But he was not.
Because she was right. Every word of it. He couldn’t father an heir. He couldn’t secure his line. Despite Cléa’s hopes, he couldn’t skydance his way into some towerborn female’s favor, and even if he could, the performance would end in humiliation the moment she discovered what the masons had failed to rebuild. He’d been sinking into the sad truth of it for five long years, and here was a hand reaching toward him to pull him out.
A human hand, bloodless and shaking, extended across his desk.
He took it slowly, the way he might stroke a skittish animal. Her fingers were cool in his warm ones. “I hope it will not be so grim. We could be friends, perhaps. We will share a child, after all. Surely, we’ll find ourselves in the same room at the same time occasionally, if only for love of him.” The baby was already a male in his mind, one he’d spoil and teach how to spar.
“I cannot promise I will love it.” Shame flickered across her face. “I will ensure it is fed and clothed and safe. But I cannot promise my affection, and I won’t pretend otherwise when I’m asking you to build a life on a shared truth.”
On a truth.That was generous. They’d be building a life on a lie so enormous it would need its own tier. Every gargoyle in the Tower must believe the child was his.
But the more he thought about it, the less he objected to the idea. His parents would rejoice. The moths would buzz with the scandal of a human mate, but beneath the scandal, his line would be secured, and Perrin could circle the eyrie all he liked, but he’d never see the inside of it. His mate would not complain about his incompetent cock, since she’d never see it anyway.
And he would have a son. His throat tightened, as did his fingers around hers.
“The hatchling would not lack for love,” he said gruffly.
“Then that will be your domain. You can teach it gargoyle ways at night, and I will tend its human needs while you sleep.” Her mouth twisted with dark humor. “We won’t be the worst parents in Solvantis.”
“If I agree,” he said as though he had not already convinced himself, “there are things you should know. The Tower is not kind to humans. The keepers serve us, but they are not treated as equals. You will be shunned at best. You may face active hostility from gargoyles who believe your species belongs below us, not beside us.”
“I’ve faced plenty of hostility as it is. I’m used to it.” That, he did not doubt.
“Secondly, no one can know of our agreement outside of ourselves. We will not speak of it after today, not even when we are alone. And I don’t want to hear of your unhappiness with our arrangement in five months or five years.” He did not want the reminder for the rest of his life that she was not his true mate nor the child his true child. He knew it well enough.
She nodded, still not put off. “There are a few who know already. The apothecary. My friends. I believe they are trustworthy, though.”
He did not trust these human confidences, but they couldn’t be undone. “Very well. The eyrie I share with my parents is on the seventh tier. There are ladders for your use, but they aresteep and numerous, and I will not be available to fly you there. My wings do not work,” he added, in case she hadn’t noticed.
“My legs do.” A faint smile plumped her rosy cheeks and then disappeared just as quickly. “Will your family object to my presence in their home?”
He considered this question. Certainly, they would not approve of the match. It was not the high-tier connection his mother had hoped for. But they would approve of the pregnancy. “As long as you’re carrying my child, they will accept you. They are kind,” he added. “Kinder than I am. And you will do much to restore me in their eyes. They have nearly given up on me.”
They studied each other. He wondered what she thought of him as she stood on the other side of the desk, her blue eyes fixed on his. Was she cataloging his cracks? Or was she judging him worthy, as he judged her?
“I accept your terms,” he said, before she found too many flaws. He bent over her hand, kissing the back of it and then releasing her to make her choice.
She let out a long, unsteady exhale. For one unguarded moment, her composure cracked, and she bent forward in relief. Then, in an instant, she rebuilt herself, straightening her spine. “And I, yours. What happens next?”
“We’ll have a mating ceremony as soon as it can be arranged. The gargoyle ceremony is simple. A declaration before witnesses, evidence of a claiming bite. Conveniently, you already have one, which fits nicely with the timeline of your pregnancy. We will let it be known that we have had relations for some time. I assume you would like some sort of human ritual as well?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Ours is an exchange of vows before friends and family, not so dissimilar. We can do it at the same time. I’ll need a dress. This one is borrowed,” she explained.
Such a small thing. “Certainly. Anything you need, the keepers will procure for you. You will have all the protections andprivileges of the Nadir’s mate, regardless of your species. My reputation might be as tattered as my wings, but my status is relatively intact.” He gave her a sardonic smile.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.
“Rikard,” he corrected. “If you’re to be my mate, you should use my name.”
“Rikard.” Her human tongue softened the harsh gargoyle consonants into something almost unrecognizable, but he found he liked it. He had a soft little human mate, so why not a soft little human nickname? She added, like an afterthought, “You may call me Hanna, if you wish.”
He nodded, though he’d likely use it little, given the nature of their arrangement. “Use the next few weeks to pack your things and settle your affairs. I will assign keepers to attend and guard you until you relocate to the Tower. You are not to be alone at any time.”
“Thank you. You may not believe it, but you are saving my life and very likely that of my child.” Her face had an open frankness, and he had the sense it might be the last time they spoke freely before the lie consumed their lives.
“My child,” he reminded her.
She bent her head in acknowledgement. It was done. He made the arrangements with the keepers and sent her away to finish her business.
