Page 35 of The Wolf King

“You’re allowed to be impressed, Princess,” says Callum gently as he comes up behind me.

“It’s. . . beautiful,” I admit.

“Aye,” he says softly. “It is.”

When I turn to face him, he’s looking at me.

He averts his gaze. “Come on,” he says, his voice a little rough.

He hoists me up on the horse, then mounts behind me.

Soon, we’re back on the road, and on our way to the castle.

Chapter Twelve

The wind picks up around us as we ride out of the valley. It is as wild and untamed as the feelings that whirl around in my stomach. Even the mountains seem to move as the gust blows through the grass and the trees.

But the mountains remain whole. And so must I.

I can’t let anyone see I am afraid of the fate that awaits me when we reach the Wolf King.

After a few hours of riding, due to my insistence, we take a break to eat some more bread and hard cheese. Much to Callum’s exasperation.

If I’m honest, I’m not hungry. Every hour we ride brings us closer to the Wolves and a part of me wants to delay what is coming, to prepare myself.

We’re just about to set off again, and Callum is packing up the horse, when the sky opens.

I gasp. I have never seen rain like this—so wild and loud and wet. It even makes the rain I’ve experienced over the past couple of days seem tame. It runs down my face, my lips—making my hair stick to my cheeks and seeping through my furs.

It rains in the King’s City, too, of course. But there, it’s nothing more than moisture in the air and patters on the cobblestones; a moment’s reprieve from the heat from the Sun Goddess. And even then, if I am ever caught out in it, one of the King’s Guard will put a parasol over my head and usher me indoors as if I will break if the water touches me.

Dolls are not supposed to get wet, after all.

It frustrated me at the time, but I wonder now if they were right. I think I am breaking. The stone statue I dream about is cracking beneath the raindrops.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m turning my face toward the sky and stretching out my arms—welcoming the feeling of cold water on my skin.

I laugh.

I am here, and I am human, and I amalive.

A footstep causes the laughter to die in my throat as the realization of where I am and who I’m with crashes through me.

Slowly, I turn to face him.

I have always thought of rain as an equalizer of men. It doesn’t matter if you’re dressed in rags or finery, the rain will soak you and make you look smaller all the same.

It is different with Callum. It is like the rain strengthens him.

Water rolls off his kilt, and his tree-trunk calves are muddy. His shirt sticks to his muscles and emphasizes how big they are.

I look up at his face—fearing the disgust I’m sure I’ll see in his eyes, and wondering if he’ll scold me, or backhand me, like my father would if he’d witnessed such a scene.

He is looking at me as though I am the strangest, most wonderful thing he has ever seen. There’s a broad smile on his face, and it’s that, more than anything, that makes me realize how dangerous this man—this wolf—is.

This is someone who has no need to conceal his emotions, because who would dare judge him or take advantage of him because of them? He looks like if he decided to punch the ground, he would cause an earthquake.

Heart thumping, I drag my gaze away.

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