Perri swallowed, there was so much banked heat in Brandth’s gaze as he stared down at her. Her heart began to race, things low in her body kindled and warmed. “Do tell.”
“It will be black of course. It has of late become my most favourite of colours… and transparent. There won’t be an inch of you I won’t be able to see… no more veils of any kind.”
Perri opened her mouth but no words emerged. She was already picturing the two of them in her suite at the Lair, their wedding night… and the idea of her being naked before him… it excited her, nary a niggle of fear or nerves bothering her. Because it would be Brandth gazing upon her, and Perri knew bone deep that there would be nothing but acceptance and love in his eyes.
“It sounds wonderful. Let’s not delay any longer, as you said… out with the old husband and in with the new. Let’s be away and be wed.”
“Your wish is my command. Levi! Come on, we need to go pack. We’re leaving at first light. Remind me to dash a note off to Lastonne to send everything on to Gloomenthrall upon its completion.”
Levi raced over, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Where are we going?”
“To meet your grandfather and about a hundred of your mother’s sisters, aunts, cousins and the like. They will spoil you rotten, I am sure.” He gave Perri a gentle push and she began moving through the crowd, aware of Levi peppering Brandth with non-stop questions as they went.
“Will there be cake?”
“Wedding cake.”
“Who’s getting married?”
“Your mother and I.”
She held her breath, wondering if her son would protest or baulk at the idea, but his next question reassured her. “Will there be other children there to play with?”
“Loads. There’ll be hunting, archery, horse-riding, fishing… you’ll love it.”
“I’m never done any of those things before.”
“Don’t worry, there will be a multitude of people around to show you how… and maybe we’ll find time to improve upon your skulking skills.”
“Brandth!” Perri’s head snapped around to find him grinning unabashedly her way. “There will be no skulking. If I catch you, there will be hell to pay.”
Bending over to Levi, speaking into his ear, but loud enough so Perri could catch every word. “First lesson of skulking would therefore be…?”
“Don’t let Mama catch us at it.”
“Exactly.”
Perri’s gaze narrowed into a glare, her lips pursed. She was going to kill Brandth. No, torture him… for the rest of his days. Damn it, she could tell by the sparkle of amusement that lit up his eyes that he knew what she was thinking, and that he was looking forward to it. Crazy, annoying man.
She couldn’t wait to wed him, but the torture could begin now. “We shall have a lot of time to discuss the error of both your ways on the very, very long carriage ride to the Lair. Plus, the journey will provide me with the opportunity to get a start on making myself a brand new wardrobe to fit in with my imminent fine lady status. Lucky for me, I will have two eager and willing tailor dummies at my disposal to help bring my grand vision into fruition. Which reminds me, I must stock up on sharp pins before we depart.”
This time it was Perri gifting Brandth with a wide unabashed grin. She loved him, but she didn’t intend to change her nature a jot. And from the laughter that exploded from Brandth a split second later, he was as good as his word, and totally fine with that.
What had he said? she was his and he was hers… until the end of their days… somehow that still sounded like bliss.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A servant opened an imposing gilt door as Alia approached. She’d been handed a note the moment she left the royal balcony. Instead of joining the aristos for tea and gossip at the wake, Alia had been summoned to the cream salon by the Queen-Dowager, Lady Cecelia.
Just the two of them, alone together. Lady Cecelia’s flint coloured eyes gleaming like those of a predator who’d just witnessed their prey stumble by, bloodied and weak. Hah, Alia would soon disprove her Ladyship of that notion, lifting her chin before bowing slightly, very grateful for Perri’s application of her numbing potion on her injured buttock. Barely registering any pain. “Your Highness.”
“Oh, I think we’re past all that, call me Lady Cecelia. Do take a seat.” Proceeding to play hostess, pouring the tea. “Cream? Sugar? No?” Pushing across the delicate teacup in Alia’s direction.
“Thank you.” Alia accepted the cup but made no move to drink from it. After all, no one who died two days ago had boasted about being responsible for trying to poison her at the high tea party.
Lady Cecelia’s lips twitched ever so slightly, as if she’d guessed what Alia was thinking. Damn, the woman was canny and formidable. Which begged the question, why had she summoned Alia for this private little chat?
“What did you think of the funeral procession?”
