole room held its breath, another man rose from his seat, this time holding a young, blushing woman's hand in his. "Grave Hills will welcome two sons by harvest."
One by one, the men stood from their seats, adding to the tally.
Three sons, four sons, five, and on and on it went.
I hadn't attended the last accounting feast, but I'd heard the number murmured through the village—eight sons.
Only eight, and if I hadn't lost my child, it might've been nine.
But by the end of the nine months, only six of those sons took their first breath in the world, and only five of the eight mothers survived.
Torion lifted my hand to his lips, grazing a kiss back and forth over my white knuckles, his gaze holding mine until I realized I hadn't breathed properly as the tally rose higher and higher.
I tried to release my viselike grip on his hand, but he covered it with his free one, understanding and flickers of worry in his gaze.
How could any person understand another so well without a word between them?
I sighed, and Torion's lips curved gently in unison with my own.
"Grave Hills will welcome fourteen sons by harvest."
There was a pause of quiet, a hush of expectation, as the room held its breath and waited.
Still, Torion held my gaze. Gentler now, I squeezed his hand in mine, nodding slightly.
His eyes never left mine as he leaned forward, pressing his chair back from the table, rising up.
His hand tugged at mine, held tight, and I found myself rising from my seat as well, staring up at him in a daze, forgetting the room and the crowd and anyone but my alpha in front of me.
"Grave Hills will welcome—"
The door to the keep banged open with a crash, and I caught the barest glimpse of a familiar dark head storming out—Malcolm.
I didn't enjoy his anger, and I didn't mourn it either.
All thoughts of my former beta were brushed away by the sounds of chairs scraping over the floor and cheers rising up from around the room.
Any words Torion said that followed were lost beneath the rousing cries of celebration, although it hardly mattered. We all knew what would be said.
And of course, privately and quietly, we all knew the words would be a lie. Sons would be lost before harvest. Women too.