Chapter 10
C lara could have sworn she’d passed the same tree three times now were it not for the slight difference in placement of the knots along the trunk. That and the hyper-focused intent with which she observed—and efficiently stepped over sans Bronze’s help—the tree roots punching up through the ground at varying angles. She would not study the male at her side, who didn’t even have the common decency to give a female her bit of space when asking after her private reasoning.
Was he entitled to the truth of it? She supposed he was. A little. But then so much of what she’d endured would have been for naught!
Clara chewed the inside of her lip, fully aware that the angel was being beyond patient in waiting for her answer. Males, in her experience, had not been blessed with such a constitution. If they had, she might not have needed to go to the lengths she had.
Discreetly, she risked a peek at him. That olive-green rucksack still sat high on his shoulders in the exact same manner as when he’d first slung it on. She had no idea what was in it, but it looked heavy enough to sever the exposed tree roots beneath him if he dropped it in the right place. The angle of her cloak’s hood obscured much of him beneath the pack, but it did nothing, thankfully, to hide Bronze’s shock of auburn hair that curled around his ears and neck. It was her favorite bit of chaos about him, and there certainly had been much to choose from. A part of her wondered what his hair would feel like between her fingers, whether it would be silky or coarse, whether it would spiral around the cylinder of her pinky or go its separate way.
Such thoughts were certainly unbecoming of an unmated female. A mated female, however, could fantasize about such things, could she not? And as he’d so confidently and bluntly pointed out, mated they would soon be.
Clara cleared her throat, finally dissolving the silence between them. “My father is not a kind man.”
He snorted. “Yeah. I got that.”
“It bears repeating.” She kicked a stone in front of her, measuring its skips until it settled into a puddle with a satisfying plunk . “My people deserve far more than to suffer at the hands of a tyrant, whether that be my father or one chosen by him to engage in practices similar to his own. There are many lycans who, as we speak, are fighting to break free and establish their own autonomy, but ruling pressure has been making it increasingly impossible to do so. The king has been crippling hybrid businesses that, for centuries, have served both the human and lycan lands, forcing them instead to cut their earnings by having the monarchy and its subjects as their sole customers. Our lands are well hidden, as I’ve mentioned, but many lycans believe a society cannot thrive without expansion. There are ways to safely navigate human interactions, and those lycans who had figured out how to do so over the years have enjoyed great prosperity for not only their families but their communities. My father, as I’ve mentioned, also believes in expansion but is much more narrow-minded in who he prefers to deal with. Where I see potential for growth and development, he sees only scarcity and what the humans have that we do not.”
“You mentioned hybrid businesses that had served both lands for centuries. How old are you, exactly?”
“Ninety-four. My father has been ruling in his seat for close to three hundred years but was only able to sire one offspring with my mother before she died.” A familiar tightness that always plagued her whenever she thought of her mother threatened to slow the momentum of her words, forcing her to clear her throat and fight through the pain, as she always did. Clara braced for his muttered condolences and had already curled her lips into the slight smile she often gave to soothe others’ acknowledgment of her grief, but Bronze never looked up at her. He just kept his head down, his steps measured, like the path before them would last exactly as long as it needed for her to continue her story.
His silence, for sure, meant she should continue. Right?
Goodness, he was so difficult to read. And that coming from her ! A cloistered royal who’d spent a lifetime doing little more than people watching!
Then another thought struck her. One so obvious in its intentions it was no wonder he remained quiet.
He’s not interested in coddling you. He asked for the purpose of the marriage and has been waiting patiently for you to get to the point.
With how heavily her foolishness sat on her chest, it was a wonder she hadn’t sunk to the bottom of that blasted river to begin with. And even more perplexing, why the hell did she feel the need to drag out her answer to his question into some magnum opus? She had a friend or two, staff, others in her life who knew her history as well as that of her mother. It was clear from the set of his shoulders and the insistent pace he maintained that sob stories would go about as far with him as they’d gotten her. Nowhere.
Business, Clara. This is business.
“As I’ve said, the king has been in his seat for quite some time, and through the Betrothal Games, I hope to change that.”
There. That certainly steered the conversation back into calmer waters. No matter that there was a prickling urge to tell him more, to expand and compound on not just the role he’d volunteered for but the role she’d enact from him once he took the throne.
Gosh, she felt grimy, the kind of oiliness that didn’t just coat the skin but tainted everything it came into contact with, staining whatever good it touched just for the benefit of getting to touch it in the first place.
Guilt was funny like that.
“I need a monarch,” she breathed out, and dammit, she hated how strong the defeat came through in her statement, as if she’d lost before she’d even played her hand. But thankfully, her desperation, far more than her despair, was a damn good motivator. “The lycans need a ruler who will support them in how they wish to thrive, not trample them for refusing to fall in line. If you prosper in the games, my father will have no choice but to acknowledge you as the winner and next in line to the throne upon our mating. It is my hope that after we are married, you will see what must be done and rule in a just and fitting manner.”
“Whoa. Those are a lot of big heavy words you’re throwing at me, princess.”
“Lady. Or Clara, if you prefer,” she reminded him. Best get him in the habit of properly addressing her before they arrived.
The heat of his unexpected smile was enough to cause her cheeks to warm further.
“Oh, I didn’t forget. I just find it pleasing.”
She squirmed and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “What is pleasing?”
“The way your color rises whenever my compliments land.”
“You didn’t offer me any compliments.”
“I didn’t need to.” He shrugged. “You seemed to like it just fine when I smiled at you, so I’ll make sure to do it more often. It’s always the simple things, am I right?”
“That is highly inappropriate,” she murmured.
“The jury’s still out on that one. Speaking of simple, though, there are two things that don’t make sense to me about this whole mating thing.”
Clara threw her shoulders back, attempting to shake off his, well, whatever his comments were. They certainly weren’t compliments. Jests at her expense, more like. “Yes?”
“What happens to your father in this little fairy tale?”
Ah, yes, that was the question, wasn’t it?
Careful, Clara. Tread lightly.
“It is true he will remain in rule even once we are mated, but it is my hope that, with you being in a position of power, perhaps you may make decisions or recommendations that would . . . ease his command. Take some of the governing weight off his shoulders or persuade him not to pursue such ruthless tactics. Or maybe?—”
“Why don’t I just kill him and leave your people to you?”
There wasn’t a force on earth that would have pried her feet from where they’d been glued to the ground. The whole of the forest could have split open, swallowed up every tree and root in sight, and Clara would have happily stood there soaking in this stranger’s words.
Words that had mimicked her own shameful thoughts time and time again for as long as she could remember.
“I-I cannot recommend . . . That is, it would never be possible . . . How could I . . .”
“ You couldn’t, or you would have offed the male already instead of nearly running yourself into a watery grave.”
Clara swallowed down the hard truth, wishing again that her foolishness wasn’t painted so boldly in every one of her actions and words. Out of reflex, she reached for her people’s relic, needing to hold it tighter against her, to feel its connection to her goals anchored more deeply within her, but even that simple act of self-comfort didn’t escape the angel’s notice, so she quickly lowered her hand.
“Which brings me to my second question,” he added. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that the king was no longer in the picture.”
Only in her most private thoughts could she even bring herself to imagine such a future, and there they were, boldly discussing her father’s death as if it was no more significant than a routine summer thunderstorm. Just the idea set her skin to trembling and had that secret starved part inside her eyeing the temptation with rapt hunger.
“I get the patriarchal society bit, and the need for you to break out of whatever cage the asshole’s put you in?—”
“He is the king,” she said in rote defense.
“And that means fuck all to me. He’s not my king, and from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you have some pretty determined ideas to overrule the bastard and right the ship before he ties you and your people to a proverbial anchor and tosses you all overboard so he can steer the thing toward whatever greatness the fool thinks he’s earned.”
“That is not?—”
“Princess.” The word was a smooth stroke down her skin. “I know the game you’re playing.”
She froze, then forced out the most juvenile response her addled mind could offer. “I am not playing a game, angel.” Mother, could he really know? A fear like none she’d felt before gripped her heart, and her circumstances came into crisp clean focus. Her wolf whined and crawled beneath her skin, for she, too, felt the danger this male represented.
He can’t know. It’s impossible.
The corners of Bronze’s mouth lifted, taking his goatee with it and curling his usually charming smile into something predatorial. “You need a mate.”
She nodded woodenly, half surprised her spine didn’t crack with the force of the abrupt gesture.
“And you need daddy out of the picture.”
Again, slower, she gave him another nod.
“So that the new monarch can right the ship.”
The potency in his stare raised the goose bumps from her skin and tightened her nipples, even beneath her heavy cloak.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Clara didn’t remember when her steps slowed or when their little traveling party of two had morphed into something altogether significant. There was a weight to the hidden tenderness lurking beneath Bronze’s stance and statements. Even the afternoon sun poking through the treetops knew it was there, quietly illuminating what Clara suspected the angel didn’t wish to broadcast. The way his fingers loosely curled and didn’t tense around the rucksack strap where it fell over his collarbone, revealing no true abhorrence to the dark things she’d confessed. The flecks of olive green in his eyes that seemed to grow more vibrant when his levity connected with its target and he successfully coaxed a smile from her, despite her need to maintain propriety. It was almost freeing, in a sense, and she wondered what other sorts of surprises lurked within the angel.
If she wasn’t careful, his sly promise of such things would entice her to do far more than simply confess her true motives.
Not good, Clara. Not good at all.
She threw her shoulders back and continued walking, resuming her steady pace. “A matriarchy has its challenges among the lycans. My people have lived under my father’s rule, and his father before him, for many centuries. There are few alive who even remember a female monarch. And while, yes, I, one day, hope to change that, that day will not be today. Time and trust are the currency of any good monarchy, and I fear my father’s line has done much to manipulate and abuse that trust. If you succeed, however, assuming the throne as a male will not be difficult for you. I know it may sound unconventional, but the lycans in my father’s court are far more likely to put their faith in an outsider who won the crown by proving himself through demonstration of our core credos than a female who would have no hope of such practical applications of strength, even for one born into the monarchy. At least,” she hurried when he opened his mouth with what she assumed was an objection, “for now.”
“For now. Fine,” he ground out as he walked alongside her, though the edge to his words had been rounded off somehow, as if he was holding something back.
“Besides, it is not uncommon for monarchs to take consorts, even the females, from what I was able to learn. You shall not be questioned over much, I imagine. Among the lycans, strength recognizes strength.” She risked a peek at him, and her stomach fluttered. Golden sparks flared in his gaze in time with the pulsating tendon along his neck. Oh dear, had she angered him?
“What else?” he demanded.
“Well, I imagine it will take some time to establish a new way of doing things. You wouldn’t have to be in attendance except for a few occasions. Select public appearances, signing certain documents, and such.” Then she stopped and gripped his shoulder. “I am not asking you to give up your life, warrior. In return for what you offer, you would still have complete autonomy to be with your brothers, live as you always have, and, of course, be awarded unbridled access to any royal coffers, services, and properties. If you win the Betrothal Games,” she implored, “what is ours will be yours. I ask for no more than what you’ve already offered.”
The quiet sounds of the forest rose up around them, becoming a cacophony to the worried thump of her heart banging against her chest. She’d never thought in a million years she’d so desperately wish for a male to speak. Quite frankly, very little good had ever come from the phenomenon, but she was beginning to worry all her air would seep out of her lungs and abandon her entirely if he didn’t say something . Those worries were more than dangerous, because each time he studied her in that silent, stoic manner, the habit was beginning to mean something, as if he was collecting quiet pieces of her she hadn’t meant for him to see.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Do you find me pleasing, Lady Clara?”
His question stunned her, as did the spark of citrine flaring in his eyes again. “It’s just lady,” she whispered as she struggled to find her strength. “And why would you ask such a question?”
“It’s a fair question to ask a female, especially one who will soon be my mate.”
“You must win first,” she reminded him.
He dismissed her concern with a cocksure smile and lifted her hand from his shoulder.
Before she could pull her arm free, her skin had already begun to bloom with warmth beneath the surprising kiss he bestowed on her knuckles. Every muscle in her body tightened.
He held her hand for a heartbeat longer, then let it fall to her side. “Okay. Assume, rightly so, that I do win. Do you find me pleasing?”
Oh, this was a dangerous road to navigate. Denying him would be like denying the sun its heat, but encouraging him would only fan the flames of a different sort of fever.
It wasn’t a real kiss. Be on your guard.
“What if I said no? What if I said I preferred males with shorter hair or no hair?”
“Then I’d cut it all off, and the goatee to boot.”
“You would not,” she asserted.
Those dark promises from earlier lurked behind a screen of hazel. “We have not yet learned what each other is truly capable of, princess. As for what lies ahead, I can assure you I have no interest in ruling anyone, let alone a race of people who are not my own. I’ve got enough headaches just trying to have a say in the kinds of snacks that get stocked in our kitchen back home.”
“Then why agree to any of this? Why accompany me back to my home and volunteer to aid me? You mentioned before that you have your own reasons for attending me and not dismissing me outright, but you never clarified them. I should like your explanation now, warrior.”
Bronze retreated a step and focused his attention on a patch of moss that had overtaken a nearby tree trunk. His features took on the faraway indifference of a ghost. “It didn’t sit well with me, how I found you. Part of me still can’t believe you’re here walking and talking, let alone asking me for the kind of help you need.” He gently toed the velvet greenery, careful not to disturb it. “I’m a sentinel. Or was at one point. Mages know what I am anymore. Regardless, let’s just say innocents suffering are the kinds of things that can keep a male like me up at night.” The citrine in his gaze darkened until it had been overcome by the forest’s dusty green. “And when you live for-fucking-ever, you’ve got a lot of nights to contemplate the ones that got away.”
Bronze’s head snapped up before Clara had an opportunity to ask what he’d meant. “As I said, I have no interest in ruling. That’s all up to you. I haven’t the head for it. But I’ll help you get there and attend or sign whatever crap I need to until the boat’s going the right way down the river. With you on the damn thing this time.” He winked, and just like that, the light returned to his countenance.
“But what of my father? The other suitors and competing warlords?”
“I’ll take care of ‘em.”
“So simply? Just like that? You don’t even know how many there are!”
“As I said, just like that.”
“How?” She could hardly keep the amazement out of her voice, or her enthusiasm.
“I’ve got some tricks you haven’t seen yet, princess, and some that’ll no doubt be making an appearance shortly.” He patted the side of his rucksack with a wistful sort of fondness.
Just what on earth had he packed in there? Oh, hell, did it matter? He would help her, and he would win. She was sure of it.
This was happening. This was really happening. She’d done it!
A curious effervescence prickled beneath her skin, making her feel lighter than she’d ever hoped to feel. The weight of it all—her foolishness, her people’s disappointment if she failed, her fear of manipulating a male who had only shown her kindness—floated away, allowing her lungs to fill with their first full, easy breath in months.
Was this what it felt like to be lucky? She’d never known luck. Such a concept had always been reserved for children’s stories. But she did have perseverance and preparation on her side, as well as timing. Was that, in and of itself, her own sort of crafted luck? And would it only hold out so long as she learned to trust this male rather than carefully maneuver him through her world the way she’d originally intended?
Yes, she decided with a finality to rival her death, if it came to such a thing. Yes, she would trust him.
The moonstone relic was a warm and comforting weight against her heart. This was the right path, she was sure of it. This path, with this male, at this time.
She’d done what she could and nearly died in the process. Not only had the Moon Mother, in all her wisdom, not abandoned her, but the goddess had sent her a warrior to aid in her plight.
An angel. A sentinel.
Clara’s cheeks pinched with the force of her smile. It had been so long since she’d fully used the thing that the muscles were out of practice. But her wolf still knew how to rejoice. Oh, did she ever. A joyful canine whine vibrated through her and shook the forest floor with the force of its emotion.
Bronze’s features tightened, and the outline of his biceps sharpened beneath his shirt with readied tension.
Confused, Clara tilted her head to the side. Had he heard her wolf? How was that possible? Her mouth fell open to ask him when they both heard the sound again.
Not a whine this time. A growl. A warning, one that always came seconds before the bite.
Clara risked a slow glance back at the path they’d just traveled and stared into the gaping maw of a snarling coyote.