Page 39 of The Wolf King

And I feel like someone has just punched me in the gut. My blood pumps cold and it is stupid for my body to be reacting this way. Because he is a wolf and an enemy.

And of course he has a woman back home. Because despite all his faults, he is strong and brave and kind.

I swallow and try to calm my racing pulse.

Callum stiffens, then turns to look at me as they release one another—his expression confused—as though he senses the raw emotion surging through me. The girl’s eyebrows knit together as well. Her eyes narrow on my bare feet, on the damp fur cloak, and the dirty nightdress beneath.

She gives Callum a hard look, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Who’s this, then?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

“This is Rory,” says Callum—and there’s a shift in his tone. It’s almost as if he’s daring her to challenge him. “She was one of Sebastian’s prisoners.”

I frown, wondering why he isn’t being truthful to his wife, or lover, or whoever she is to him. Even though I suppose it is not quite a lie.

“She’s not one of us,” says the girl.

Callum’s eyebrows raise. “Does that matter?”

“I suppose it depends onwhoexactly she is. And what you hope to achieve by bringing her here.” She gives him another appraising look, then brushes him aside. “Are you okay, lass?”

Surprise blooms in my chest at the question. “I... yes. Yes. I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow as if she doesn’t believe me. “Aye? Well, if any of these louts give you any trouble, you come find me. I work in the stables.” She gestures to an archway leading out from the courtyard.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I stand straighter.

I don’t want to come across as weak and powerless. I chose to come here—however ill-advised that may be. I don’t want to be a victim. I am a princess.

“Hm,” she says, taking the reins of Callum’s horse. “For the love ofGhealach,get her something decent to wear.”

“You realize I’m your alpha, right?” he says, eyes glinting playfully.

“Aye.” She sighs dramatically. “And that’s why I spend my days sweeping up after you.” She pats the horse’s neck, gives Callum a fond look, then leads the horse away. “Come on, Dawn.”

“Fi,” he calls after her.

“Aye?”

“Are the others back yet?”

Her brow furrows. “No. I thought they’d be arriving with you.”

He frowns as she leaves, clearly troubled. He offers me a half-smile. “Probably hungover.”

He puts his hand on my lower back to nudge me toward the castle. I stiffen at the inappropriateness of it. His woman friend is still in sight. His eyebrows knit together, but he drops his hand.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you into some fresh clothes before we meet with the king.”

I straighten my back, hold my head high, and walk toward the castle—trying my hardest not to limp when my muscles are screaming and stones dig into my feet. Callum doesn’t say anything. And thank the Goddess he doesn’t pick me up either.

He leans over me to push open the heavy oak doors, and we step into an echoey entrance hall.

I catch a glimpse of a dark mezzanine, draped with green tartan, and a large oil painting of a great black wolf, before Callum nudges me through a door into a long corridor.

Out of sight of the other Wolves, my body sags.

“Why did you tell your wife I was a prisoner?” I ask.

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