Page 165 of The Wolf King

My arms are grabbed, and I am pulled to my feet.

“I have made my choice,” I hiss, the taste of blood strong. “I will never choose you.”

James’s gaze moves back to me. “You have until sundown. At which point, I will either ride with you to a chapel just north of here, or I will ride with you to meet with Sebastian. Don’t be a fool.”

He clicks his fingers in dismissal, turning his gaze to the roaring fire. I struggle against the men to no avail as I’m dragged out into the corridor.

“Blake,” says James. “Make sure she makes the right choice. Do whatever is necessary.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Blake’s voice is smooth and calm amid the chaos.

He bows before following us out of the room.

***

My hands are bound above my head. The metal handcuffs that hang from the ceiling bite into my wrists. I’m forced to balance on my tiptoes and the muscles in my arms are screaming.

I’m shivering violently. The damp air seeps through my shirt, and into my bones. Only my cheek is warm, burning, where James hit me. My shaky breaths plume in front of my face, and I stare longingly at the flaming torch through the bars of my cell.

I do not know how long I’ve been here—alone in the darkness. My stomach growls. It feels like hours since I last ate.

Blake was supposed to make me change my mind, but he did not follow us down into the cell when they strung me up here. That snake has yet to make an appearance. I presume he thinks by leaving me here, in pain and in a place devoid of hope, I will change my mind on my own.

The burst of anger that provokes gives me something tangible to hold on to.

I do not think my story will end happily. Not any longer. But itwillend on my own terms. I won’t be forced into this marriage. I will not bed James.

James will take me to the front line to hand me to Sebastian. And when war breaks out, I will run.

I would rather take my chances. I would rather run wild and free with the wind in my hair, and the grass beneath my feet, than spend tonight as the wife of the brother of the male I think I am in love with. Even if it ends in bloodshed.

And I will not go back to Sebastian.

Footsteps echo in the darkness. I jerk my head upright as Blake walks to the cell door. He’s carrying a small flask. His dark clothing is pristine, but his hair is messy like it was the night of the storm. I wonder if he’s stressed for some reason. Perhaps he doesn’t want to torture me on James’s behalf.

“Hello, little rabbit.”

My insides harden. I am trapped, vulnerable. Yet I do not want him to see any weakness from me. I turn my head away from him, careful to keep my balance. “I have made my choice.”

I keep the corner of my eye on him, though. It is unwise to look away from a predator.

He opens the door to my cell and walks inside.

“Are you afraid?” he asks.

“No,” I lie.

He leans back against the barred wall, slipping his arms through the gaps. The air in the cell feels thick, unbreathable. His presence fills the small space, somehow. He tilts his head to the side, the movement almost catlike, as he watches me.

My arms ache. I wobble, off-balance, under his scrutiny.

“Quite the mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” he says.

“Yougot me into this mess. Not me.”

“I disagree.”

He takes a sip from his flask, and my eyes snap to his throat as he swallows—suddenly aware of how bone-dry my mouth is. He puts the stopper back in, then threads his arm back through the bars of the cell.

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