“As yet, I’m not sure what they hoped to accomplish. Gavriel is in the field. If they’ve left other agents nearby, he will find them and extract more information.”
Extract. Such a clean, clinical word for the terrible things the Noxblade would do in her name. Raff sighed.
“You said this before, and you were right. We don’t have time to be proper about this, so let’s start these marital talks, Lady Silver.”
“Right now?” Thalia set the cup on his bedside table, eyes wide.
Objectively speaking, she was a fucking mess. Her platinum hair had long since escaped its precise confinement, and it frothed around her weary face in a fine, bright nimbus. Likewise, her clothes were wrinkled, and she had an imprint on one cheek, from resting it on the crook of her arm. A sensible man would back out of this arrangement, as the cost had already been prohibitive, but the benefits he’d noted before still applied, and he’d be damned if he allowed anyone to drive him from his chosen path.
Be they wolf or Eldritch, let the opposition burn and be damned.
“Right now,” he affirmed.
“We should have witnesses…and scribes to take down our terms.”
“Record what we say here and now, have it transcribed later. Is that good enough?”
Her gaze met his, for once uncertain. Somewhere in the long hours between midnight and dawn, she’d lost her queenly bearing. At this instant, Thalia was just a woman carrying more weight than it seemed her shoulders could hold. He remembered Gavriel’s words about how long she’d been fighting alone.
“Yes, very well.” She dug her phone out of a hidden pocket and activated the audio log feature. “You set your requirements first, Lord Wolf. If I have anything to add afterward, I’ll say so.”
I’m really doing this.
This was so far from customary courtship rites that a pang went through him. None who had come before had ever weighed what a mate could give the pack against what needed to be given. Such businesslike acumen made a mockery of what should be all joy and tenderness. Those feelings might have built in time, but that was in short supply, and he had to choose.
“I don’t expect fidelity,” he said softly. “Since we are not marrying for love. I will expect you to attend all formal occasions at my side and to spend at least three months out of the year at Pine Ridge. I will need a portion of your soldiers assigned to our borders as a sign of good faith. In exchange, I’ll send you more drones to help you patrol your territories. We’ll also help you consolidate your hold on Eldritch lands in exchange for aid against Tycho’s forces later.”
“That’s fair.” Her voice was faint, eyes flat and steady. “I agree. I will require reciprocation on all points, including three months at Daruvar or wherever I am posted. Depending on how the war turns, we may live the rest of the year at our discretion, separately if the situation requires.”
Raff already felt like shit, and for some reason, all of that just made it worse. “Understood. But don’t hesitate to send word if I’m needed. Whether we’re together or not, you will be my wife.”
“I’m offering you the title of consort,” Thalia went on, as if he hadn’t spoken.
That pissed him off, too.
“I don’t even fucking want to be king of the Eldritch,” he muttered.
“That is another reason you’re a desirable choice. If I wed an Eldritch, I’d have to worry about their ambition my whole life long. At least with you, there should be some peace of mind.”
“I can’t say anyone’s ever claimed that about me before.”
“Color me unsurprised. One last question, then—do you expect an heir of me?”
He hadn’t thought that far ahead. How damn ridiculous. “I don’t really know how that works among the Eldritch. Animari women choose when they get pregnant, so—”
“That must be nice.” Her tone was wistful. “We rely on science for such matters. In all honesty, it’s not easy for Eldritch women to conceive due to our long lifespans. It’s best done while we’re young, as aging decreases the chances even more.”
There were probably technical explanations about declining sperm counts and decaying ovum, but Raff had no interest in any of that. If he wanted an heir, he could find someone in the pack to carry his genes forward, preferably a woman who didn’t care about his complicated marital status.
Fuck all of this and fuck Talfayen who ruined the conclave, and fuck Tycho Vega especially. I just wanted to drink and hunt and—
Thalia was staring at him like he’d stabbed her with his silence. He scrambled for the right words, a task made tougher by his addled mind and persistent pain.
“I don’t expect that, but if it happens, I’ll welcome our child and be the best father I can.”
“Then let’s move on to my final request. I’d like to frame this marriage like a contract with the terms put in writing and with an expiration date. Ten years should be more than long enough to accomplish what we need together. Oh, and if we finish sooner, there should be an option for early mutual dissolution. Either way, you’ll still be young enough to follow your heart, afterward.”
“What about you?” Raff asked.
Thalia only smiled, a bittersweet expression that didn’t lighten her eyes. “I’ve never been free to do that. Nor will I ever be.”
7.
Two days after the attack, Raff had rallied more than Thalia would’ve thought possible.
She’d seen some of that Animari resilience in the aftermath of the attack on Ash Valley, but it was still a relief. For the last forty-eight hours, she had coordinated the war effort from his bedside. Now that he was ambulatory, she could relax a bit.
“Message for you, Your Highness.” A young page cut into her reverie, offering a handheld with a deep bow.
The communication was already queued
