Page 58 of The Night Prince

I slap his arm, and he chuckles. Loudly.

“It’s not that bad!” I protest, though the cook at Madadh-allaidh, Mrs. McDonald, who I was tasked with helping when Callum brought me to the Northlands, might disagree. “I’ll be right down, Alfie.”

His face reddens even more, and he bows deeply to us both, which seems to further amuse Callum. Alfie turns and scampers down the corridor.

“He’s a spirited wee thing, isn’t he?” says Callum.

“He is.” I glance at the bedside table, where the new love story Elsie lent me,The Alpha’s Secret,now sits. I smile. “I wonder what Elsie needs.”

“Wolves fast on the day of the full moon, so often we have a big meal the night before. I’d not expected Blake to organize anything. Perhaps Elsie has taken it upon herself. You should go. It’ll help take your mind off things. I’ll go and have a word with Ryan in the meantime.” He nods to the figure outside as he hurls another rock into the water. “The lad seems like he’s wallowing.”

“Goodness, he does, doesn’t he? I saw him arguing with Becky earlier. I think she’s getting fed up of him talking about Fiona all the time.”

“That’s the problem with us Wolves. We’re very territorial. And very fixated on getting what we want.” He brushes his lips against my forehead.

I stand on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his lips. The wolf flickers in his eyes and he grins, then taps me on my behind. “Go on. Before I get any other ideas on how to pass the time.”

***

When I arrive in the Lowfell kitchens, the last thing I expect to see is Elsie chasing a lobster across the flagstones of the small shadowy room, while Alfie races around shrieking.

Her face is bright red, and strands of her dark hair have escaped her braid and stick to her rosy cheeks. I jump to the side as she swoops down, wrestles with the creature, and shoves it into a huge wicker basket—just as another crustacean emerges from the other side of the room and clambers onto the work surface.

“Oh, bloody bollocks!” she cries.

“Bollocks!” roars Alfie. He leaps back, hits the table, and knocks over a bowl of potatoes.

“Quiet, you! Don’t use bad words!”

She grabs the escaped lobster, shoves it into the basket, and commands Alfie to pick up all the potatoes he’s spilled. I crouch down, pick one of them up, and toss it to him. He catches it with a squeal, and I stand up and rub my now-muddy hands against my brown skirt.

“What on earth have I walked into?” I ask.

“ThankGhealachyou’re here.” Elsie leans against the counter and blows a strand of hair out of her face. Despite the searing heat in here, coming from the fire in the stone hearth and the large pot of water heating up atop it, she wears a long-sleeved grey dress that covers the Night tattoo on her wrist. “Blake wanted to organize a nice meal for tonight. I don’t know whose bloody brilliant idea it was to bring six live lobsters back from the market. Arran’s, probably. His idea of a joke. Still, they’ll taste nice when they’re done.” My smile falters, and Elsie’s eyebrows pinch together. “What is it? Don’t tell me you don’t like lobster.”

I bite my cheek, then walk over to the hearth to peer into the big pot. “I used to... I just... my brother told me how they were cooked, once.”

I was ten years old, and sitting at the family dining room in the palace—my mother and father at either end of the long table. It was her birthday—one of the last ones she would have—and she had dark circles beneath her eyes, but was trying to muster up the energy to act happy. My father didn’t bother to make conversation, and soon, the silence was broken only by the snap and crack as he tore off the claws of the creature on his plate and bashed its shell with the small hammer.

I found pleasure in pulling apart the lobster myself—using the nutcracker to tear off its legs and the small fork to pick out its sweet flesh, rather than having the kitchen staff prepare everything like usual. Until my brother, Philip, leaned close with the acidic scent of wine on his breath.

“He said they were put in a pot of cold water while they were alive, then heated up slowly. By the time they realized it was boiling, it was too late. They would clamber over one another, screaming, trying to get out. They could not escape, try as they might. He said it to upset me—he could never bear me having a moment of joy—but the story always stuck with me.” My throat tightens. “I’ve thought about it a lot since I came to the Northlands. Those lobsters. Their ignorance as their lives were taken from them, so slowly they didn’t even realize they were trapped. How they didn’t fight until it was too late. How they let themselves be killed.”

I turn, and Elsie is staring at me. My cheeks heat, and I instantly regret speaking. I turn my gaze to the narrow window and catch a glimpse of an overgrown walled garden outside.

“You got out, Aurora,” she says softly. “You escaped.”

“My mother didn’t.” I glance at Alfie. He sits at the table and plays with a couple of potatoes. “Your friend didn’t. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever truly escape.” I think aboutJames, and the bite, and the fact that one day, Blake will try to kill Callum in order to be king. “Other times I wonder if, when I clambered out of that pot, I ended up falling straight into the open flames.”

Elsie exhales. Loudly. She clucks her tongue, then slams her hand down on the counter. “Oh, bollocks!”

“Bollocks!” mimics Alfie.

My eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t eat the things now, can we?” Elsie grabs the huge basket, nudging a set of claws that pokes over the edge, and stomps toward the door. “Come on.”

“Where are you going?”

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