Forbidden Mate

Chapter 10

The road to Arcan territory felt longer than the map said. Dante rode between two lines of guards. Bandages tugged at his shoulder and thigh. Cold air made the wounds ache. Every stare on the way said the same thing: we’ve heard what he done.

At the ford the gatekeeper stared. In a hamlet a woman pulled a child indoors. Wolves posted near the boundary stones gave no greeting. Some lowered their eyes because he was still Alpha. Most did not.

They reached the Courtroom at sundown. The hall was stone, high-roofed, and cold even with fires. Benches were full—Dante’s pack and wolves from other valleys. Dante walked into the ring of light and stood where the accused stands.

Elder Arcan sat at a long table with six elders. His hair was white; his eyes were clear. A clerk rose and read the charges.

“Dante of Grayfen. You are called to answer for the death of Leon, lord of the eastern estate, who died on his land while wolves were present. You are called to answer for binding yourself to a human outside the treaty. You are called to answer for breaking the peace.”

“How do you answer?” Elder Arcan asked.

“Leon sent a note in his daughter's hand. He waited at the pond with men and aconite. I came unarmed. I lifted my hands. I was shot and shackled. Cordelia came. She stood between me and a drawn bow. In the struggle she struck her father. It was not planned. It was not my hand.”

A ripple moved through the benches. The elders watched without comment.

An elder on the right said, “And the human? You bound yourself to her by a wolf vow.”

“She is my fated mate,” Dante said. “The bond came first. The vow named it.”

A few listeners scoffed. Elder Arcan lifted his palm, and the room quieted.

“You ask us to accept your word,” said a scarred elder on the left. “We have heard blood was spilled. A lord fell. A knife was in a girl’s hand. Why should we hear ‘fate’ and not ‘excuse’?”

“Because it is true,” Dante said. “Judge my word if you want. There is a witness whose truth I cannot shape.”

“Who?” Elder Arcan asked.

“Cordelia,” Dante said. “Call her.”

“She stands outside,” Daniel called from the entry. He had waited there with Silas and two guards. “She is willing.”

The door opened. Cordelia walked in with a dark cloak over her shoulders and her hair braided tight. She looked at Dante first, then at the elders, and stepped into the light.

Elder Arcan’s tone stayed formal. “Cordelia, daughter of Leon. You come by your will?”

“I do.”

“You know why you are called?”

“I do.”

“Will you let the elder of memory read your sight?” He nodded to a thin man at his left.

Cordelia’s fingers tightened on her cloak. She looked to Dante. He did not tell her yes or no. He gave one short nod. She lifted her hand.

The elder of memory rose, came down from the table, and set his palm lightly against the back of her hand. “Do not force it,” he said. “Let it come.”

Cordelia closed her eyes. She took a long breath in and out.

A heavy silence hung in the room.

The elder saw what she gave him: the garden at night, iron on Dante’s wrists, Leon with a bow, a string drawn, a daughter breaking free, running, and meeting her father’s step with a knife she had not aimed. He felt warm blood on skin and the shock that empties the lungs. He felt the last breath.

He let go and stepped back. He addressed the table. “It is as told. No drug, no trick. Will and accident together. She stood between death and a mate. She paid the price named in the old law: blood of kin for a life spared.”

A single rough sound rose and faded.

Elder Arcan folded his hands. “Well, that was quick.” he said in a voice hoarse with age. “Dante of Grayfen, the Council judges that you did not break the night law at Leon’s estate. You did not strike the mortal blow. You were bound, not the binder. The treaty stands.”

Dante kept his shoulders steady.

Elder Arcan turned to Cordelia. “You come under wolf law with your vow and with your cost. The den will not leave you. You may join us as Alpha’s mate.”

Two elders bowed their heads. One did not. On the steps some voices approved; others did not. The clerk stood. “It is done,” he said.

The hearing ended at once. Benches scraped. Boots thudded. Cordelia did not move. Her face had gone pale. Her eyes were clear but far away. Dante walked to her.

“Can you stand?” he asked softly.

“I feel empty. As if something has left me. My soul” she said.

“Your father,” he said.

“The part of him that used to be warm,” she answered.

He set his arm around her shoulders. She did not flinch. He led her toward the door where Daniel waited. Silas stood back, unreadable. Daniel looked relieved and tired.

Outside, the air was cleaner but still cold. Torches lined the path. Dante stopped on the steps so she could breathe without eyes on her.

“You were brave,” he said.

“I was called,” she said. “I told what was true. I wish it cost less.”

“So do I.”

“What now?” she asked.

“We go to Grayfen,” he said. “We rest. We'll take care of everything else later.”

She nodded. “I will try.”

“Enough of this place, let`s go home” he said.

They walked to the horses. Daniel held the reins so she could mount without hurry. Silas spoke with the guards and fell in at the rear. Small groups of wolves drifted off the hill, talking low. Some looked at Dante with respect, some with doubt.

On the road out, the Courtroom fell behind the trees. Hoofbeats steadied. The cold held. Cordelia kept her eyes on the path and on the rise and feeling Dante's chest behind her. She felt very tired, as if a piece of her had been left among the stones with the shadow of a man who once sat at breakfast and talked about trade and watchfulness.

She did not cry. Not today.

Dante glanced at her just once as her eyelids began to grow heavy. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding not only the reins but her as well. Enveloped by his warmth and rocked by the gentle pace of the horse as it trotted along the path, she could resist no longer and fell asleep.