their house servants, it would be a bonus. If those lasses should happen to want to make a home here with the brave warriors who liberated them, better yet.
There are many holes yet in this plan, but any dead Orc is a blessing for the clans.
I accept my bowl of stew with a nod of thanks, rip a hand-sized chunk of bread from the nearby platter, and tuck into my food.
In the weeks since the fateful night when I slayed my father, tentative alliances are forming. I am still no closer to Danon’s release. He is not yet dead, though, as I heard when I traveled to the Halket clan last week to begin the long negotiation. A dozen of our best-quality deer hides were accepted with a nod. That their king spoke to me at all, I consider it a positive sign.
I have also met with Jack and Fen of the Ralston clan on a few occasions. Theirs has been an easier undertaking. No one killed their former king for a start, and their leader, Jack, has time and maturity on his side. Not that I consider Eric a fool, but he is young and still grieving the loss of his late father.
I’m confident I can find a way to peace with the Halket given time. I tell myself that I can weather their treatment of Danon, and that if his fate is to join the Goddess, I can accept that, too.
The truth is, I don’t know if I can.
Maybe he is dead, and they are stringing me along?
I pause my eating to drink deeply from my beer.
No, I don’t believe that. Eric is plain talking and unafraid. The bastard would tell me to my face if Danon were already gone.
As I place the tankard back on the table, Mara quickly brings a jug to top it up. The lass has long been trying to catch my eye even before I became the clan king.
My heart is not in a quick tumble with a lass. Although it might help ease the rage I suffer knowing Brandon has claimed Jessa. Not even wedded the lass, no, he has claimed her as a shifter does, marking her throat for all to see. My temper flares every time I think of his mark on her flawless skin. The mutt is probably rutting her every chance he gets.
I know I would be.
The conversation washes over me. The servants clear the dinner plates and fetch more beers. I sup slowly. Tomorrow, I have been invited to join the Ralston clan for their annual feast.
I am yet undecided on whether to go. I know what happens at such feasts, the drinking and rutting in celebration to the Goddess.
Jessa will be there.
So too, Brandon.
It will be Jessa’s first year as a bonded woman. It seems likely she would honor the Goddess.
Rutting.
I should leave it well alone. Only a fool would go.
Can I bear to watch her being rutted by Brandon? Is it any worse than when I torment myself imagining it?
I swallow hard. I would take any pain to see her once again. Even watching her with the mutt would be better than not seeing her at all.
As the last two warriors finish their beer and take their leave, I stare after them.
Mara gathers their empty tankards. “Is there ought I can do for you, sire?”
My eyes regain focus as I turn to the pretty serving lass. Were I a sensible man, I would take her up on her offer—the lass is good with her mouth.
“Nay, lass,” I say. “Head on home.”
With a swift bob of her head, she follows the warriors out.
I frown. Where the fuck is the cat? Normally, he hangs around for scraps. The little furred beast is growing and has even caught a few mice. I might not have named the tiny bastard, but he sneaks onto my bed in the early hours of the morning when he has finished his hunting. When not on my bed, he loves basking before the fire.
I’m about to go and push the doors shut when the tiny scrap of ginger fur trots through. Turning, I stare after him.
“Little hellion,” I mutter, pushing the door shut. He is dragging a dead rat bigger than he is! “What the fuck are you going to do with that?” Thank fuck my bedding chamber door is shut so he can’t try to take it to my bed.
He comes to a stop before the fire, drops the rat, and proceeds