Page 168 of The Wolf King

Iam taken to a room on the ground floor of the manor.

It is dark and sparsely furnished. In one corner, there is a bucket filled with water. A white dress is draped over one of the tattered armchairs.

The hearth is unlit and the air is stale and bitingly cold.

“You’re to bathe, then dress,” says my guard. His voice is gruff and devoid of warmth.

He has a dark beard, severe eyes, and wears the same green kilt that Robert and Magnus wear.

I swallow, calming my racing pulse.

I will get out of this. I will survive.

I survived my mother’s illness, and the beatings from the High Priest. I came with Callum to the Northlands in search of my freedom.

I will find it.

But I must pick my moment. I must play this game, and accept my role in it. Until the opportune moment comes for me to make a move.

I nod. “Very well. Wait outside, please.”

“Bathe. Now.”

Does he really expect me to undress in front of him?

“Are you aware of the choice your king has presented to me?” I ask.

“Aye.”

I remember what Blake said to his friend when I awoke in the cell.

He’s territorial. It works in our favor.Was he talking about James?

“Then you know he has offered me a betrothal.” I raise my chin. “Do you think he will be pleased to find out you have watched his potential future wife undress?”

He clenches his jaw and glares at me. “You have five minutes. And if I can smell the Highfell Wolf on you when I come back, I’ll bathe you again myself.”

He turns on his heel and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I release a breath and it plumes in front of me in the darkness.

I rub my sore and aching wrists. The skin is red and raw from the handcuffs.

Untangling the ball of nerves in the pit of my stomach, I scour my surroundings for anything that might be of use. The room is decaying and barren. There is no poker by the fire, no weapons in sight. One of the armchairs is covered with a tattered sheet. There’s a layer of dust on the floorboards.

I walk to the window.

Even if it were not fastened shut with bars across it, I would not be able to escape through it.

Outside, against a backdrop of shadowy mountains, Wolves are gathering with their horses. There must be about one hundred of them. Their voices seep through the thin glass, low and excitable. Men preparing for war.

The night sky above them is lit by the moon. Although not full, it is brighter than usual. It is as if the Moon Goddess herself has come forth to watch the events of this evening unfold. It is a good job she is locked away in Night’s prison, because surely her favor would fall upon the Wolf King—not the princess of a kingdom that worships the Sun.

I turn away from the freedom that taunts me, and walk to the bucket in the corner. I strip off my damp shirt and breeches.

The water is ice-cold, but the anger burning in my soul keeps me from shuddering as I lather up the soap and wash myself. As I do, I’m aware that I’m washing away all trace of Callum’s touch. It fills me with a profound sadness.

How could only a day have passed since I was in his arms, thinking we could be free together? How could I have been so naïve to think I would have a happy ending?

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