Page 37 of The Half King
“Pups?”she squeaked. Oh, stars, that was the magic word to make her forget everything else in existence. All that mattered now was holding one in her arms. After tucking the journal into her pocket, she tugged on the king’s elbow to rush him forward—most unladylike, but who cared?
There were pups in the kennel!
“All right, all right,” Kian said, hurrying his pace. “Just this way.”
He led her past dozens of wooden pens, each housing a Mortara brush hound so flawlessly bred that they shamed their encyclopedia illustrations. The hounds ran to greet her as she passed, wagging their stump-like tails, beaming at her with wide, expressive eyes, their tongues lolling to the side as they panted in excitement.
Goddess, they were beautiful! And well adapted to the heat, too, with short, fuzzy coats that were resistant to sunlight. But best of all was the intelligence brimming in those dark eyes. They studied her every move, taking her in, missing nothing. She’d heard that Mortara brush hounds were so smart they could detect illnesses in their owners and even hunt down medicinal herbs. Seeing them now, she didn’t doubt it. These hounds would make a razor look dull.
“Here we are.” Kian stopped in front of a waist-high door and ruffled the head of the fuzzy hound who had come to greet him. “This naughty girl is Stella. She ran away during a hunt and came back pregnant by…well, none of us are sure. If I believed in goblins, that would be my guess.” He peeked beyond the door and shuddered. “The pups are so hideous they’re almost cute.”
When Cerise leaned over the gate and caught sight of the pups, her heart nearly burst. Oddly, Kian wasn’t wrong. Sometimes a creature went so far beyond ugly that it came back around and reached adorable. Stella’s pups had done just that.
There were five of them, all engaged in an energetic game of bounce and tumble. They had inherited their mother’s hindquarters and stumpy tail but little else. Their chests were much too broad to belong to a hound, as were their jaws, and instead of floppy ears, theirs stood on end, tall and pointed. Their coats were bald and stacked with dozens of folds, as though their pelts were ten sizes too big. Judging by their clownishly large paws, they would soon grow into their wrinkles.
“May I go inside?” she asked, already hitching up her skirts to climb over the gate.
Kian chuckled. “Be my guest.”
Her shoes had barely reached the pen floor when the pups bounded over to her and began tugging on her dress hem. She sat down, giggling as half the litter climbed on her lap and the other half chewed on her skirts. Stella padded over and lay down on her side, exposing her milk-engorged belly. Cerise nudged one of the pups in an encouragement to nurse, but it only yipped and rejoined the game.
“They self-weaned,” Kian said. “Much to Stella’s dismay.”
“They don’t look old enough for solid food.”
“They’re not. The kennel master’s been feeding them congealed chicken blood.” Kian reached down to pet the largest puppy and received an earnest nip on the finger. “Ouch. Little monster.”
“A taste for human flesh,” she teased. “Maybe theyarehalf goblin.”
One of the pups scampered around in front of her and bounced in place as if asking to play fetch. Doing the best she could with what she had, she tossed him a piece of straw, which he retrieved with zeal. But while carrying back his prize, he drew the attention of his siblings. Two pups ran to him and tried to steal the straw, and then two more. He made a valiant effort to defend his trophy, but it wasn’t long before the litter had him on his back, and then playtime shifted into something primal. The pup cried as his siblings attacked his throat and belly. He squirmed, pawing at the air, but he couldn’t right himself. Stella didn’t lift her head. To her, the attack was a lesson in establishing pack dominance, but Cerise couldn’t stand to watch it.
She crawled to the fray and nudged aside the litter until the injured pup was able to wriggle to his feet. He stood in place, legs shaking, head bent low in fear. Even now, the poor thing was so terrified that he wet the floor. Cerise lifted him up without a care. She could wash her hands later.
Cradling his trembling body to her chest, she swayed gently from side to side and stroked the pup until his heartbeat steadied and he stopped shaking. The litter had resumed tugging on her dress, the piece of straw forgotten. She considered setting down the pup, but he was so warm and snuggly that she pressed her cheek to the top of his head and let him lick her chin.
“You have too much love in you,” Kian said. He was watching her in amusement, both arms resting on the wooden gate. “If you don’t find an outlet for it, you might explode. And we can’t have that. Think of the mess!” He nodded at the pup. “You should keep him.”
“For my own?” Even as she asked, her arms tightened around the puppy. “But he’s worth his weight in coin, half-breed or not.”
“I can afford it,” Kian whispered behind his hand. “I’m the king.”
An emotion swelled inside her—a happiness so complete that all she could do was hug the puppy and try not to split her face in half from smiling.
“Unless you’d prefer a purebred.” He thumbed toward the adjoining pen. “The kennel master will breed a litter as soon as—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I want this one.”
“Then the lucky beast is yours. No one will cherish him more.” He reached down and patted Stella’s resting head. “Not even his own mother. Take him with you; the staff will give you whatever he needs.”
“Isn’t he too young to leave his mother?”
“He self-weaned,” Kian reminded her. “He’s more of a nuisance to Stella than anything. Trust me, you’d be doing them both a favor.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve never had a pup to call mine. Or anything, really.”
In response, Kian abruptly changed the subject and asked her, “Why did you braid your hair today?”
Cerise touched a section of the intricate plaits. “You’re just now noticing?”
