“That won’t be necessary.”
He bows. “Yes, my lord.”
I watch him go, my hands clasped behind my back. I plan on exploring the manor and its grounds, scenting out the place… and its surroundings.
Almost time for me to take my leave.
The manor is an easy survey. We’ve already checked its upper floors, so what is left for me to do is find the kitchens, pantries and laundries, the storage rooms, and the servants’ quarters.
Just knowing the place helps with my peace of mind, which is always ready for an attack or other disaster.
Funny how my mind works similarly to Rosie’s. Losing my mother has left a scar I rarely touch, but which has left me always vigilant. Living in the mountains makes it all the more imperative to be aware of your surroundings and potential hazards.
I’m just more vigilant than most of the werewolves I know.
Next up is the garden and backyard of the manor. I stroll through the grounds, nodding at the workers who watch me blankly, not realizing I’m the same man they may have noticed earlier today entering the manor barefoot, bare-chested and filthy.
Funny what a bath and clean clothes can do. How a façade can disguise the monster behind it.
I explore the stables, the pens, the vegetable patches and the orchards, my mind never there; always on her. On what she must be doing and wearing. Who she must be with.
Fuck,I miss her already. I miss her as if she were cut out of my chest, out of my head, a part of me. I feel I’m a widower without ever having married, without my mate having died. It’s the weirdest, most unsettling feeling.
I exit through the gate as more carriages roll in. More guests for the banquet. I stroll around the manor’s perimeter walls, crouching down from time to time to sniff any trace of scent on the ground.
Wolves. Werewolves. Yes, there is a fresh scent, and I narrow my eyes at the fields and groves. Then, making a decision, I walk over to the nearest grove, whip out my dick and piss on a tree. Then, letting my hands shift, I leave a long scratch on the trunk, for good measure.
There.My signature. If my people are here, that will tell them I’m looking for them.
That done, I return to the manor. Slowly, taking my time, I enter the house. In the great hall, long tables have been set, and I get a memory flash from her home when I was brought in, trapped inside a cage, bound and gagged.
And there she is. Rosamund. My princess. Queen of my heart.
I never knew I’d become a blithering idiot for love. Never knew I’d find my fated mate in a human girl.
I stop in my tracks and watch her hungrily, as if I haven’t seen her in days or weeks. Fuck, she’s beautiful. She’s wearing a long, blue gown that makes her eyes sparkle, and her dark hair is swept up, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. She has sparkling gold and gems dripping from her ears and down her cleavage. She’s like a marvelous dream, though… I’ve seen her naked, and no garment or jewel can do her bare body justice.Never has she been more beautiful than when she was traipsing through the country with me, dirty and disheveled, laughing and joking with me.
She spots me, and a smile spreads on her lips. I smile back, like the smitten idiot that I am.
And then her future husband, her betrothed, appears at her side, scowling at me and everyone.
I have to pretend not to hate him.Pretendis the operative word here.
Fine,I tell myself.If you can’t be happy for her, then pretend. Fake it. You owe her that. And then get out of here. The sooner the better.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
ROSAMUND
I’ve been washed and scrubbed, my hair lathered and rinsed several times until it’s squeaky clean, and then combed through with aromatic oil and brushed up, secured there with pins. I’ve been strapped inside a corset and long undergarments, stockings and shoes, and this long gown was pulled over me and then laced at the front.
So here I stand now, in the great hall of Lord Eorl’s manor, smelling of flowers, with jewelry that doesn’t belong to me weighing my earlobes and neck, and I… I want to say that I feel more like myself… but I’m not sure that’s true. Before Valen, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say it, but now I feel that I’ve become more honest with myself.
Now I don’t know who I am, only that in my heart, I’m not a lady meant for embroidery or for banquets. I’m... myself, which is vague, but I know now that I love both the quiet and the noise, both the gowns and the freedom of running through meadows, the freedom to touch and learn, and?—
Valen.He’s here. I know it even before I locate him in the small crowd gathered in the hall, a fleeting glimpse, almost a feeling that his tall form is somewhere across from me.
When I do see him, my breath whooshes out of my chest.
