Page 62 of The Wolf King

I assess her, wondering whether to tell her the truth. Back home, the ladies who would keep me company at balls, or on walks in the grounds, would go along with anything I said—wanting desperately to gain my favor and the favor of the king.

I get the impression that, for once, I can have a candid conversation. Perhaps she’ll even understand.

“My whole life, I have been treated like a prize or a possession. I thought...” I sigh. “I don’t know. I thought it might be different here. Like, maybe I could be something, or someone, else. If I wear that thing, I just belong to another man. It’s the same as back home.”

She nods. “Aye. I get that. You know, it’s freer up here for females than it is in the Southlands. We can fight, and work in the stables, and we have a say in the clan politics. But you’ll have noticed that there were no females sitting at that alpha table in the Great Hall last night. And there are certain old wolf traditions that, in my opinion, should be wiped out.” She nods at the small box. “If it makes you feel any better, Callum doesn’t like it as a tradition, either. And wearing itwillgive you the freedom to go about the castle without fear.” She bites her bottom lip and looks like she’s deciding whether or not to tell me something. “Honestly, I’m surprised he decided to give it to you. The cost is as high for him as it is for you.”

My eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps he’ll explain it to you sometime.” She pushes off from the desk and walks back to the door. “You should wear it though. The full moon is coming and you’re a human.” Her eyes darken in the morning light. “You’ll need all the protection you can get when she rises.”

Perhaps she is right, but I cannot bring myself to put on the collar.

***

The next few days pass by in a similar manner.

I wake up aching and sore—my muscles stiff from the journey here. Callum visits in the morning. Fiona brings me porridge and berries and fresh tea at breakfast time. And a lady-in-waiting visits in the evening to bring me potted pies, and cuts of meat and bread.

When I am alone, I explore my small bedchambers while the rain patters against the window.

I read more of that horrible book of experiments, flicking through pages titledThe effects of wolfsbane on a wolf’s ability to heal,The order in which a wolf’s bones break when they shift,andProvoking the inner wolf: A half-wolf’s response to emotional trauma.

I am certain I do not want to meet the person who stayed in this room before me.

I find myself looking forward to Callum’s visits—where he inappropriately sits on my bed, or stands by the window, and shares snippets of his life with me.

He tells me about his clan’s castle, which is so far north that it barely sees sunlight, about hunting in the forests as he was growing up, and about breaking his leg when he was a boy—climbing down into Glen Ghealach to find an old temple dedicated to the Elderwolf.

Despite his frustration with me that first morning, he doesn’t push too hard about the collar.

“You know, some would think it an honor to wear,” he tells me one morning.

“Like who? Isla?” I cross my arms. She practically swooned over him when we first arrived at the castle. I bet she would love to “belong” to him.

A slow grin spreads across Callum’s face at that. “Aye. Like Isla.”

I scowl and tell him to leave.

“But I’d prefer it if you wore it, Princess.”

A traitorous smile crosses my lips that I quickly hide from him.

I know I should just end this stupid morning ritual—yet I cannot quite bring myself to do it. The days are peaceful, and a part of my soul I didn’t even know was broken feels as if it is slowly starting to heal.

Strangely, Callum seems to be enjoying our newfound routine as much as I am. Though he appears increasingly disheveled each morning.

A small seed of guilt begins to sprout in my chest.

Is he not sleeping because of me? Has he been standing guard at night?

It is a conversation with Fiona, on the third night when she brings up my dinner, that finally seals my fate.

“Have you had word of the others?” I ask her, cutting into a piece of venison pie as I sit at the desk. “The ones who escaped Sebastian’s castle with us?”

She’s lying on my bed, her hands clasped behind her head, her dirty boots on my bedspread.

I have never had a friend before. My days were full of false smile and fake laughs. Everyone was too afraid of my father to say anything that wasn’t superficial. A small part of me wonders if it could be different with Fiona, but I push the thought away. Why would she want to be friends with the daughter of an enemy king?

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