My guard remains silent, defiant.
"Your name," Lachlan repeats, his voice dangerously soft.
"Alastair," the man finally spits. "And I don't recognize your authority."
A murmur runs through the hall. Such open defiance could merit execution under the circumstances. I tense, waiting for Lachlan's reaction.
To my surprise, he doesn't reach for his sword. Instead, he studies Alastair with something like understanding in his eyes.
"Your brother—what was his name?"
The question seems to catch Alastair off guard. "Duncan," he says after a moment.
"Duncan," Lachlan repeats. "Was he the redheaded man at the eastern gate? Fought with a mace?"
Alastair nods stiffly.
"He fought well," Lachlan says. "Took down three of my men before he fell. A warrior's death, honorable and brave."
The simple acknowledgment of Duncan's courage seems to deflate some of Alastair's anger.
"I understand your grief," Lachlan continues. "And your anger. But that battle is over. Now we have peace to build, and I need men like you—men who are loyal to their own—to help rebuild this kingdom stronger than before."
He turns to Fergus. "And you—did you kill this man's brother?"
"No, my lord."
"Then why do you bear the blame for it? Why bring that battle into this hall, where we're trying to forge a new alliance?"
Fergus looks down, chastened. "I spoke without thinking, my lord."
Lachlan nods. "Both of you will spend the day working together—repairing the damage to the eastern wall. Manual labor might help you work through your grievances better than words." He looks between them. "Can you do that without killing each other?"
Both men nod reluctantly.
"Good. Go now."
As they leave, I stare at Lachlan, trying to reconcile this measured response with the brutal conqueror I expected him to be. He could have had Alastair flogged, even executed, for his defiance. Instead, he acknowledged the man's grief and offered a path to reconciliation.
"You seem surprised," Lachlan murmurs, noticing my expression.
"I expected more bloodshed."
"Haven't we had enough of that?" He takes a drink from his goblet, eyes watching the hall over its rim. "I didn't conquer your kingdom to destroy it, Fiona. I joined it to mine to make both stronger."
"Is that what you tell yourself to justify the invasion?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but his voice remains even. "I don't need to justify anything to you or anyone else. The strong take what they want in this world."
"And the weak?"
"The weak suffer what they must." His eyes meet mine. "But you aren't weak, are you, Princess? Despite everything, you're still fighting me."
I should deny it, pretend submission. But the truth is in my eyes, and we both know it.
"I'm not your enemy anymore," he says, his voice dropping lower, meant for my ears alone. "The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can build something worthwhile from this union."
"And if I never accept it?"
