Page 136 of The Wolf King

“There would be continuous civil war, I suppose.”

A half-smile plays on Blake’s lips. “Indeed.”

“What has that got to do with Callum and James?”

“James had more backing with the clans here. He is... more similar to his father. But Callum had support from some of the outlying clans.” He drops his voice lower, and I have to strain to hear him over the rabble. “It tipped the scale in his favor.”

“So he should have won?”

Blake shrugs a shoulder. “If he’d beaten James.”

“He lost the challenge?”

“He forfeited.”

My brow furrows. “Why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” says Blake, his eyes glinting with intrigue. “A question many Wolves are still asking. And by asking the question—”

“It weakens James’s claim to the throne.” I lower my voice because I do not want anyone to hear me. Surely this is a treasonous thing to say. “You don’t know who would have won if they’d actually fought. By walking away, Callum made his brother look weak.”

“Which James is not particularly thankful for.”

My insides clench at the knowledge. Callum’s strange sense of calm as we walked into this den of Wolves, and his assurance that he’d be able to talk his king into letting me stay, clearly relied on their familial bond. Yet it seems their relationship is complicated—maybe more so than Callum realizes.

That same kindness and sense of loyalty that drew me to him could wind up being my downfall. Has he been too generous in trusting his brother?

I try to settle my violent pulse, wondering what they are speaking about behind the closed door.

“You look exquisite, by the way,” says Blake, his voice smooth like honey. My head snaps toward him, but he is staring at a spot of wall above the oak doors at the opposite side of the hall. “You should never pretend to be less than what you are.”

My jaw tightens. That is rich, coming from him. Blake is a male whose entire persona seems contrived. He continually wears a mask of disinterest to hide his true intentions, whatever they may be. “And you don’t pretend?”

Dimples puncture his cheeks. “I’m always pretending.”

The door behind the throne opens and both of us look over our shoulders.

Callum stands in the doorway, looking tense. He gestures me over with a strained smile. His glaze slides to Blake and hardens. He says something I cannot hear and Blake inclines his head.

“As the king commands,” he replies.

My heart is in my throat as I walk past the throne and down the steps toward Callum. This is it. This is the moment when my fate will be sealed.

Blake looks bored as he follows closely behind.

“Calm yourself,” he whispers, his tone dark. “Wolves like to hunt little rabbits. Your pulse is pounding so hard that even I could be tempted to give chase.”

“Be quiet,” I snap. “How is saying something repugnant like that supposed to help?”

“Who says I’m trying to help?”

When we reach the doorway, Callum steers me into the room. His hand is strong and comforting on my lower back.

“It’ll be alright,” he says under his breath. “He just wants to meet you.”

Blake follows and shuts the door behind us, sealing out the noise from the Great Hall.

It is as if I have left the hurricane and now stand in the very eye of the storm.

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