Page 131 of The Wolf King

He grins. “Aye, well I never said I was sensible. Besides, there’s no time now for a bath. Not unless you want to go for a swim in the loch.”

He raises his eyebrows, and I smile—remembering how cold the water was when I washed at Glen Marb. From the grin on his face, I think he is remembering it too.

He sighs, his breath misting in front of his face.

“We should go.”

He brushes his lips against my forehead, and my hands reflexively move to chest, my fingers gripping his shirt. He’s so firm and solid beneath it and I want to take comfort in that strength—to take comfort in him. His hands momentarily tighten around my hips.

Heat flares inside me, despite the words he mumbles against my skin. “It’s time to meet the Wolf King.”

Chapter Forty-Six

The castle corridors outside Callum’s chambers seem colder, the shadows longer. The torches on the wall flicker as we pass, as if possessed by the same nervous energy that builds in my stomach.

When I descended the kennel steps that night in Sebastian’s castle, I felt as if I was walking into the jaws of a great beast.

Now, it has swallowed me.

When I meet with the Wolf King, I will find out whether it is to chew me up and spit me back out again.

Or worse.

Callum walks by my side, his hand pressed against the small of my back. The warmth he radiates is of little comfort. Not when he is uncharacteristically quiet. His heavy footsteps echo off the stone walls, steady and slow, as though he is delaying the inevitable.

As we reach the stairwell, loud voices pierce the gloom from the lower floors of the castle. Some agitated, some excitable, some tainted with anger. It reminds me of the noise one hears on the day of an execution in the King’s City.

Perhaps there will be an execution today.

And yet, all I can think about is the dress I am wearing. It’s white and long-sleeved.

The perfect doll—that is what Blake said I looked like.

I’ve had little choice over so many things in my life—who I’d marry, where I’d live, what my purpose should be. But my clothing—the way I present myself—that was a choice I always had.

And I was good at it. My dresses were disguises, my make-up a mask. I could choose to blend into the background of a meal in the Great Hall, or be the focal point in a grand ball.

I had that choice this morning. I thought I had made the correct one, and yet Blake has gotten under my skin.

Should I have chosen differently?

“Does the Wolf King have a wife?” I ask as we make our way down the stairwell.

“Hm? No.”

“What kind of women does he like?”

Callum’s eyebrow cocks up, as if he’s surprised by the question. “I don’t know. Bonny lasses, I suppose.”

I sigh. “His last lover, who was she?”

“That’d be Claire.” He lets out a half-laugh. “She was a fiery one. Kept him on his toes, that’s for sure.”

Blake’s words come back to me.

James likes his women bold.

He was telling the truth.

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