Someone had brought more water and a thin soup, which Kane made her eat while he dressed in one of his fine, white shirts and black pants. She watched him dreamily, thinking that now she would have a chance to live out the fun of undressing him.
"I liked you in the skirt thing," she said with a smile behind her spoon.
"Do you? I couldn't stand my raw cock being confined anymore. That kilt is for the rut. I hope I never have to wear it again."
"How long—"
He cut off her question. "Later. Have you finished the soup?"
He bent down, putting on socks and shoes. Loose-legged and relaxed, all his self-control in place again, he went to get his sword and harness from a hook where it was hanging by the bedroom door. The gun belt followed, his weapons settling on his hips. She wondered if he already had the small knife strapped to his ankle.
Sasha realized that his eyes were brown—a beautiful, calm brown again.
Her own were probably darkening with anger. Tone dripping with warning, she asked, "Are you leaving?"
The corner of one lip curled. "Soup finished?"
She threw her legs over the side of the bed and set the bowl on the floor with a clatter. Her breasts bobbed, jutting out in front of her in a way she was still not accustomed to, nipples peaked and wet with milk.
"Finished." She answered his question, but it was a dare. She would attack him if he tried to leave, no matter the consequences. This was a battle she would fight. She was done with him leaving her behind for weeks on end.
"Good." Instead of leaving, he sorted through the bedding until he found the dirtiest, most stained sheet, all spotted and puddled with blood, semen, breast milk, slick, and perspiration. Then he wrapped her in it and picked her up.
She knew she must look like the sheet. A black and blue dirty, tangled mess. Was she going to wash now?
But instead he opened the door and left the room altogether, carrying Sasha into the hall and out of his wing.
In the main hall, lining up against the walls, were his most prominent alphas and respected betas, faces she had come to recognize and faces she had only glimpsed. But they were all dressed and polished like he was, looking at her.
"Kane!" Sasha shrieked in distress.
"No." He made the bark-cough noise and gave her a swat. Cradled in his arms and wrapped in excessive mounds of sheet, she barely felt it. Nonetheless, she got the message. She had forgotten that most of these same men had seen her brazenly storm the training pit and stake her claim, and that Kane had stripped her there for all to see.
He carried her through the house, and everywhere they went, the house's occupants lined the walls, watching them. As they passed, drone and breed fell in line behind them, creating a long procession.
Their destination was another large room Sasha had never been to before, and it was full of people.
Administrators in their grand, gaudy robes, officials, and regally dressed people watched them. The faces of these strangers seemed judgmental and cold, save for the one familiar face in the crowd—King's Mate Queen Annalise.
She was dressed in layers of silk, standing in front of a large, gray-haired alpha prime whose massive palms rested on her shoulders. He was as tall as Kane, his face was craggy and scared, and he was missing half an ear. The man exuded the powerful presence of an alpha not yet ready to end his reign.
Around them were more people who all bore the same physical stamp in one way or another of their parentage—Annalise's eyes, the king's chin, and so forth.
These, Sasha realized, were members of Kane's family.
And Kane had brought her wrapped in a sheet, sex drenched and dirty in front of them all. She tried to hide her face.
He jostled her and growled low, "Know your worth, Beauty."
His command made her slick, but she straightened her shoulders, choosing frustration at her commanding mate instead of embarrassment.
He stood in the center of them all. Everyone was silent and waiting.
A deep, thunderous voice rang out. It was the king’s.
"Breeder, do you choose this male, Alpha Warlord Constantine Kane, as your husband-mate?"
Not even registering her tone, or who it was speaking to her, Sasha answered as if she'd been challenged. "I have chosen. He is mine."
