Page 92 of The Night Prince

“My apologies,” he says. “I must have forgotten my manners in all the violence. My name is—”

“Philip.” I stand abruptly.

Dimples crease his cheeks.

“Hello, little sister,” he says.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Silence.

Then, whispers. They slither through the crowd like snakes. “It’s the Southlands prince.”

The air erupts. Wolves jump to their feet. One of the benches turns over. Shouts fill the air. They’re hysterical. A woman’s shriek for vengeance is so hoarse I expect to see blood pouring from her mouth. Lochlan’s men push back those who run toward us.

I’m engulfed in the anger, and I know it’s aimed at me, as well. My hands ball into fists. My breathing is ragged, like I’m trying to contain a storm in my lungs. Fire blazes through my veins.

“What are you doing here, Philip?” My tone is icy.

His smile widens and shows off his perfect white teeth. He doesn’t seem even mildly concerned by the mob that bays for his blood.

He made my life miserable. He taunted me, mocked me, belittled me. He spent my entire childhood waltzing around the palace he was set to inherit as if he already owned it, and I was nothing but one of the objects within. He did as he pleased, drank as he pleased, bedded women as he pleased, and constantly made an exhibition of himself. He never received more than a slapped wrist for his behavior. All the while, I would be punished if so much as a crack showed in my perfect façade. Now he’shere.He must have got back from the war he was fighting on behalf of my father and come straight to the Northlands to bring me home.

“I might ask you the same thing, Sister.” He clucks his tongue over the noise. “Someone’s been a naughty girl. Daddy will be displeased.”

A low growl vibrates in Callum’s chest, a sound that a wiser man would cower from. My brother has always been a goddess-damned idiot. Does he not comprehend that he’s in enemy territory, surrounded by Wolves? Does he not sense the violence in the air? The thirst for blood—hisandmine?

Lochlan leans forward slightly, and his brow furrows. Philip’s grin falters, almost as if he recognizes the Glas-Cladach alpha.

Callum nods at Blake, who sits at the other end of the table.

Blake gets up and strolls toward Philip. In a sudden movement, he plunges a syringe into my brother’s neck, and Philip crumples to the floor.

“I’ll spend some time with him in the infirmary,” says Blake.

Callum stands up beside me. His arm brushes against mine. “No one else touches him until I’ve decided what to dowith him.” He gestures at a couple of men, and they lift my brother and drag him through the mob toward the exit.

“He wouldn’t have travelled alone,” I say. “He can barely dress himself without his entourage, let alone travel across the entire kingdom.”

“Lochlan?”

“I’ll send out a search party,” says Lochlan. His earlier darkness seems to be replaced by intrigue.

Callum whispers something to Fiona, then he and I follow Blake out of the Great Hall.

***

When we arrive at the infirmary, Philip is tied to a chair near the cot where Kai sleeps. His head lolls against his chest, and his hair is the color of tarnished copper in the soft light of the flames. His wrists are tied to the arms of the chair, and his long legs are spread slightly, his ankles bound to the feet.

I halt close to him, by the fireplace. Callum stands beside me. Blake dismisses the two men who brought Philip here.

Philip was supposed to be fighting in one of my father’s wars in the kingdom of Rema, but if this has hardened him in any way, he wears no evidence of it. His long, high-collared coat is well tailored, he’s as well-groomed as always, and his face—the only bit of his skin that is showing—is flushed with the flames, but not tanned by the warmer weather overseas. I can imagine him sitting in one of his big elaborate tents, drinking and eating and ordering others to do his—and my father’s—dirty work.

Blake uncorks a vial and puts it beneath Philip’s nose. My brother stirs, then groans. Blake walks to the workbench behind him and pulls a leather pack from one of the drawers. He flicks it open to reveal metal blades and scalpels. My insidestighten. I loathe my brother. Still, after reading about some of Blake’s experiments, I don’t think I’ve the stomach for whatever Blake is planning.

I expect Callum to put a stop to this. Blake pulls out a small blade, and Callum’s face is expressionless. Callum has always been so gentle with me that I forget that first impression I had of him. I’d thought him a bloodthirsty monster—as wild and untamed as the mountains he came from.

He’s not a monster. Heisa fierce warrior, an alpha, and now, a king. Philip being here is a threat to both me and his kingdom.

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