Page 94 of The Night Prince

Callum shifts closer. I step aside. I don’t want the warm comfort he has denied me all day. I’m too far beyond thawing.

“You’re dressed rather warmly, Philip,” says Blake. “Keeping up appearances, or something else?”

It’s a strange comment to make when the climate in the Northlands is considerably colder than that in the south. Philip’s smile fades for a moment, as if Blake has touched on something.He stiffens when Blake leans forward and gently takes Philip’s hand. My muscles tighten.

“Blake. . .” I say.

Blake peels off Philip’s leather glove. The tip of his little finger is missing.

“Torture?” Blake drops the glove on the workbench to his side. “Or frostbite?”

My eyebrows lift. I can’t imagine that my brother would have been exposed to either.

“You’ve been keeping track of me,” says Philip.

“Naturally.”

The door swings open. Isla swans into the room, and irritation sparks within me. I didn’t see her at the feast. She wears a dress made out of the Highfell red tartan. The top part of her light-brown hair is braided into a crown, like mine, while the rest hangs loose and wild down her shoulders.

“Is there something you need, Isla?” Callum sounds weary, and I realize today is taking a toll on him.

“I was looking for you—” She halts. Philip angles his head to one side, and her nostrils flare. “There are two of them. Are we to be constantly inundated with southerners? When I traveled here from Highfell, I didn’t expect to be so consistently surrounded by these people.”

“What type of people did you expect to be surrounded by when you traveled south?” Blake says.

Isla’s face blanches, as if she’d not realized Blake was here. She raises her chin. “I expected to be among my own people,Wolves.We’re still in the Northlands.”

“If you’re looking for oil of evening primrose, I believe it’s over there.” Philip arches back his head, and indicates one of the shelves.

My eyebrows raise at his audacity, while Callum looks confused. Evening primrose oil was the remedy the palace healer would give me for easing the symptoms of my monthly bleed. Isla’s eyes become icy.

She stalks toward Philip. She grips the back of the chair on either side of him, and brings her face close to his. “Brave words, princeling, but you forget you’re among Wolves now. Your heartbeat is racing, and your scent... you smell of fear behind your rich perfumes and your pretty clothes. You’re nothing but a spoiled little boy, acting as if you’re not afraid, wishing you were back home among your silk and jewels.” She bares her teeth. “You’re a long way from home now.”

Philip leans forward against his restraints, their faces even closer. “And what of you,Isla?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Your perfume—rose petals, lemon, and a hint of rosemary. I met a woman at a market once who swore those were the ingredients for a love potion. Your dress, tightly fitting, and the red tartan of your clan... It’s the color of Highfell, a territory far from here, isn’t it? You’re a long way from home too, despite your apparent disdain for your surroundings. Then there’s the striking features of your face, made more feminine with powder and rouge, as if you wish to seem more demure and delicate than you are—perhaps to appeal to a figure of authority. An alpha. A king, perhaps. Yet he has eyes only for my sister, doesn’t he? Don’t worry, Isla,Isee you.”

Her knuckles are white as her grip tightens.

“Now whose heart is beating fast?” His nostrils flare. “And is that another scent I detect? Have I caught your interest,little wolf?” Dimples crease his cheeks as he lowers his voice. “If ever you’d like to play with someone who can bite as hard as you can, let me know.”

His eyes shift. His pupils dilate, and threads of silver glint among the blue-green of his irises. I inhale sharply. Isla’s breath hitches.

My brother doesn’t have the eyes of a man.

He has the eyes of a wolf.

Chapter Forty

Philip, the prince of the Southlands and heir to the throne, is a wolf.

Callum steps closer to me, as if—for the first time—he perceives my brother as a threat. His mountain scent curls protectively around me as his muscles harden.

I’m foolish to be shocked, but with everything going on, I’d not given much thought to my brother. If our mother was a wolf of course Philip would be a half-wolf like me. Though his eyes changed at will. His nostrils flared as he told Isla about her scent, and he claimed to hear her heartbeat. I told him he had not changed a bit.

You might be surprised,he had responded.

He has made the change. He was bitten, and was strong enough to survive. He is more of a wolf than I am. It’s typical of him to succeed where I’ve failed.

Panic flares inside me. Philip’s eyes confirm that I’m a wolf.

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