Page 103 of The Night Prince

They are all signedM.These letters depict Blake organizing the siege on the Borderlands castle with his spy. I put them away.

I find nothing of interest in the second drawer—a few maps of the Northlands, a list of poisonous flowers, and what looks like one of Elsie’s romance novels titledThe Alpha’s Fate.I can’t imagine him reading such tomes for pleasure, so I don’t know why it would be here. I shove them all back inside and scan the surface of the desk.

My heartbeat quickens when I move a book about Night’s Acolytes aside and find a piece of parchment, yellow with time. It’s not one of the pages I want, but there’s a handwritten note at the top.

I will not be able to write for a while. This may be of interest in terms of what you seek. I found it in Sebastian’s office. M.

At first glance, it looks like a spiderweb of lines, but on closer inspection, it’s a fading family tree that must stretchback forty generations or more. The name at the bottom of the diagram makes my heart still.Freja Månsken.It’s the name of my great-grandmother.

I trace the lines of the diagram, passing the names of those who must be my ancestors. The two names at the top have been scrubbed out. Why would Blake be looking into my ancestry? Why would Sebastian? Does this have something to do with the Heart of the Moon, and Lochlan’s theory that my mother had it?

I fold the parchment and put it into my pocket so I can study it more closely later. It’s not what I’m looking for, but it feels important. Especially as I’ve started to suspect that Blake wants something more than just the Wolf Throne.

I check the armoire in the corner, sliding my hands through the fabric of his clothing and releasing his scent into the air. Then I check beneath the black sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace.

There are men talking outside the room. I throw myself behind the bed just as the door clicks open.

“Because I’m concerned about you.” Jack’s deep voice infiltrates the chambers. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m thinking perfectly clearly.” There’s an edge to Blake’s silky tone.

“When was the last time you took someone to your bed?”

“What concern is that of yours?”

“I’m worried about your judgement. You’re wound up. You’re going to do something reckless. Again.”

I barely dare to breathe. I keep close to the floor, and try to still my heartbeat. I wonder if I should announce mypresence. I’ve burst into Blake’s chambers before, and he has never seemed particularly bothered.

“Can you just do as I ask?” Blake sounds weary. “We need to know what this ‘Dark Beast’ is. For all we know, Kai is possessed. Aurora and I found ourselves in Night’s prison recently. There was a hole in one of the cells. Something escaped.”

Any thought of revealing myself slips away. I flatten myself to the floorboards and slide beneath his bed so I can hear the rest of their conversation. I stare up at the dark bedframe, not daring to turn my head to watch the two men speaking.

“Shit,” says Jack. “You think Alex caught it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, would you?”

Jack sighs. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Don’t be long. I don’t think Callum will keep me around for much longer.”

“I’m surprised he’s not thrown you in a cell already.”

“Me too, if I’m honest.” Blake sounds amused. Anger prickles beneath my skin. I don’t like them mocking him.

Jack chuckles. “Just... hold it together while I’m gone. I don’t like you being here alone. Arran, or Elsie, orsomeoneshould be here to keep an eye on you.”

“I want them at Lowfell. Away from all of this. And when do I evernothold it together?” There’s a hint of sarcasm to his tone.

“I can call to memory a few times...” says Jack.

Blake laughs. He shuts the door and seals us both inside. The air is sucked out of the room.

Even though I get the sense I amuse Blake—that perhaps, even, he is attracted to me—I know that if he finds me, he will consider this a violation of his privacy.

I’m not sure how I can get away without alerting him. I lock the cage around my emotions. I try to still my pounding heart. Right now, he’s not blocking me from feeling him. There is turbulence within him. He feels restless. Distracted.

There’s a rustle of fabric as he takes off his shirt. He throws it aside, then walks to the bed. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing. He slips off his boots. He has a mark—a scar—on one of his ankles. He slides into bed, and the frame dips above me.

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