“I know that we may lose—”
“You don’t know anything.”
“—and lose and lose again, and you will still never have won.”
“You don’t know anything,” he said again, his tone cold and level. “You don’t know what horrors my army has prevented—”
“How heroic.”
“—and you surely do not know what my horse is fed, Guinevere.”
They both paused. “Oats.”
One side of his mouth lifted humourlessly. “You think me a simple matter.”
“I think you awful. And—”
He threw down his gauntlet and splayed his fingers tightly around her chin. “And what?”
“Dead,” she whispered, her voice trembling, which made him feel savage and satisfied. “I—I thought you were dead.”
“You did what you could to ensure it, did you not?”
She hitched on a breath. “And how many deaths have you ensured, with your sword and your count who simply must be made a king?”
His fingers tightened, pressing into the soft flesh of her chin. “Your family was destined to be my bane,” he said in a voice so low it barely carried through the air. “I intend to return the favour. Awful? You think me awful? You’ve no idea.”
“Not here. Not now,” interrupted a voice at his back. Alex.
Griffyn snapped back into the present. Every eye in the bailey was on him, their new lord, losing his temper and his mind over this witch of a woman.
He flung his hand down and took a deep, shaky breath, knowing how close he’d come. He could have killed her. If she’d said another word, if Alex had not stepped forward, he might have kept closing his hand tighter and tighter around her slender, poisonous throat.
He spun away.
“Take her to the solar,” he snarled, and obviously someone did, because a few moments later, his heart still thudding savagely in his chest, his mind still fuzzed with fury, he was meeting with his seneschal and top officials, sending them inside to meet with the de l’Ami
administrative staff, and commanding his soldiers to inspect the garrison, make the men swear allegiance or be turned out.
They scurried to do his bidding, and chaos erupted around him. Griffyn grabbed Noir’s reins and stalked to the stables himself, trying to forget, to focus on the victory. Forget about his father. Forget the rage. The lost years. The woman he thought he could love. Forget, forget, forget.
Alex was overseeing the round-up and interrogation of the de l’Ami soldiers. They were staunch in their loyalty to Guinevere, as expected, but more was revealed in what was not said.
Stout men, but their pointed features bespoke hunger only just kept at bay. Men who were steadfast, but weary of their lands being ravaged by an endless war. Soldiers accustomed to battle and the strange vagarities of it, including honourable surrender when in the alternative lay waste and ruin.
To a man they pledged themselves to Griffyn Sauvage as lord of Everoot, and most did so willingly.
“This one,” gestured Hervé Fairess, the Angevin. “He’s trouble. And that one,” he grumbled, pointing.
Alex shifted his gaze to a young knight with close-cropped blond hair, who stood scowling at the gryphon-clad knights. His strength was apparent in the press of muscle against his tunic, but he did not appear foolish. He appeared loyal, if his regular glances towards the third-floor solar where Lady Guinevere was being held proved anything. Loyal, not stupid. And it would be stupid to make trouble now.
“We’d best let Pagan know,” Hervé gruffed.
“Pagan will know without us telling him anything,” Alex said mildly, but inside, a deep disquiet was starting to unfold.
He had watched the collapse of Griffyn’s legendary self-control a few moments ago in shock. Griffyn had not been trained in violence and ruthlessness to no effect, but he never revealed the depths of his fury. A father who had let greed ruin him, a legacy stolen, killing, killing for lost honour and for fallen kings, Griffyn’s life had been fated from before his conception. But he had never let his emotions boil over. Except for that one night a year back.
And just a moment ago.