"What is it?" he demands, all trace of softness vanishing from his voice.
"Riders from the southern border, my lord. Lord Aiden's men attacked one of our villages at dawn. Burned it to the ground."
Lachlan's expression hardens, the warrior king replacing the tender husband in an instant. "Casualties?"
"Minimal. Our scouts had warned the villagers. Most escaped with their lives, though not their homes." Callum glances at me, then back to Lachlan. "There's more. They left a message. For the queen."
I straighten in my chair, surprise cutting through my shock at the attack. "For me? What message?"
Callum hesitates, looking to Lachlan for permission. At his nod, Callum continues, "They said that the rightful princess of the east should not be playing consort to the northern invader. That they would free you from your 'captivity' and restore your father to his throne."
A chill runs through me at the words. "They claim to act in my name?"
"So it seems." Lachlan's voice is dangerously quiet. "They believe they're rescuing you from me."
The irony would be laughable if the situation weren't so grave. Weeks ago, I would have welcomed such intervention. Now, the thought of being "rescued" from Lachlan fills me with dread rather than relief.
"We'll discuss this in the war room," Lachlan says, rising from his seat. "Fiona, you should?—"
"I'm coming with you," I interrupt, standing as well. "If they're using my name to justify violence, I need to be part of the response."
He studies me for a moment, then nods, extending his hand again. "As you wish."
In the war room, Lachlan's commanders gather around the large map table, markers indicating the location of the attack and the positions of our forces. The discussion is heated, strategies debated and discarded, the threat assessed from every angle.
I listen carefully, offering insights about the terrain, the loyalty of local lords, the temperament of the people in the affected areas. Lachlan considers each of my contributions seriously, incorporating them into the emerging plan.
"Lord Aiden is using your name as justification," he tells me during a brief lull in the discussion. "But his real aim is to break our alliance. To divide the kingdom I've united."
"Why now?" I ask. "Why wait until..." I trail off, uncertain how to describe the change between us.
"Until you've begun to accept me?" A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Because word has spread, Princess. The servants talk. The guards gossip. Everyone knows the captive bride now looks at her conqueror with something other than hatred." His expression sobers. "It makes you a traitor in their eyes. Someone who needs to be 'rescued' from her own choices."
The accusation—not from Lachlan but from these unnamed rebels—stings with unexpected force. Is that what I am? A traitor to my father, my kingdom, myself?
"I need to address this directly," I say, the idea forming as I speak it. "I need to make it clear that they don't act in my name."
Lachlan's eyebrow rises. "You want to publicly declare your loyalty to me? To us?"
"Yes." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "Send a messenger to the border lords. Tell them the queen wishes to speak to them directly. Here, in our castle."
"It could be a trap," Callum warns. "They could use the opportunity to attempt to kidnap you."
"Then we'll be prepared for that possibility," I counter. "But they need to hear from me directly that I stand with my husband, not with those who would use violence in my name."
My husband. The words come easily now, naturally, as if there was never a time when I fought against that designation.
Lachlan studies me intently, something like pride mingling with concern in his gaze. "Are you certain, Fiona? Once you publicly declare your allegiance to me, to our united kingdom, there's no going back. The world will see you not as my captive but as my willing queen."
The question cuts to the heart of my earlier confusion. Am I still a captive? Or have I become something else entirely—a partner, a queen, a woman who has found unexpected purpose in what began as imprisonment?
"I'm certain," I tell him, the last vestiges of doubt crumbling away. "I choose this. I choose you."
His eyes darken at my words, a flash of possessive pleasure quickly masked by the practical concerns of the moment. "Very well. We'll arrange an audience in three days' time. Until then, double the guards on the queen's person at all times."
The meeting continues, details finalized, messengers dispatched. Throughout it all, I remain acutely aware of Lachlan beside me, of the shift in how others regard us—no longer conqueror and conquered but king and queen united against a common threat.
Later, as we return to our chambers after a long day of preparations, Lachlan pulls me into his arms the moment the door closes behind us.
