Chapter 16: Ronan's POV

Ronan's POV

I came down the loft ladder with flour in my hair and found six elders in the yard.

The oldest was a grey widow who had taught me to read when I was five, and she did not smile.

"You mean to kneel to a rejected female in front of the whole kingdom," she said.

"I mean to kneel to my wife."

"She is not your wife. She said the words."

"She is the only wife I ever had," I said. "I'll kneel to her wherever she tells me."

Behind me Althea stepped out of the mill door, brushing flour off her skirt, and every elder looked at her face.

She did not look away from any of them.

"Hear it clearly, Fitzalan," said the widow. "An Alpha does not go on his knees to anyone. Kneel at that Festival and the pack takes your seat."

"Who takes it?"

"We will choose."

"You will choose Dahlia's cousin," I said. "He has been at her table every night this month."

The widow's mouth thinned, and that told me I was right.

"Choose what you like," I said. "I'll be on my knees at the Festival."

They turned their horses and rode out of the yard in a line, and the dust settled slowly.

I stood in it and waited to feel afraid.

What I felt was lighter than I had in two years.

Althea came and stood beside me, not touching.

"You just threw away your pack," she said.

"I threw away a chair."

"That's the same thing to you."

"It was," I said. "Ask me again tomorrow."

She looked at me a long while.

"Come to my room tonight," she said. "Knock once."

I did not eat dinner.

I want to say it plainly, because I have had to say plain things lately: I remember everything.

I remember every night of the last two years.

I remember Althea standing in the doorway of our room in a white nightgown, holding out a hand to me.

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