Chapter 8 #2
I could deflect, could turn this vulnerable moment into something safer, more controlled. But the openness in her eyes, the willingness to see me as more than just her conqueror, deserves honesty in return.
"I never wanted to be king," I tell her, the admission feeling like ripping open an old wound.
"My brother was the heir. I was the second son, meant for the battlefield, not the throne.
When he died, when the crown fell to me, I was lost. Conquering—expanding our borders, bringing other kingdoms under our rule—it was the only thing I knew how to do.
The only way I knew to be strong when I felt anything but. "
Her hand comes to rest against my cheek, surprisingly gentle. "I didn't know you had a brother."
"Few do anymore. It's been many years." I turn my face to press a kiss against her palm. "Your turn. Tell me something true."
She hesitates, then says quietly, "I've been so angry at my father. For losing. For not being strong enough to protect our kingdom." Her eyes drop, unable to meet mine. "Some nights, I lie awake wondering if I would have been better off born a peasant girl, with no kingdom to lose."
The admission reveals a vulnerability I suspected but never confirmed—her complicated feelings about her own position, the burden of royal duty. I tilt her face back up to mine. "You were born to be a queen, Fiona. Just not the queen you expected to be."
"Your queen," she says, the words no longer holding the bitterness they once did.
"Mine," I agree, pulling her close again. "And I belong to you in return, though I never thought to belong to anyone."
Her smile is tentative but real, perhaps the first genuinely unguarded smile she's ever given me. It transforms her face, making her even more beautiful. I vow silently to do whatever it takes to see that smile again, to be the cause of it rather than the cause of her tears.
We drift into sleep tangled together, her head on my chest, my arms around her as if I could protect her from the world even in slumber.
For the first time since claiming her as my wife, I sleep deeply, completely, without the constant awareness of her potential escape hovering at the edges of my consciousness.
Dawn finds us still entwined, her body warm against mine, her breath soft against my neck. I watch her sleep, studying the delicate fan of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips, the peaceful expression so different from her usual guarded wariness.
The knowledge that she has surrendered not just her body but something of her heart to me fills me with a fierce protectiveness unlike anything I've experienced before.
I've always been possessive of what's mine, but this is different—deeper, more primal.
I would tear apart anyone who threatened her, not just because she belongs to me, but because I can no longer imagine a world without her in it.
When she stirs, her eyes opening slowly to find me watching her, her lips curve in another of those unguarded smiles. "Good morning," she murmurs, stretching against me like a contented cat.
"Indeed it is." I press a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "How do you feel?"
A blush spreads across her cheeks as memories of the previous night clearly flood back. "Like I've been thoroughly claimed," she admits, her honesty more arousing than any practiced seduction.
"Not thoroughly enough," I growl, rolling her beneath me, delighting in her surprised laughter as I begin to demonstrate just how much more thoroughly I can claim her.
Later, as we break our fast in our chambers rather than joining the court below, I find myself making plans to ensure her safety, her happiness, with an intensity that would have surprised me a month ago.
"The threat from the south concerns me," I tell her as she sips her wine. "Lord Aiden will make another move, likely sooner rather than later."
She looks up, her expression serious. "Do you think he'll attack directly?"
"No. He's not a military man. He'll try something more underhanded." I reach across the table to take her hand. "Which is why I want you to start training with a sword, as we discussed."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "You were serious about that?"
"Deadly serious. I want you able to defend yourself if necessary." I squeeze her hand. "I've arranged for Callum to begin teaching you the basics this afternoon."
"Callum?" She frowns slightly. "Not you?"
The question pleases me more than it should—her desire for me to be the one to teach her. "I would, but I need to meet with the border commanders today. And Callum is actually a better teacher than I am. More patient."
She nods, accepting this, but there's something in her expression that makes me add, "I'll oversee your progress, of course. And once you've mastered the basics, I'll work with you myself on more advanced techniques."
Her smile returns, brighter than before. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."
"I know." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I want you strong, Fiona. A true queen, not just in name but in capability."
"Why?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. "Most men would want their wives weak, dependent."
"I'm not most men." I hold her gaze steadily. "And you were never meant to be most wives."
After breaking our fast, we separate for the first time in days—she to prepare for her training session, I to meet with my commanders. Before leaving her, I pull her close, unable to resist tasting her lips once more.
"Be careful," I murmur against her mouth. "Remember that even in training, blades can cut."
She laughs softly. "Are you worried about me, my fearsome king?"
"Always." The admission comes easily now, my pride no longer requiring me to hide my concern for her. "You're precious to me, Fiona."
Her expression softens, something glimmering in her eyes that might be the beginning of deeper feeling. "I'll be careful," she promises, rising on tiptoe to press another kiss to my lips.
I force myself to leave her, though every instinct demands I keep her by my side, safe under my protection. But I know too well that smothering her would only push her away, and after last night's breakthrough, I can't risk losing the ground we've gained.
The meeting with my commanders is tense, reports from the border confirming my suspicions about Lord Aiden's movements. He's gathering forces, making alliances with other minor lords who resent my rapid expansion of power.
"We should strike first," argues one of my younger captains. "Before they can fully organize."
"And appear the aggressor?" I shake my head. "No. We wait, we watch, we prepare. But we don't strike unless provoked."
"Is this caution I'm hearing from the Warrior King?" another asks, surprise evident in his tone. "You've never hesitated to strike first before."
I fix him with a hard stare. "Times change. Strategies evolve. And I have more to protect now than just my honor or my borders."
The unspoken addition—Fiona—hangs in the air between us. My men exchange glances, some speculative, others concerned. They've noticed the change in me, the softening that both terrifies and exhilarates me.
"The queen has settled in well," Callum observes carefully, changing the subject. "The people speak highly of her kindness during the village relocation yesterday."
"She was born to rule," I say simply. "It's in her blood."
"And in her spirit," adds another commander, one who's been with me since the beginning. "She reminds me of your brother—that same quiet strength."
The comparison startles me, but upon reflection, I realize its truth. Fiona does have the same quality that made my brother beloved by our people—a natural authority tempered by genuine concern for others' welfare.
"All the more reason to ensure her safety," I say, turning back to the map spread before us. "Double the guards on the castle perimeter. And I want our best men accompanying the queen whenever she leaves the main buildings."
The meeting continues, strategies debated, reports analyzed.
But part of me remains distracted, aware of Fiona somewhere in the castle, training with Callum, learning to defend herself.
The thought both pleases and concerns me—pleased that she embraces this new skill, concerned that she might ever need to use it.
When we finally adjourn, I make my way toward the small training yard I'd designated for Fiona's lessons, eager to see her progress. As I approach, I hear voices—Callum's measured instructions, Fiona's questions, the occasional clash of practice blades.
I round the corner just in time to see one of the younger guards lunge at Fiona, his practice sword aimed at her midsection.
She parries clumsily, stumbling backward, nearly losing her footing.
The guard presses his advantage, forcing her further back, until she's against the wall with nowhere to retreat.
Something in me snaps.
Before I fully register my own movement, I've crossed the yard, seized the guard by the throat, and slammed him against the stone wall where Fiona was pinned moments before. My dagger is at his throat, drawn without conscious thought.
"What do you think you're doing?" I snarl, barely recognizing my own voice.
The guard's eyes bulge with fear, his face rapidly purpling as my grip restricts his air. "T-training, my lord," he chokes out. "Callum s-said—"
"Lachlan!" Fiona's hand grips my arm, trying to pull me back. "Stop! He wasn't hurting me. It's just practice."
I don't release him immediately, the protective rage still coursing through my veins like fire. "He had you cornered," I growl. "He was too aggressive."
"That was the point," Callum says, approaching cautiously. "She needs to learn what a real attack feels like, my lord. I was watching carefully."
Slowly, reason penetrates the haze of fury. I loosen my grip on the guard's throat, allowing him to slide down the wall, gasping for air. My dagger disappears back into its sheath, though my body remains tense, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
"Lachlan," Fiona says again, her voice gentler now. "Look at me."
I turn to her, still vibrating with protective instinct. Her face is flushed from exertion, a few strands of golden hair escaped from her braid, her practice sword held confidently in her hand despite her earlier stumble.
"I'm fine," she tells me, reaching up to touch my face. "I need to learn this. Real enemies won't go easy on me."
The thought of real enemies threatening her nearly sends me into another rage, but I force myself to breathe deeply, to regain control. "No one threatens what's mine," I say, my voice still rough with emotion. "No one."
Fiona's expression softens, something like tenderness replacing her initial alarm. "I know," she says simply. "But I want to be strong for you. With you."
The words penetrate my protective haze, reminding me of what I'd told her this morning—that I want her strong, capable, a true partner rather than merely a possession. Shame curls in my gut at my loss of control, at the fear I saw in my own guard's eyes.
"Continue," I manage to say, stepping back, though everything in me rails against the idea of watching her face even pretend danger. "But you," I add, pointing at the guard who's still rubbing his throat, "remember who she is. If you bruise her, I'll remove the hand that did it."
"Yes, my lord," he croaks, wisely keeping his distance.
I move to the edge of the yard, forcing myself to watch as the training resumes. Callum shoots me a concerned look but says nothing, returning to his instruction with admirable focus.
As I observe Fiona learning, adapting, improving with each exchange, I'm struck by the depth of my reaction, by the instinctive rage that overcame me at the mere suggestion of threat to her.
I've always been possessive, always protected what's mine.
But this was different—more visceral, more consuming.
It scares me, this power she has over me. This ability to make me lose control with nothing more than the hint of danger to her person.
But as I watch her face light up when she successfully blocks a sequence of attacks, as I see the pride in her stance when Callum praises her quick learning, I realize I wouldn't change it.
Wouldn't go back to the man I was before her—cold, calculating, untouched by anything resembling true feeling.
She has changed me, irrevocably. Made me vulnerable in ways I never thought possible.
And God help me, I wouldn't have it any other way.