The King(223)

He thought perhaps she might run from him, but, no, it was the opposite.
“Are you well enough?” she said as she threw herself at him.
His arms were weak as they went around her. “Aye.”
“You lie.”
He dropped his head into her sweet-smelling hair. “Aye.”
At least with her, he did not have to pretend. The truth was, he as yet feared for the future. He may have taken his revenge out on these traitors, but there would be more.
Kings were targets for the ambitions of others.
That was reality.
Closing his eyes, he wished there was a way out of the legacy—and he worried for his future son, if he had one. Daughters had a chance. Sons were cursed.
But he could not change who he was born to be. He just prayed for the courage that had served him this night to come again when it was needed most.
At least now he had proved to himself and his beloved that he was not just a leader in peacetime. In war, he could wield the sword if he had to.
“I love you,” he said.
As his mate shuddered against him, he knew she was going to shudder again on the morrow evening—when she saw what he was going to do to the heads of those dead bodies.
Messages had to be sent in order to be received.
“Let us go unto our chamber,” he said, tucking her into his chest.
As he nodded to the Brothers, he knew they would take care of his horse—and his prey. There would be time for the beheadings later. Now? He just wanted some sanity amid the madness.
Heading into their castle, she was, as always, his only tether.
“If we have a son,” he murmured.
“Yes?” She looked up at him. “What for him?”
Wrath glanced down into the face that stared upon him, the beautiful face that defined his hours as well as his years. “I hope he finds someone like you.”
“In truth?” she whispered.
“Yes. I pray for him to be half as lucky as I.”
As Anha squeezed around his waist, her voice grew rough. “And for a daughter … a male half as good as her father.”
Wrath kissed the top of her head and continued them onward, through the great hall and up to their chamber, the Brotherhood with them, but keeping a discreet distance.
Yes, he thought, to survive, one must not be alone.
And one must have a partner of worth.
Possess that? And you were richer than any King and queen who e’er roamed the earth.

SEVENTY-THREE
Wrath saw his mother for the first time in three hundred and thirty years that following day.
On some level, he knew it had to be a dream. He had been blind for too long to be seduced into thinking that reality had suddenly changed.
Plus, hello, she’d been dead for centuries.
And yet, as she came to him out of the darkness, she was as alive as he could have wished her to be, moving with ease, wearing a red velvet gown in the old style.
“Mahmen?” he said with wonder.
As he lifted his head, he realized with a shock that it was from his pillow. And shit, this was his room—he could tell by the subtle twinkling of the walls.
His first instinct was to flip over and find—
Beth was right beside him, lying safe and sound under the blankets, her face turned toward him, her dark hair all over the pillow that matched his own. And he could tell by the shape of her belly that yes, she was still pregnant—
Jesus Christ, he could see her.
“Beth,” he said roughly, “Beth! I see you, leelan, wake upIseeyouIseeyou—”
“Wrath.”
At the sound of his mahmen’s voice, he wrenched back around. She was right beside the bed now, her arms crossed, her hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of that dress.
“Mahmen?”
“I do not know if you shall recall this, but you came to me once.”
God, her voice was so gentle, just as he’d remembered—and he almost shut his eyes just so he could memorize the sound. Except no, he wasn’t going to get cheated out of one nanosecond of sight.
Wait, what had she said? “I did?”
“I was dying. And you came to me from out of the mist of the Fade. And you told me to follow you home. You made me stop and return with you.”
“I don’t remember—”
“It is a debt I have owed you for a very long time.” Her smile was peaceful as the Mona Lisa’s. “And I shall repay it the now. Because I love you so very, very much—”
“Repay? What are you talking about?”
“Wake up, Wrath. Wake up right now.” Abruptly, that voice changed, becoming urgent. “Call the healer—you must call the healer if you wish to save her life.”
“Save her—Beth’s life?”
“Wake up, Wrath. Right away, call the healer.”
“What are you—”
“Wrath, wake up.”