"I have duties to attend to," he says after a moment. "Your ladies will bring you suitable clothing. I expect you to join me in the great hall once you're dressed."
"And if I refuse?"
His expression hardens slightly. "Don't test me so early in the day, wife. I've shown you more consideration than you had any right to expect. Don't make me regret it."
With that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary.
I sink deeper into the water, trying to understand the conflict of emotions swirling inside me. Relief at being alone. Lingering anger at my situation. And something else—a strange disappointment at his departure, at the loss of that brief moment when he seemed almost human.
By the time my ladies arrive, I've managed to compose myself. They enter cautiously, eyes downcast, clearly uncertain how to behave now that I'm no longer their princess but their conqueror's wife.
"My lady," the boldest of them, Maired, finally speaks. "We've brought your clothing. And... we wanted to make sure you were well."
The concern in her voice nearly undoes me. "I'm unharmed," I tell her, trying to sound stronger than I feel.
"The king has ordered a new wardrobe for you," she continues, laying out a gown of rich blue velvet trimmed with silver. "He said you're to dress as befits a queen."
A queen. The word feels wrong. I'm not a queen. I'm a hostage with a crown.
But when they help me into the gown, I can't deny the quality of the fabric, the careful craftsmanship. It fits perfectly, as if made specifically for me rather than hastily altered. Another unexpected consideration from the man I'm supposed to hate.
When I finally make my way to the great hall, I pause at the entrance, taking a moment to observe Lachlan before he notices me. He sits at the high table, surrounded by his advisors, deep in discussion. Gone is the playful man from this morning. In his place is a king—commanding, authoritative, fully in control.
What strikes me most is how intently his men listen to him. Not with the fear I'd expected, but with respect. He speaks, they respond. He asks questions, considers their answers, makes decisions. It's a give and take I never witnessed with my own father, who ruled more by tradition than active governance.
I step into the hall, and Lachlan's eyes find me immediately, as if he sensed my presence before seeing me. The conversation around him falters as he stands.
"My queen," he says, loud enough for the entire hall to hear. "Come join us."
The hall falls silent as I walk toward him, every eye following my progress. I keep my head high, my expression neutral. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cowed.
Lachlan pulls out the chair beside his own, a gesture of courtesy that seems at odds with the man who conquered my kingdom by force. I sit, aware of the curious gazes of his men and the resentful looks from what remains of my father's court.
"We were discussing the redistribution of guard duties," Lachlan tells me, resuming his seat. "Your men will be integrated with mine to patrol the city and castle."
I blink in surprise. "You're not disarming our guards?"
"Why would I? They're skilled men who know this territory better than mine do." He shrugs. "As long as they swear fealty to me, they're an asset, not a threat."
It's a practical decision, but also an unexpected kindness to my people. Allowing our guards to maintain some of their duties preserves their pride and livelihoods.
"And those who refuse to swear?" I ask, testing him.
"They're free to leave with their weapons and a fair payment for their service." His eyes meet mine, challenging. "I'm not the monster you think me, Princess."
Before I can respond, a commotion breaks out at the far end of the hall. Two men—one of Lachlan's, one of mine—shove each other, voices raised in anger.
"He says we're to take orders from him now!" my guardsman shouts, face red with indignation. "After they killed my brother at the gates!"
"Your brother attacked first!" Lachlan's man retorts. "And you'll follow orders or?—"
"Enough!" Lachlan's voice cuts through the hall like a blade. He stands, his presence instantly commanding attention. "Bring them here."
The men are dragged forward, still glaring at each other with naked hatred.
"Names," Lachlan demands.
"Fergus, my lord," his guardsman says, straightening.
