Chapter 39 Old Wounds

Chapter 39 Old Wounds
Varek

The receiving hall stank of foreign wolves and steel. I stand at the threshold of my great hall, jaw set, hands clasped behind my back as the suitors and their families file in.

The first is a blustering lord from the west, his voice already loud enough to rattle the stone like he's been drinking. Behind him trails his wife, sons, and daughters. Their gazes sweep over the keep, and I try not to be irritated that he's brought his daughters. This is supposed to be about bidding for Fiona, not a chance to get his daughters married. I offer curt greetings and wave them through. One after another, they come in, pouring out of their carriages. Some of them are smart enough to bring gifts of food, likely to garner some favor with me. 

Then I saw her. 

I hadn’t laid eyes on Cara since I’d sent her off years ago. She looks much the same for the most part. She's slighter than Liora, her hair longer, and the softness that had once been in her expression is gone. She looks more like Liora than she ever has with that cold expression on her face. My gaze catches on the swell of her gown. She looks near due, and before I can help it, I smile. The question of why she's here is forgotten in the thrill of smug victory that hits me. I remember how she had cursed me the night of her wedding, promising that she'd never forgive me for it, that she'd never give him or me what either of us wanted, yet here she was, on the cusp of birthing a blood tie between Caldara and her husband's territory. 

Her husband beams, puffing his chest like a proud rooster. 

"Greetings to you, Alpha King Varek!" He cries. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to surprise you to know of our son coming." He chuckles. "We hope for your blessing."

"It pleases me," I say and look at Cara. The resentment in her eyes is all-consuming. "Happy blessing for this and many more." She narrows her eyes. "Should not a beaming mother smile?” I give her a cold smile. "A child is a reason for celebration. Smile.”

Her voice comes out as sharp as steel. “Do you often order your guests around?”

I set my jaw at her tone. It seems she's still being a petulant child. 

“No, and I don’t grant them free rein of my halls either, nor access to my family.”

The color drains from her husband’s face, but her expression doesn't even flicker. 

"You still have that?" She asks and tilts her head with a faux bewildered expression. "I didn't think you had any use for such a thing."

I bare my teeth at her. "Soon to have more, apparently."

"Goddess help the poor soul who calls you blood. I pray for them fervently to be freed from such a burden."

I snarl. "Watch yourself, Cara."

"Queen," she corrects. "Or do you make it a point to be rude to your guests, too?"

I glare at her. Her husband chuckles nervously. 

"W-We are family. There's no need for—"

"It seems your wife is over-tired from the trip. I'll have the guards escort you to your usual quarters."

Her husband sputters, then quickly bows. “Of course, Your Majesty. We’ll abide by your will and thank you for your consideration.”

"When are you going to call him properly?" Cara asks. "You are king now."

My eye twitches, and I almost wish her husband would dare to call me anything less formal. He says nothing, looking like he'd like to disappear or die before trying to call me by name. He is the more sensible of the two of them. Cara has grown comfortable in the south in her husband's seaside nation, if she thinks I will let blatant disrespect slide so easily.

"Are you not going to tell him?" She asks, looking at her husband.

"This is hardly the time…"

She smiles, viciously. "I suppose it can wait, then."

"What?"

She fakes a yawn. "You can't expect an over-tired pregnant woman to stand much longer, can you?"

Her husband's eyes widen, and she walks past me with a victorious tilt to her lips that reminds me of Liora. I want to snatch him back and demand answers, but I can't let her win. He's not going to wait long to tell me whatever it is. 

“Escort them to the eastern wing,” I bark to a guard. “Their usual quarters will do."

They're cold, windowless, and the furthest from the family rooms. Her husband falls into place with Cara, clearly trying to be attentive to her, but she's rigid and standoffish. He doesn't leave her side because she's carrying his heir, and the culture of his kingdom dictates his attention. It irritates me to know that she's only hardened her heart, that she's so ungrateful even now that she's queen of her own territory and far away from the frigid wilderness of Caldara.

I turn back to greet the next cluster of guests when I catch sight of a figure in the corridor that leads to the west side of the castle. 

Liora stands there, half-hidden in the shadows near a column, watching her sister and brother-in-law walk in the complete opposite direction. Pain shimmers in her eyes, raw and unguarded for a moment before she senses me watching. It vanishes, burned away by a roaring flame of pure, unrelenting fury. Her gaze locks with mine, and a violent, vicious yank pulls at our bond, stretching and straining it until it's taut and trembling. The threads of loyalty fray and strip away, the bond of blood practically screams from the force with which she pulls away. 

I grip it, holding onto it, trying not to let the panic show as I feel it start to tear. Then, she spins around on her heel, marching away without a word. The hollow ache that follows steals my breath, but I turn back to greeting visitors and hoping to get through this as unscathed as possible.

I endure the introductions, give curt greetings, and measured nods. It's just enough formality to satisfy the politics of it, while I'm counting heads and realizing that there are far more daughters in attendance than sons or alpha kings. 

I'm half ready to draw steel and stalk back to my office, slamming the door hard enough that the hinges rattled.

Ronan is waiting inside, lounging against my desk with all the casual insolence of a man who knew I’d tolerate it.

"What the hell is this? There should be nothing but suitors."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Did you forget that you're single?"

I snarl. "That has nothing to do with this."

"I'm pretty sure Lucian warned you that this would happen when you came up with the idea to take her. There's a reason Solara very rarely hosted any sort of gathering."

I snarl, remembering Lucian had mentioned it as a possibility.

He looks me over once. “You put Liora’s sister and her husband in the east wing again?”

I drop into my chair. “I did.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors,” he says, voice low and tired. “You know—"

"Cara made her choice. Liora will deal with it."

I wasn't giving either of them a choice for their stubbornness. Ronan studies me for a long moment, then lifts his hands in surrender.

“Fine, but you should probably stop calling her so informally, if you're looking to keep that stance.”

I work my jaw. "No way in hell I'm calling her by title."

"Then, don't call her at all. You're already known as an asshole. This whole thing rests on you balancing that with the prospect of Fiona." He pushes off the desk, arms folding. “Speaking of what’s your plan for Fiona and the courtesans?”

“I have no plans for the courtesans,” I said. “Fiona is the objective. Why would you think that's changed?"

"You think that's going to hold when you've thrown them all into the same pit?" He laughs. "I thought we were trying to make the most of this?"

I scoff. "Fiona's enough of a draw to keep them occupied. Having them all here will make sure I get the most out of this. They're barely going to be able to smell her without putting something in my hands.” I steeple my hands. “Their presence is concerning. Cara would’ve never come back by choice, let alone to show off her pregnancy."

"She's pregnant?" Ronan asks. 

I nodded. "Her husband's beaming. He dragged her back here to announce it, but why not just send a letter?"

Ronan frowned. "Well, her husband is king now after some incident on their shores."

"She said as much. And?"

"Word has it, he’s looking to find a wife for his cousin.”

I frown. "What cousin? They were the only two in the carriage."

“He hasn't arrived yet," Ronan pulled out a wad of paper, murmuring to himself. "I think their attendants said he'll arrive by dinner. I took note of his name for the guards…Dante?”

I recognize the name. I set my jaw as the man's face flashes through my mind, and my wolf stirs uneasily.

"The same Dante I met on the southern campaign?"