29
CORVAN
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun rises, while Finley and most of Castle Tyron are slumbering in their beds, I summon Baron Lucar Solisar to the throne room.
He’s brought in by a small, wiry, sharp-eyed guard called Marcus, who’s sworn off alcohol for life and religiously wakes before the crack of dawn.
I lean back in my throne, watching as Marcus leads him into the room.
“Kneel,” Marcus commands, his voice hoarse and menacing.
Solisar takes one look at me and wisely drops to his knees. He opens his mouth to speak, looks at me again, then closes it.
He’s a different man to the belligerent fool that was banging down my gates. His head is lowered. His posture is slumped.
I wait, allowing the silence to stretch out between us. Kneeling on the cold stone floor must be uncomfortable for him.
I don’t care. I’m feeling a little bit savage this morning.
I’ve just returned from killing three lycans outside the castle walls. They came in the early hours of the morning, vicious and hungry for human flesh. I heard them. Scented them. So I stole outside with my broadsword without anyone noticing.
I needed to release some pent-up tension, anyway.
It isn’t the first time I’ve gone out to hunt lycans in the middle of the night, but the accursed beasts have never dared to venture so close to the castle before.
“You are to return to Ruen today,” I say at last. “Aderick Solisar will remain here, in the company of Kastel Solisar and Garan Lorian, until he is deemed fit enough to return home.”
The baron stiffens, but says nothing.
“Furthermore, from this day onwards, I am taking over stewardship of the Solisar Estate. This arrangement shall remain until I deem that one of your heirs is qualified enough to inherit your title.”
Now the outrage overrides his fear of me. “What? You can’t do that! You have no right or authority!”
Lucar Solisar attempts to rise, but Marcus warns him with a quick tap of his sword hilt. “His Highness did not give you permission to stand.”
“Your father won’t let you get away with this,” Solisar hisses. “It’s against the laws of the Empire.”
“I can assure you, I know the laws of this empire intimately. And your estate is operating from a position of insolvency. If you want your heirs to inherit it, I would suggest you do not protest my generosity, because I could just as easily claim the entire estate for myself.”
“W-what are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
“I’ve bought your debts, Lucar. I own you.”
He looks up. His pale blue eyes are lifeless. He shakes his head, as if trying to break out of a trance. “I… I should never have…”
“You did this, Lucar Solisar. You wanted this. Be careful what you wish for. Finley is mine now, and if you ever so much as harm a single hair on her head again, I’ll kill you—or worse. Now, get out of my sight.”
Marcus quirks a grey eyebrow, giving me a half-amused, satisfied look. He enjoys this sort of thing. “You heard His Highness. Get up, Baron. You can fuck right off now, all right?”
30
FINLEY
Since I was reliably informed that the boys are still snoring in their beds and will probably remain that way until at least midday, I take breakfast in my chambers at a small, elegant table by the window. There’s scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread and figs and smoked trout and strong black coffee.
I wolf it all down. The coffee annihilates the drilling pain and the pounding in my temples. I must’ve had more wine last night than I thought.
I’m dressed in warm traveling gear—boots, leather trousers, woollen undergarments and tunic, fur-lined jacket. All in tasteful shades of brown and russet, trimmed with creamy white. My hair is tied in a high ponytail.
Gerent advised me to dress like this. Apparently, Corvan and I are going on a trip.
He told me so last night.
I take a bite of the perfectly light, crispy, buttered baguette, followed by a mouthful of rich, fluffy, savory egg.
Tyron Castle’s chef must be a genius.
Corvan sits down in the chair opposite.
I blink. I didn’t even hear him enter. Butterflies swirl in my stomach, but I pretend to keep my composure. “Do you regularly entertain yourself by startling the living daylights out of people?” My words come out muffled through mouthfuls of delicious egg and bread.
He gives me a slight frown, trying to look contrite. “I should have announced myself, but you looked like you were enjoying your food too much. Couldn’t bring myself to spoil the moment.”
“You…” I shake my head as I take him in.
The Archduke of Tyron leans back in his chair, allowing a shaft of morning sunlight to catch his elegant features.
He’s dressed as practically as I am, in sturdy trousers tucked into long leather boots and a leather-trimmed jacket with grey fur lining the collar.
But his outfit is all black. His hands are encased in black gloves.
He looks like a villain from a fantasy tale.
In some of the books I read as a child, the villains were beautiful and powerful; flawed and selfish. I don’t know why I always found the bad guys more interesting than the noble heroes.
They always seemed more human; more real.
“I ordered your father to return home this morning,” Corvan says lightly. His gaze is fixed upon my lips as I take another bite of bread. “I don’t suppose you would have wanted to see him before he left.”
Crispy crust and warmth and decadent butter explode in my mouth. “Is he already gone?”
“He’s about to pass through the main gate. If you really wanted to say goodbye, I could get him back…”
I wave my hand in the air. “Let him go. I won’t. I want to do the right thing by him, but I feel no affection or loyalty toward him. That man has always been indifferent to me.”
The only reason I can say these things to Corvan is because I saw how he dealt with father last night.
I’ve never seen my father appear so meek in all my life.
He shrugs. “That’s what I thought. I just wanted to make certain. Being the dutiful son-in-law and all that.”
His voice is deep and intoxicating. I can hardly believe that this beautiful, formidable creature is to be my husband. I take a sip of my bitter coffee, letting it warm my throat.
I cradle my coffee in both hands, partly hiding my face, because I don’t want him to see my expression right now.
The memory of his kiss lingers on my lips. All of a sudden, I’m terribly aroused.
What would it feel like… to…
“When are we to be married?” I ask, taking another sip of coffee, allowing the bitterness to distract me.
“In the springtime. I’ll leave it entirely up to you to choose what kind of wedding you would like.”
Springtime? But that’s so far away. How does he stay so in-control?
So long until…
I look him up and down. As I take in his big, powerful form, I grow more and more aroused.
“Nothing too big,” I murmur, unable to focus my thoughts. “Nothing too ostentatious.”
I’ve never organized a wedding before, let alone attended one. I’d have no idea where to start.
“We could have an elopement,” Corvan suggests.