Page 138 of The Wolf King

I need to do something, anything, to stop this from happening. If they fight and James wins, I am doomed. Callum will be locked away, leaving my fate in the hands of the Wolf King, who clearly does not want me here. If Callum wins, surely civil war will break out among the Wolves and the mob will turn on me anyway.

“I can be of more use to you here,” I say, my voice quiet yet clear.

Both of them snap their heads toward me.

“You do not even know for certain Sebastian has the relic you seek.” I make my voice sound stronger, more commanding. “I was raised in the Southlands palace. I know the King’s City. I know its defenses. And, what’s more, I know how my father’s mind works. My father and Sebastian do not care for my safety—I am nothing but a pawn to them—but they care that you’ve taken me. It makes them look weak. They will stop at nothing to get me back, and that will make them careless.”

I force myself to look the Wolf King in the eye. “If you want to win this war, you do not need some old rock that may or may not have magical powers. You need a strategy. You need me.”

The first hint of a smile ghosts James’s lips as he looks at me. “And why should we trust you, daughter of my enemy?”

“She chose to come here, you know?” says Blake as he studies his fingernails. “So strange for a rabbit to walk willingly into a den of Wolves.”

“Is that so?” asks James.

“Aye.” Callum sounds almost proud. “It’s true.”

James blows out hot air, then he laughs. “Fuck it. Let’s keep her. Piss off some Southern cunts. No offence, Blake.”

He slaps Callum’s arm, then walks past us to the door.

When he glances over his shoulder at me, something unreadable passes over his face. I tense, even as Callum relaxes beside me. There’s something hard in his eyes. Something calculating.

This doesn’t feel right. He was too easily persuaded. Too many of his people have died because of me.

Blake watches him warily, too.

James smiles and I could almost believe I imagined it. “Come. Let us put this behind us. Tonight we feast. Make no mistake, the Southlands armies are on their way. Tomorrow, we’ll further discuss how the princess can be of use to us.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

The Great Hall is transformed for James’s feast.

There is drinking and laughter and shouting. We eat roast venison and potatoes and vegetables smothered with butter. Fires roar in the two hearths, fighting the cold night that seeps through the narrow windows. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke.

As the night gets darker, the food gets cleared away and people dance raucously to the upbeat music coming from the band in the corner. The sound of bagpipes and fiddles and drums accompanies stomping feet that shake the hall.

To an outsider, it would seem like a joyous occasion. Yet the emotions inside my chest are as turbulent as the couples spinning on the dancefloor and the wind that rattles the windows.

Something is wrong.

Despite James telling the Wolves I am not to be harmed, hostile eyes have fallen on me all evening. The thought that Magnus and his friends must be here somewhere puts me further on edge. I do not want those disgusting men so much as looking at me.

And, what’s more, I do not trust the Wolf King.

There was something about the way he looked at me that worries me. Whatever his plans are, I do not think they will work in my favor.

I have had no time to voice my concerns to Callum. He has been in meetings with the other alphas all day—leaving me in my chambers with Ryan at my door.

Now, we are seated at the alpha table—with Callum in deep conversation with his brother about battle tactics. As he has been for most of the evening.

I’m fiddling with my wooden beaker of water, when Blake drops into the empty chair beside me. He’s taken off his black coat, and his dark shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Hello, little rabbit.” I catch a hint of whisky on his breath. “Enjoying the festivities?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Exceedingly.” He leans over me to reach for a decanter full of amber-colored liquid. I have to lean back to prevent getting his armpit in my face. “Yet you are not drunk in the slightest. Something we simply must rectify.”

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