Stoop? Oh really. “When Nez slaughters your people like cattle, and you walk among their corpses, inhaling their blood, you should tell them that.”
Elara drew back. “I’ve taken care of my people until now. I’ll take care of Nez without you.”
“I can take this castle with twenty people,” Hugh said. “I can burn it to the ground, or I can kill all of you and take it.”
She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on him, icy with rage. “Try it.”
He leaned toward her. “I can do this, because my people are professional soldiers. You will treat them like soldiers.”
“We don’t need you.”
“Yes, you do. I saw Nez a month ago. He’s coming.”
The blond Caitlyn appeared in the doorway. Savannah took the pitcher from her hands, waved her off, and set the tea on the table.
Elara’s eyes narrowed. “And I should take your word for it?”
“Yes.”
“The word of a man who betrays his friends?”
“The word of a man who is willing to marry you with all of your baggage. I don’t see a line of suitors outside this door, do you?”
She recoiled. “How do I know you’re not working for Nez?”
“He is the Preceptor of the Iron Dogs!” Stoyan snarled behind him.
Hugh raised his hand. Stoyan snapped his mouth shut.
“Nez wouldn’t bother with subterfuge,” Hugh said. “You’re not worth the trouble. You’re easy pickings.”
She opened her mouth.
“How many of your people can kill a vampire one-on-one?”
She didn’t answer.
“Each one of mine can. They’ve been trained to kill them, because Nez and I spent a decade trying to murder each other. He sent me the head of my childhood friend, and then he and I had coffee in Charlotte a week later. That’s the kind of man Nez is. So snarl all you want, princess. But you will marry me, because you have no choice. You won’t win this fight with farmers. You need a cold ruthless bastard like me, and I’m the only one here.”
They stared at each other in silence.
“It has to be food, equipment, and board for now,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it. In return, you’ll let me make modifications and repairs to this place as I see fit. You will finance it, if needed.”
“We will discuss each modification individually,” she said.
“No.”
“I may not have the money.”
“Fine. We will discuss the budget for each modification with the understanding that my requests for materials and labor are to be given first priority.”
“Fine,” she ground out. “We do not tolerate crimes here. While your people are here, they will obey the laws. If one of them murders or rapes one of my people, you will kill that soldier. If you don’t, I will, and believe me, they will wish you had done it.”
She’d caved on the upgrades. Hugh had to give her something. “Agreed. I will need fifteen horses.” They were seventeen mounts short, and horses were damn expensive.
“Done.”
Shit. Should’ve asked for twenty.
“And just to be crystal clear,” Elara said. “This marriage is in name only.”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t pay me enough.”
Pink touched her tan cheeks. “If you betray us, I’ll make you suffer.”
“We haven’t even married yet, and I’m suffering already.”
“We have that in common,” she snapped.
They both leaned back at the same time. He was marrying an ice harpy. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
Dugas stepped forward, leaned, and spoke into Elara’s ear.
“I’ll need to inspect your troops,” Elara said, her voice precise. “We need to know exactly what we are buying with our food.”
“Fine.” He gave her a lazy smile. “My men will need to inspect your horses and our quarters in the castle.”
“Make your troops available to us first.”
Hugh poured himself a glass of tea and nodded at the doorway. “Look outside your walls.”
She would strangle that man. No, she would do worse.
Elara strode outside of the gate onto the top of the hill where the castle sat. Soldiers filed out of the forest, running three to a row. They wore black uniforms, some in armor, some without. Each carried a large backpack, a bedroll, and weapons. They moved in unison, their feet striking the ground at the same time.
She hadn’t detected them in the forest, which meant they had to have been far behind.
The soldiers began to form a block, eight soldiers in a line. All of that equipment had to weigh at least twenty pounds. Probably a lot more.
“How long have they been running?” she asked and wished she hadn’t. Any show of interest was an opening, and d’Ambray would wedge his big dumb shoulder through it and hold it open.
D’Ambray shrugged, looming next to her, a darkness shaped like a huge man. “From Aberdine.”
“Ten miles?”
“Yes.” He turned to her, his dark blue eyes calm. “Would you like them to run back and here again?”
He was completely serious, she realized.
“No.”
He turned to face the soldiers. They formed four separate blocks, each eight soldiers wide, ten lines deep and froze, like dark statues against the green grass of the lawn.
“Do you want them to rest?” she asked.
“Are you tired?” d’Ambray roared next to her, his voice carrying across the field. She almost jumped.
The three hundred and twenty people roared back in a single voice. “No, Preceptor!”
“They’re ready for your inspection,” Hugh said.
Elara had to admit, they looked impressive. Guilt pinched at her. This wasn’t about d’Ambray’s people, she reminded herself. This was about keeping her people safe. If d’Ambray put his troops in jeopardy, it was on him.
The creaking of a wagon came from behind them. Slowly, carefully, George, Saladin, and Cornwall came into view, leading Dakota, a massive Clydesdale, as he pulled the wagon forward. A brown tarp hid the contents. She knew exactly what was in the cart.
Elara stepped aside to let the wagon pass. D’Ambray didn’t appear concerned.
The three men guided the wagon down the hill, slowly, as if it were made of glass. Dugas walked behind them, silent. Each of the men carried a shotgun.
The wagon came to a stop. Saladin unhitched Dakota and the three men walked away, back toward the castle.
Elara raised her head. “You said each of your people could take a vampire.”
Dugas pulled the tarp off the wagon. An undead sat in a metal cage. The moment the tarp came off, it lunged at the metal bars, its eyes glowing with insane bloodlust.
“Prove it,” Elara said.
D’Ambray nodded at his soldiers. “Pick.”
Elara stared at the rows of soldiers. She was about to sentence one of them to death. A human, even a skilled human, had very little chance against an undead.
She had to do her job. He would put his strongest people in front and in the rear, so she had to pick from the middle. “Fourth row on my left,” she said. “Third soldier.”
“Arend Garcia,” d’Ambray ordered, his voice rolling. “Step forward.”
The third man in the fourth row took a step back, turned, and marched to the edge of the line, turned, marched toward them, turned again… Dead man walking. He was in his late twenties, dark hair cut short, light eyes. Like all of them, he was lean, almost underfed. A scar crossed his face on the right side of his nose, slanting to the side and barely missing his mouth.
He was about to die. If she showed any care at all, d’Ambray would use it to get out of this test.
Arend Garcia came to a stop.
She checked d’Ambray’s face. It might as well have been cut from a rock.