Page 165 of Wolfkissed
Revenge on my stepfamily, regaining my estates, it all pales in the face of a future with this man. ‘That asshole’ Valen had called him, and he was so right.
That bastard.
Sitting at the table with that harlot of his, smirking at me. Only… he’s not. Lord Eorl is sitting alone in his seat, the chair beside him empty. Guests are seated along the long tables, watching as I stumble through the hall.
“Lady Rosamund,” Lord Eorl calls, his voice traveling over the guests. “Come, be seated. The music is about to begin, the wine to flow, and the food to be served. Let us celebrate having you here. Only a few days are left for our wedding, when I will get to call you wife, and you will get to call me husband.”
My chest constricts. None of this is joyous. His excitement isn’t real. My excitement is gone. I can really see him now. The masks have fallen. The facades have crumbled.
Gathering my skirts, I make my way to him, through the ashes of my foolish dreams, and sit down beside him.
“Lady Rosamund?—”
“The wolves,” I hiss. “Did you hunt them? Did you kill them?”
“That’s your concern?”
“Many things are my concern,” I say. “Tell me.”
“We didn’t find them,” he says and raises his glass to the guests, a flat smile on his face. “Caught a deer and a boar instead. Will you smile and behave properly?”
“As properly as you locking me up and shoving me against walls?”
“Suit yourself,” he says, his smile fixed. “You’re not making your life any easier, believe me.”
I do believe him. I’m realizing that finding your match is rarer than I thought. Finding your other half, your mate, the person you want to spend your life with.
I found mine, and I hadn’t realized how lucky I was. But I do now. I see it clearer than ever. No revenge, no punishment to those who deserve it can trump finding happiness with the right person.
“Look,” a lady to my left whispers way too loudly, “he’s arrived.”
Who?I almost ask.
“He’s so handsome,” another giggles behind her hand. “I hope he will ask me to dance tonight.”
And then I see him. He has just entered the hall, his silvery hair windswept, a formidable scowl on his face.
Valen.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
ROSAMUND
He walks to the center of the hall, his face a mask of fury, and it takes me a long moment to realize his anger isn’t directed at Lord Eorl but… at me.
“Valen,” I whisper, getting up.
“Lady Rosamund,” he says frostily.
It’s a knife of ice straight through my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“I would like a word.”
I start around the table, and Lord Eorl grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To speak to my friend.” I yank my arm free.
“Outrageous,” he says, “you’ll pay for this!” but I’m way past caring about what he thinks of me. My anger is a tangible thing, a hard stone where my heart should be.
