Page 90 of The Night Prince

Isit cross-legged on the small bed with Blake’s book on the white quilt in front of me. I’m in my old room, in the castle tower.

It looks the same way it did the last time I was here. It’s simply furnished. Books cover almost every surface—the shelves, the writing desk by the small window, the bedside table. A candle burns low on the bedside table. Rain hammers against the window, and the sky is grey outside—a reflection of my mood.

Testing the Lore of Wolvesis written in gold lettering across the front of the book. Golden stars dust the spine. The book is familiar to me, and it comes to me quickly. Blake slid this book from one of the shelves in this room, in front of me. He was secretive about it, and took it the morning when Callum rode out to help James.

As James said, it’s one of Blake’s books of experiments. The handwriting is neater than the scrawled notebooks I’ve read, and when I stumble on some experiments I’ve read before—the melting of an eyeball to see if it grows back, the testing of different metals on a wolf’s skin, and the order in which bones break on the night of a full moon—I realize it’s a write-up of the most interesting experiments. This book, I think, was meant for wider distribution.

I flick through, and hope that something will jump out at me. I’m alert for the wordconnectionorlife forceorbondamong the dusty pages. I’m tired, though, and the ink starts to blur.

When I jolt awake, the sky outside the window is dark. My dreams were restless. I found myself in dark corridors, passing barred cells, and being pursued by someone whistling in the shadows.

I’m dreaming of Night’s prison, and I try to tell myself it’s because of my encounter with Alexander, and the chapel in which I tended to Blake’s shoulder, and all the talk of the dark god, of late. Yet my mother’s stories have taken root in my mind and started to spread their vines. She told me Night would tempt desperate mortals, and offer them what they wanted the most in exchange for their souls.

I’m the daughter of one king, and the consort of another. Does Night covet my soul?

Someone taps on my door. I slide the book under my pillow, then pad across the room. I open it, and peer through the gap. Some of my tension dissipates.

“Fiona, what are you doing here?” I ask.

“They’re throwing a feast for Callum downstairs. It’s tradition when there’s a new alpha or king. Put on a bonny dress and hurry!”

I frown. “Callum didn’t tell me.”

“He’s been with the alphas all day. He told me to bring you down.”

Her enthusiasm provokes a smile, even if I wish Callum had come for me himself. “Just a moment.” I hurry over to the armoire, throw it open, and pick a dress.

I prepare myself for the feast.

***

The skirt of my long-sleeved crimson dress brushes against the stone steps as I follow Fiona down the spiral staircase. I wish I’d had longer to prepare. Fiona burst into my room as I was doing my hair, and I only just had time to braid it and weave it into a messy crown. I haven’t even bathed since I arrived here.

Fiona tells me how she spent the afternoon trying to help Callum keep the peace among the clans. “He’s trying to prepare them for battle, given Alexander’s threat, but it’s proving difficult when some of the alphas keep trying to undermine him. Rob’s the worst.”

“He’s the huge bald man who wears green?”

“Aye. His clan have always been trouble.” She frowns at my bandaged hand as we spill into the corridor at the foot of the tower. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing.”

Fiona and I part ways when we reach the entrance hall. She tells me she hasn’t had chance to check her horses yet. I make the rest of the journey to the Great Hall alone. Brodie, the young freckled boy from Madadh-allaidh, is playing his bagpipes outside the double doors.

“You’ve improved greatly, Brodie,” I say.

He plays a shrill note as I pass, and his cheeks flush as red as his hair. I recall how his chest had puffed up with pride when Callum complimented him the first time I came here. Like then, my amusement dies as soon as I step through the doors.

The Great Hall is loud, hot, and more packed than I’ve ever seen it. Fires roar in the hearths, and Lochlan’s men stand guard in the shadows. The four long tables are packed with Wolves. They shout across the space to one another. A man in blue tartan pinches Kayleigh’s behind as she hurries across the hall carrying a tray of meat, causing Mrs. McDonald to grab him by the ear, and shout at him until his face turns purple. When a brawl breaks out between two of the benches, and blood sprays across the flagstones, two of Lochlan’s men stride over and break it up.

Callum sits on the wooden throne in the center of the alpha table. A tapestry of the Moon giving the Elderwolf her heart adorns the wall behind him. He looks like a king. His hair is brushed back from his face, emphasizing his strong jaw and his bright eyes. He wears a brown coat across his broad shoulders, with a red tartan sash across it. It must have belonged to James, because it has all the clan colors in it except for the yellow of Lochlan’s clan. I imagine that will soon be weaved into the pattern.

Lochlan sits beside Callum, but his body is slightly turned away. I wonder if he’s upset about earlier, with Kai, or whether they’ve been arguing about something else.

Callum’s eyes lock onto mine, so intense that my mouth dries.

The noise in the hall dims, as if the Wolves can sense where their king’s attention lies. Some of the faces that turn toward me are hostile. I’m clearly viewed as an enemy—notonly because of my father, but for my role in this war between brothers.

Perhaps I should have stayed in my chambers.

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