Page 42 of The Wolf King

She straightens, her eyes darkening. “Who’s this?”

“This is Rory,” says Callum with a tired smile. “I need you to grab her some fresh clothes. A dress and some shoes.” He pauses, thoughtful for a moment. “Put her in the clan colors.”

Her smile disappears. “Shecan’t wear the clan colors.”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion on the matter, Isla,” says Callum.

Her cheeks turn red and she lowers her head.

“Of course.” She stomps over to the door she just emerged from. “Come on then.” She shoots me a cold look over her shoulder.

Callum gives me a reassuring nod. “I’ll be right out here.”

Taking a deep breath, I head after Isla. She leads me into a room, and shuts the door before hurrying to a wardrobe at the far wall.

I linger awkwardly by the single bed against one wall.

“These are your chambers?” I ask.

She huffs as she sifts through the fabric. “Aye.”

The room is small but comfortable. As well as the bed, there’s an armoire and a dressing table with a mirror on it. A narrow window looks out onto the mountain. The scent of rose petals permeates the air.

A moment later, she thrusts a red tartan dress into my hands and some leather boots.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I want them back, later.” She scowls, flicks her hair over her shoulder, then exits the room.

I breathe out slowly. Even though we’re indoors, my breath mists in front of me.

I suppose I’ll need to get used to people hating me. It will only get worse when they find out who I really am.

I inspect the dress. It’s simple—much less complicated than some of the dresses I wear at home. As I have no servants to help dress me, that is a good thing.

The fabric is thick red tartan, the same as Callum’s kilt. I hope that this is a good choice. Callum said he looks after his own, and it makes it seem like I am part of his clan. I only worry about what his actual clan will think of me wearing their colors. If Isla is anything to go by, they won’t be happy.

I take a couple of deep breaths to steady my nerves, then I peel off the fur cloak and wet nightdress, and change.

The boots are worn and a little too big for my feet, but I welcome the warmth.

I asses myself in the mirror.

I wince at the face starting back at me. My skin is pale and my eyelids are puffy. There are errant twigs caught in my tangled hair and I wish I had a brush and a hair tie. I don’t look like a Southlands princess at all.

I look wild.

How can I possibly face a king looking like this? How can I possibly faceCallumlooking like this?

Panic rises, and my eyes burn as I frantically run my hands through my hair.

If I’m not perfect, how can I get through this?

“Everything alright in there?” Callum’s steady voice permeates the door.

I close my eyes, then take a deep breath.

I am strong. I am stone. I am a statue.

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