Page 29 of Angel's Conquest
Oh boy. Here we go.
“That is, there is a law, though it hasn’t been enacted in several monarchies, wherein if the betrothed heir takes issue with the ruler’s choice of mate, the heir may call for a formal request to enact the Betrothal Games. It is a competition of sorts where three champions compete for the hand of the heir. The winner is sworn in as the monarch’s formal successor. It is an old law, sir, but a valid one. I believe its origins were based on ensuring the power of the monarchy’s succession through literal feats of strength.”
Clara stepped out of her father’s hold, through the thickening silence, and went back to Bronze’s side. Beneath the concealment of her cloak, a warm, sturdy hand pressed into the small of her back, calming her wolf instantly.
“Horse shit!” the king yelled. “Lord Raff is arriving tomorrow. The papers are already drafted, and I’ve signed my portion. The alliance is as good as done, and once he gets here, she’s the price I have to pay to ensure our people have a bolstered army to defend against the encroaching humans.” Again, he spoke as if she wasn’t in the room. Then he surged toward her, surprising all the males with a swiftness not witnessed by their king in some time.
All the males except one.
Bronze threw himself in front of Clara and silently warned the king back with his eyes. Every soul in the room stiffened at the display of the king’s aggression toward her, and Clara had to work quickly to conceal her own shock.
The lycans would not have been able to survive the centuries they had, hidden among the humans, if not for the strength of their monarchies or their laws. As such, it was forbidden under lycan law for any monarch to outwardly threaten physical harm against another member of the monarchy. Doing so could result in exile, being purged from the family bloodline, or even death.
Once Bronze had safely put her out of range of the king’s temper, Pascal stepped forward. “Your Majesty, the lady has made the declaration in front of witnesses. It cannot be undone or ignored.”
“Witnesses,” her father ground out, though the word was hardly intelligible around the elongated fangs that thickened his speech. His gaze flashed to Bronze, who stood as immobile as a mountain, and threw his own silent challenge into the fight with the angel. The king bared his fangs and looked at Clara over Bronze’s shoulder. “It seems I’m not the only one who knows something of strategy. The rest of you,” he yelled, “leave. I shall discuss this with my daughter in private.”
“Fat fucking chance,” Bronze said through gritted teeth.
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she assured Bronze in hushed words she was careful to make sure didn’t travel. Her shaking hands circled his biceps. “You can be right outside the door the entire time, but this has to happen this way. I knew I would have to face him.”
Neither Bronze nor the king said anything. Only when her father turned his back first, seemingly unconcerned about Bronze’s threat, and went over to the serving bar on the far side of the room did the advisors begin to funnel out.
Clara had no idea what compelled her to do so, but before Bronze put his arm around her shoulders to direct her out of the room, she glanced at her bare feet.
They were still standing strong despite being fully engulfed in the shadow of her father’s desk.
Chapter 14
Clara barely had time to return the relic to the royal coffers and change into a fresh set of leathers and linen before the sounds of her father’s temper had begun to die off from within his receiving room. It was yet another indication of what awaited her on the other side of the door. While some predators grew louder and more vicious the higher their emotions flared, gray wolf lycans were different.
There was always so much more to fear from their silence.
Bronze marched them up to the door, and she had to grit her teeth at the arrogant display. If she was finally going to drum up the courage to cross that threshold and tell her father what she’d rehearsed for years in private, the last thing she needed was another male’s arrogance distracting her from the task.
She needed to focus, concentrate, and not have Bronze reprogram her confidence with some chauvinist display of male aggression.
No matter how much it secretly made her smile.
Goodness, if she kept this up any longer, she’d just about lose her nerve altogether, which would utterly ruin any hope she and her people had for a better future.
“I told you to wait in the infirmary,” she said to his back. “I can’t imagine this will take long, and you bleeding all over the carpets isn’t likely to endear you to the cause. Believe me, there isn’t much the king can do. I made the declaration among witnesses. The right witnesses, mind you. His most trusted advisors and knowledgeable counselors. He may be a bit pissy and sore about it, sure, but all he can do now is play the cards he’s been dealt.”
Okay, maybe a bit pissy was an understatement, but she had to calm the fire somehow.
“Oh, there’s plenty he can do,” Bronze asserted darkly. “He’s a male in power with an entourage of lackeys and more strength than?—”
“Hey!” Clara whirled in front of him, forcing him to slow his advance, but he still wouldn’t take his eyes off the oak door behind her. She had never seen that type of tenacity from him before, even when Bronze had soared ahead after the coyote. That had been instinctual, though. Biological, even. Two predators exerting claim to the same land. This, however, was something wholly different and unnecessary. Yes, she had employed her own sort of strategy, as her father had pointed out, but by the moon, it had worked, hadn’t it? So why was Bronze unable to see her win for what it was? Her own form of quiet strength.
Clara let her voice fall into the conversational tone she’d grown accustomed to using around him during their time in the forest, hoping it would endear him to listen as he had when it was just the two of them. “You know, it doesn’t sit well with me, how you are right now.” She spoke softly, repeating his words from earlier back at him. And it seemed to work, as a glimmer of recognition sparked in his gaze. He trained his features back on her as she’d hoped, though the strain around his eyes and mouth hadn’t eased.
Progress. She’d take it.
Clara slowly moved her palms over his chest in the lazy petting motion she’d seen mothers do to their pups when they got too riled up. “Strength can be subjective. Neither of us would be here otherwise. I think you made me realize that.”
Those hazel eyes dipped beneath the truth of her words, and the relief was so intense, it nearly caused her eyes to mist over. Wherever her angel originally hailed from, it was good to know that some emotions were universal. She read the shame on his face as clearly as the sun’s arc in the sky.
He understands.