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He turned to look at her.

“I…” Her hands went to her hair, which was mussed from their sex in the hedge. “I look a fright!” she whispered at him. “And my underthings are torn,” she added, her eyebrows arched high over her wide eyes. Her skin darkened with a blush.

Lachlan smiled, thinking her the most beautiful, most marvelous woman he’d ever known. “Do you know how excited it makes me, knowing you’re standing next to me wearing underthings I’ve ruined?”

Her blush deepened. “I need to change before–”

“Tarley. You’re beautiful.” He pulled the ribbon from her hair so all of it fell down her back, then smoothed it and grasped her face. “No one will know except me, and I’m going to be fantasizing about it. I plan on completely removing them later. And then you can fight me on it then until you’re screaming with pleasure.” He grinned before kissing her chastely, then searched her face. “Hold your head high like you always have, my queen.” With her hand in his, he drew her through the doors.

Every head in the room swiveled toward the noise, and half the room dropped to a knee,Your Highnessthe words uttered as they did. Only one figure remained standing—aside from the contingent from Kaloma—his father. His father had come!

Cutting an imposing figure, he wore his armor without the Jast marker, which Lachlan presumed was a precaution for would-be assassins. His white hair was overgrown, thick and wavy, and his face sported a beard, which was unusual. He looked older, his hazel eyes tired, whether it was from travel or worry, Lachlan couldn’t be sure.

“Father.” Lachlan stepped forward and kneeled. Tarley dipped into a curtsey next to him.

“Lachlan?” he asked. “Is that really you? The message–” The sound of his voice was less imposing and more filled with disbelief. He wove a path through the kneeling people, and when he reached Lachlan, he grasped his arms, pulling him back to his feet.

Lachlan wondered when he’d gotten taller than his father. It wasn’t as if he’d grown, suddenly.

Then his father embraced him roughly. “The message—Captain Johesha saw you go over the cliff. They scoured the river for days before returning to Jast.” He drew back, holding Lachlan out in front of him. “You’re alive.” He pulled him back into his arms.

Tears pressed against the back of Lachlan’s eyes. His father had come for him. And now as others began to stand, he noticed Ollie, Captain Johesha, his personal guard, along with several others he’d worried about.

Lachlan pulled away. “There’s so much to tell you,” Lachlan told his father, then looked at Ollie. “I’m so relieved to see you.”

“And I you.” Ollie smiled. “You lead a charmed life, my friend. First you escape marriage and then death. Always getting out of your responsibilities–”

Lachlan laughed and embraced Ollie.

Captain Johesha, stood stoic, a hand on his sword and the other fisted at his side, his dark brown eyes were downcast. Johesha had been Lachlan’s primary guard for many years, the rock keeping Lachlan safe through all of Lachlan’s ridiculous exploits for the last sixteen years, never complaining, always challenging, but never abandoning. And now, Lachlan could see the pent-up emotion in this man had who never allowed emotion space.

“It wasn’t your fault, Captain,” Lachlan told him.

“I should have–” Johesha clamped his mouth shut and pressed his teeth together.

“You couldn’t. The fall was an accident. Goldie spooked,” Lachlan explained.

Johesha’s eyes rose to Lachlan’s for just a moment, and Lachlan could see he wouldn’t absolve himself but he would resolve to continue to do his job even better than before. He offered Lachlan a nod. “With my honor,” he recited, the opening of his oath for Lachlan, who nodded at the renewal.

“We must talk but not here,” his father said and glanced around at the Kaloma contingent, which Lachlan finally studied. They were mostly men, guards, a contingent in robes, and one young woman among them who looked strikingly like Keyanna. Her sister, Meera. When he looked back, he met his father’s gaze with a nod.

Then his father’s gaze found Tarley and faltered. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Father.” Lachlan stepped back to draw Tarley to his side. “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Tarley Fareview of Sevens, Kaloma.”

His father tilted his head, but Lachlan didn’t like the way he measured her with his gaze. Lachlan dismissed it as his father’s mistrust given what his father knew of Kaloma; he had thought his son assassinated, after all.

“Miss Fareview, this is my father, the benevolent ruler of the peoples of Jast, King Mallor Nikolas.”

“Your majesty,” she said and dipped into a curtsy once more.

“And this is what you’ve been doing?” Mallor’s voice, though lowered, was filled with censure. “Sewing your oats. Allowing your mother to grieve–”

Lachlan was taken aback by his father’s condemnation, though he knew he probably shouldn’t have been. Lachlan’s prior behavior, he was sure, was fueling his father’s assumptions. “What?”

Tarley’s hand tensed in his.

His father’s eyes burned bright with anger. “Rather than come home and ease our fears that you were in fact alive, you’ve been cavorting with a Kaloma whore?”