Page 106 of The Wolf King

My insides turn to ice.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Callum has left? After everything that happened between us?

Last night, I betrayed my kingdom when I kissed him.

Despite that, he has ridden out to find the Wolf King—someone who will undoubtedly either execute me or send me straight back to Sebastian. And he didn’t even say goodbye?

Shame spreads through my body. Shame that something that was so monumental to me obviously meant nothing to him. I wonder how many women he must have kissed for that to be the case.

I force my expression to settle into one of indifference.

I will not let this serpent know that his news has rattled me.

“I knew he would be riding out to find his king soon. I just hadn’t realized he had gone yet. If you’re trying to create trouble, you will find none here.”

The corner of Blake’s lip quirks. “Pity, I do enjoy trouble.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for something.” He slides a blue leather-bound book from the shelf. “Ah, here it is.”

I don’t catch the full title, but I see the wordlorein elegant calligraphy across the front, and a dusting of golden stars on the spine.

He tucks it beneath his arm and walks to the door.

“What book is that?” I ask.

He pauses and his shoulders stiffen. He clearly doesn’t want me to know what he’s reading. When he turns around, though, his expression is unrattled.

He nods at the pile of medical books by my bed. “Are you trying to find out if you could have saved her?”

My fist tightens around the silver blade. His voice is casual, as though the death of my mother was meaningless. “That’s none of your concern.”

“What were her symptoms?” When I merely glare at him, he shrugs. “Don’t you want to know whetherIcould have saved her?”

My breathing is fast. “You couldn’t have. You would have been a child when she died.”

“As would you.”

He waits. I hate that he knows how desperate I am for answers.

“She had cold sweats, fevers, shaking, and pain,” I blurt before I can change my mind about confiding in him. “She would hallucinate sometimes, and heal slowly. She was... weak. She got weaker every day.”

“Was she worse in the morning or the evening?”

I remember her frail form in the four-poster bed as sunlight seeped through the palace shutters. “Morning.”

“Was she treated for her illness?”

“Yes.”

“A potion or brew, I presume?”

I nod, remembering that foul-smelling herbal liquid that was forced down her throat. Remembering the taste of it from when they fed it to me when I got sick, too.

“And did your father love your mother?”

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