Page 17 of Tears of the Wolf
Cenric supposed, from that perspective, it was reasonable. He himself was not king-worthy, being descended of tribal chieftains and northern wild men. His sons with Brynn might still be king-worthy, but there were stronger claims in other families. Like spring water added to wine, Cenric was meant to dilute Brynn’s lineage.
There was still an incomplete part of this story, though. The circumstances of Osbeorn’s death were odd and Aelgar had more reason than anyone to want the boy dead. Not to mention it had given Brynn grounds to end her first marriage. But why bother with Valdari raiders?
Either way, Cenric decided it would be rude to ask if the king had murdered a baby.
“Brynn will be a good wife to you. She knows her duty.” Aelgar sounded confident. “That’s one way she’s more Hyldish than Istovari.”
Interesting. It must not be Brynn that Aelgar feared, just those who would use her.
“Even if things seem lackluster now, I have full confidence she’ll make you a fine wife in time.”
Cenric grimaced before he stopped himself.
“Has your goddess told you otherwise?” Aelgar asked the question as a challenge.
“No,” Cenric admitted. Morgi was oddly silent on this seemingly large decision.
“Then trust your goddess, if not your king.”
The younger man cast a sideways glance to Aelgar. The response that came to mind was disrespectful, so he held his tongue.
Aelgar blinked at Cenric with a stony expression. “You could have turned her down.”
Kings were tricky creatures. They didn’t honor bonds and loyalties the way other men did. When a king could argue that what benefitted him benefitted the kingdom, it made for interesting justifications and claims.
“Do I have your leave to depart as soon as I can?” Cenric asked.
“You are not a captive or a hostage here,” Aelgar answered.
Cenric took a deep breath. “Then I shall see that my lady wife is ready to depart.” Cenric stood, dusting off his pants. Sure enough, his ass was damp.
Aelgar fixed him in a steady look.
“Yes?” Cenric had the feeling Aelgar wanted to hear something else. “Am I forgetting something, lord?”
“I hope you will grow to be fond of Brynn, Cenric.” Aelgar’s tone was soft, almost sad. “If not, I hope you will at least treat her fairly. Gods know the girl deserves that much.”
Cenric frowned at that. “I look after what’s mine.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Aelgar replied, his attention returning to the book in his lap.
Cenric turned to leave, calling for Snapper and gesturing for Kalen to follow. This was as close to answers as he expected to get.
Brynn
When Brynn had woken to Cenric’s angry voice and something heavy against her back, she’d been paralyzed with fear. When she realized it was Cenric’s dog in the bed with her, the relief and confusion had rendered her speechless.
Before she had figured out what to do or say, Cenric left, taking the dog with him. She laid still for a long time after the two of them left.
When she pushed herself upright, the trunk Cenric had used as a bed was pushed back where it had been yesterday. She was still in the same dress, her hair braided up with ribbons.
A throb squeezed her skull with each heartbeat, threatening to make her head explode. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. She hadn’t been that drunk in years.
Grey and black dog hair powdered both her dress and the side of the bed the dog had occupied. There was nothing to show Cenric had been here except his coat still lying on top of the trunk.
Brynn’s chest tightened. She’d broken down crying in front of him. Last night, she had been too heartsore and intoxicated for dignity, but today some semblance of pride returned.
She was stuck with Cenric, one way or another. And he was stuck with her.
