Lara's brothers glared daggers at Alaric, their expressions dark and intimidating. But when Alaric turned to them, their expressions turned into fawning smiles.
"You damn fox. How could you cheat?" growled Galahad, the second eldest, his massive hand coming down on Alaric's shoulder with a thud that would have sent most men staggering.
But Alaric didn't flinch. He stood unmoved, as immovable as a mountain peak against a storm.
"You brat!" Jethru spat, stepping forward until he was chest to chest with him. "We spent hours setting traps for you, and you just—you just did not even go past them and sneak straight into the bride's chamber?"
Alaric's lips curved into a smile—slow, deliberate, full of mischief. "I wasn't about to ruin my wedding clothes over your childish pranks."
Jethru's nostrils flared, but he finally grunted in reluctant acceptance. "Fine. I'll let you take the bride today. But if you ever make her cry, I'll make sure you pay for it—tenfold."
