The Great Hunt (Eurona Duology, #1)(71)

“Why won’t you call me Lief?”

“Your wife may call you Lief. But I will never be your wife.”

His head tilted downward. A brisk wind came up from the waters and rustled through the nearby trees, causing Wyneth to shiver. How could he stand there, half naked, and completely unfazed by the elements? He reached for her arms, as if to warm her with his broad hands, but she stepped back in a hurry.

“You can’t do that.” Her voice held a plea, and his eyes fell. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that you might be married to my cousin soon?”

He blinked, his lips pursed. “In Ascomanni, as it used to be here in Lochlanach, royalty marry for purpose—land, ties, wealth, politics, carrying on the bloodlines. Our commoners marry for companionship. It is understood that I will marry for the reasons all my fathers before me have married, but that does not mean I cannot have a separate relationship with one I love.”

Wyneth swallowed down a bout of bile, sickened by the bitterness. “I will not be your mistress. To even suggest such a thing is offensive. Here, in this time, it is a great dishonor to your spouse to love another. And I would never do that to my cousin. You should be warned that Lochlans would withhold their support of any prince who treated their princess in such a way.”

The look of ease never left his face. “Lady Wyneth, surely your king and your kingdom understand by his proclamation that Princess Aerity’s marriage is not likely to be one born of love. And if I kill this beast, which I fully intend to, it would be a great dishonor to refuse the king’s offer. I will treat your cousin with the utmost respect, but I will not deny myself or her, of taking another. It’s simply how it’s done.”

She gaped. “But you’ll lie with your wife to carry on the bloodlines?”

He let out a breath. “Yes.”

“Well, I will not be that other whom you take.” Tears welled in Wyneth’s eyes at the fact that Lord Alvi could be so cold. In that moment, it was no longer about herself or him, but about her cousin, who deserved so much better than the vision of union this Ascomannian was willing to offer. She couldn’t stand the thought that her cousin was doomed to such a marriage.

“I am not a heartless man, my lady. This is simply how it has been for generations. It works well for our royals. You only have to get your mind past the barriers of social norms you’ve accustomed yourself to. It’s a different path of thought. Different, not wrong.”

Wyneth shook her head. Romantic delusions or not, she could not get past this. “It’s my hope that your feelings for my cousin will grow so that you don’t need another. This ends right now.”

“Lady Wyneth . . .” His warm, strong fingers reached for her and slipped away from her arm as she walked off, hurrying out of his reach. She kept her head down, hiding the heartache that was undoubtedly etched across her face.











Chapter


34


The smart thing for Paxton would have been to stop the kiss. The smart thing would have been to ignore his feelings for Aerity, and the calming words of the Lashed healer, and to leave as planned. But all of Paxton’s wisdom had filtered away like water through sand when Aerity’s kiss of acceptance had seized his heart, claiming it as easily as if it’d never been guarded at all.

And then there was Mrs. Rathbrook. The Lashed woman had appeared unsurprised when she saw his marks. She’d healed him, then returned with a small jar of a milky substance. She dabbed a bit on each of his nails and Paxton had strained to hear her quiet words.

“This will act as a temporary paint that matches your normal coloring. I’ve invented this mixture myself. You’re not the first I’ve had to hide. If you scrub or scratch your nails, it will chip off. Be careful, lad.” She patted the top of his hand when the paint dried and sent him on his way. As he exited he heard her call out. “Will you hunt tonight? I think you should.”

He thought about it solemnly before giving a nod. “Aye. Perhaps I will.”

The woman grinned and set to cleaning the table. “Very good, then.” She began to whistle a tune. It took Paxton a moment to recognize the folk song as he left the hall. He could almost hear his grandmother’s voice singing it in her old cottage . . . something about the winds of change blowin’ o’er the loch—a sea of change a-brewin’.



Paxton groaned when Tiern saw him gearing up for the hunt, because his brother looked as excited as a child at the fall carnival. Paxton wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up, that he might have to leave at any moment without notice, but he didn’t bother. Tiern’s hopes were already too high. So much so that they were unperturbed by the sharp glances being thrown their way by a healed Volgan. Lord Lief Alvi met Paxton’s eyes and though he gave Paxton a nod, he seemed disturbed by something.

The Zandalee entered the commons, dressed in their hunting clothes.

“How are you feeling?” Tiern asked.

“Good enough to eat you.” Zandora made a move to bite him, her white teeth clicking an inch from his nose, which she touched with her finger before smiling. Her sisters laughed.

“All better then,” Tiern said, his back stiff. “Well done.”

“Though I am not happy with your healer.”

“Why?” Paxton asked.