“Aye, the only male excused here is Var,” Brachard says, pounding his back and then leaning down to kiss my cheek. I give him a quick squeeze because he shortened Varguk’s name and he knows how much that means to him.
“Sweet Knees, I know this was your idea,” Bakog growls. He’s wearing a yellow apron across his lap, which makes me giggle at the ludicrous sight of his enormous green legs jutting out beneath it.
“Was it?” I return. “Was it really?” I let my eyes deliberately stray to his sister and his mate and he looks confused as he realizes it could easily have been one of them. Just because I hid his and Tok’s clothes once when we were young and they found out because I couldn’t stop giggling doesn’t necessarily mean it was totally me again.
My father, now dressed, narrows his eyes as he tries to figure it out. “Jacovi sent his sister to see you and the others. Cherovi, were you with these three females? All three? At all times?”
“Aye,” she verifies, smiling innocently at my dad. “And with Joanna and Hannah and the sweet brat. The entire time, so it wasn’t anyone from the yellow-flowered house there.”
My father nods, mollified. “I knew my Sweet Pea wouldn’t have pulled such a foul trick on strong males.”
He ignores the new wave of snickers that roll through the crowd and accepts the mug of ale as it’s passed to him. My heart warms when he sits down next to Cherovi. Her face is shining with love as she looks up at him, and continues to assure him that his daughter is sweet and blameless.
“They’re in love,” Varguk says simply.
“Aye. So much.”
“Almost as much as I love you.”
“Which is not nearly as much as I love you.”
He leans down and presses his mouth to mine. For a long minute, I languish in this feeling between us, but then Var pulls away to dress. He’s the last naked male.
As soon as he gets dressed, Brachard stands to speak. “Now that all of our males and brats are dressed”—a few catcalls echo ‘round the camp— “my royal guard will head out to the south end of the territory. The Southpeaks will be waiting there to gain entry. They will escorta handful in. Primarily, Clan King Agor and ex-king Vronas, his two sons, and their guards. I want a male around every female of the camp and everyone protects everyone, Blackheart and West Mountain alike. We stand together!” He raises his arm in the air, and we all cheer.
“Now, all the brats get to the safe house and we’ll let you come out for the party when they leave.”
The little ones are rounded up and escorted to the hidden basement kept as a safe area. They have no need to know it won’t be much of a party for the adults. The males will stay sober and alert, taking turns to patrol areas.
The mood is more somber as people are arranged into strategic places. There’s a group of Blackhearts—namely Denruk and his crowd—who are tasked with the job of watching the entire rest of the Southpeaks left on the edge of the property. Exhausting and dangerous, considering they’re the first line of defense. The first to perish if things go awry.
And tasked to follow the Southpeaks when they leave. If anything looks amiss, one should turn around or give a signal for others to invade, one is to ride like the wind back to warn us. The others are to defend, no matter how many enemies there are.
King Jacovi has no mercy. He’s making a point that the three males jeopardized our relationship with West Mountain by attacking me… and even more so by doing it on West Mountain territory, my second home. What a slap in the face. And of course, by forcing the West Mountain “prisoner’s” hand to defend me.
It’s not long before a runner enters the village.
“King Brachard,” he gasps. “They are at the edge of the forest.”
Brachard holds up his hand to signal the drummers to begin their slow beats.
Chapter Nineteen
Varguk:
MY POSITION IS NEAR the royal guard, my beautiful mate near my side. This time, she doesn’t look like a halfling. She is fiercely gorgeous in full Blackheart garb, and looks like the warrior princess that she is. I am proud to be her guard, an up-close and personal spot where I’ll be hard to miss. I stick out like a sore thumb in my Southpeak furs and loincloth. Strategic, I’m sure.
Brachard is a respected and feared king by other clans for a reason.
Drummers play a solemn, slow beat that eerily mimics a funeral procession. I have no doubts that my father—had he remained king of his line—would have employed the tactic to scare and intimidate others after seeing Brachard do it.
As Clan King Agor approaches first—his own personal guard around him—my father doesn’t walk by his side. Good, his status has been changed, then. King Agor’s gaze falls upon me before he glances away to focus on Brachard.
“Clan King Agor, welcome to my village,” Brachard says mockingly.
We all know that Solaya isn’t their actual village but instead a guard town that blocks the gates to their mountain home.
“Aye, King Brachard.” To his credit, Agor isn’t blustery nor does he show off the way my father might have.
