Page 133 of The Wolf King

“He won’t harm you,” says Callum, touching the small of my back.

There’s a mass of Wolves in the Great Hall already, shouting and laughing as they wait.

“Even if he doesn’t, the others might,” I say. “My people have just attacked your people once more. Who is to say that the whole room won’t turn on me?”

He cups my face in his big hand, and bends to rest his forehead against mine. “I won’t let that happen. I swear it.”

I run a hand over his chest, feeling the strength in him, before resting my palm against his heart.

It beats steadily. Calm. Unafraid.

I’m not sure I believe this will work out in my favor. But Callum seems confident, at least.

He brushes his lips against my forehead, running his hand over the back of my neck.

“Come,” he says.

He takes my hand, then leads me through the doors.

The tables have been pushed to the sides of the hall, where the tapestries that depict the story of the Elderwolf hang.

Callum pushes through the tangle of limbs. Those nearest to us move aside to let us pass. Some look at me strangely, confusion and curiosity dancing in their eyes. I wonder if my dress lends a clue as to who I really am.

I suppose I no longer look like a kitchen maid.

I look like the daughter of their enemy king.

I keep my head high, though my grip on Callum’s hand tightens. He squeezes back as he leads me up the steps onto the wooden platform where the alpha’s table usually stands.

In its place, there is now a large wooden throne. It is simple, but the back has been carved into an image of trees twisting up to a full moon.

The alphas of the clans stand on either side of it—six in total including Robert the acting Wolf King.

Callum leads me to one side of the platform.

From the far end of the line-up, Blake catches my eye.

He looks very different from the disheveled male I encountered earlier. He’s changed out of his scruffy clothes, and is wearing an elegant black coat with silver buttons, over a dark shirt and breeches.

“How did it go with Blake, anyway?” asks Callum under his breath.

“I... kind of. . .well...” I fight the flush of embarrassment. “I hit him.”

Callum’s eyebrows lift. “He let you hit him?”

“No, Callum. He didn’tletme hit him. Why would you say that?”

“You’re very small.” He grins as I glare at him. “You’re not going to hitme, are you?”

“Oh, be quiet.”

He looks at Blake, who is straightening his cuffs, and his expression darkens. “He may look like a wee weasel, but he’s more capable than he seems. He was in the King’s Guard for a time, if you believe his stories. He’s a deadly warrior when he chooses to fight rather than stab people in the back, or poison them. It’s hard to believe you could just walk into his chambers and hit him.”

“Perhaps that’s how I did it. Because you males have such difficulty in believing women could do such things.”

“Hm, perhaps,” says Callum.

Across the room, Blake smirks, and I’m sure he’s listening.

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