The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance
The Wolf King: Chapter 47

“You said be bold,” I hiss.

“Yes, look him in the eye, answer his questions, don’t cower before him. I didn’t expect you to challenge his claim to the throne!” Blake laughs, and it’s a real laugh, too. Not contrived, like usual. “That was excellent. Not for you, obviously. But for me, that was truly entertaining.”

“Shut up, Blake.”

The Great Hall is filled with agitated voices. Someone shouts, “Death to the Southlands king!”

I chew my bottom lip. “Callum is the Wolf King’s brother?”

I am standing on the precipice of a storm that could break at any moment. All it will take is one wolf to charge onto this platform, one alpha to draw his sword. Robert certainly looks like he wants to as he mutters darkly to the large red-haired male beside him.

I glance at the door behind the throne. If the worst happens, that is where I will run. I would rather take my chances against the Wolf King with Callum at my side, than this unruly mob with only Blake for company.

Blake is completely at ease beside me, his hands in the pockets of his breeches. It is as if he is looking out onto one of the Northlands lochs on a peaceful morning.

His eyebrow cocks up. “He didn’t tell you?”

There’s an irritating smugness to his tone. He knows damn well that Callum didn’t tell me, and he is clearly trying to get a rise out of me.

An ugly feeling of betrayal twists with the anxiety building in my stomach. Why would Callum have kept something so important from me?

I want to voice my concern, but I do not want Blake to see my weakness. I swallow. I focus on one of the tapestries that shows the Elderwolf howling at the moon so I don’t have to look at the sea of hostile faces.

“They have a. . . complicated relationship.” Blake’s voice drops to a whisper—answering my unasked question anyway.

I try not to take the bait, yet I cannot fight the curiosity that flares within. “How so?”

Blake’s lips curve into a smile as if he’s pleased I’m willing to play his game with him.

“Their father started all this.” He inclines his head at the crowd of Wolves in the hall. “Bringing all the clans together. He was the first Wolf King. When he. . . died—”

Blake puts a strange weight on the word, and his eyes glint in the morning light that seeps through the narrow windows.

“—it left the position open. It was assumed one of his sons would take the title, though things do not work the same way here as they do in the Southlands. No one is entitled to the position based on the blood that runs in their veins. Rather, it is based on the blood that they spill. Any wolf can win the throne.”

“By challenging the current king?”

Blake inclines his head. “The appointment is more political than they will admit, though. Without the backing of at least half of the clans, the title means nothing.”

“There would be continuous civil war, I suppose.”

A half-smile plays on Blake’s lips. “Indeed.”

“What has that got to do with Callum and James?”

“James had more backing with the clans here. He is. . . more similar to his father. But Callum had support from some of the outlying clans.” He drops his voice lower, and I have to strain to hear him over the rabble. “It tipped the scale in his favor.”

“So he should have won?”

Blake shrugs a shoulder. “If he’d beaten James.”

“He lost the challenge?”

“He forfeited.”

My brow furrows. “Why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” says Blake, his eyes glinting with intrigue. “A question many Wolves are still asking. And by asking the question—”

“It weakens James’s claim to the throne.” I lower my voice because I do not want anyone to hear me. Surely this is a treasonous thing to say. “You don’t know who would have won if they’d actually fought. By walking away, Callum made his brother look weak.”

“Which James is not particularly thankful for.”

My insides clench at the knowledge. Callum’s strange sense of calm as we walked into this den of Wolves, and his assurance that he’d be able to talk his king into letting me stay, clearly relied on their familial bond. Yet it seems their relationship is complicated—maybe more so than Callum realizes.

That same kindness and sense of loyalty that drew me to him could wind up being my downfall. Has he been too generous in trusting his brother?

I try to settle my violent pulse, wondering what they are speaking about behind the closed door.

“You look exquisite, by the way,” says Blake, his voice smooth like honey. My head snaps toward him, but he is staring at a spot of wall above the oak doors at the opposite side of the hall. “You should never pretend to be less than what you are.”

My jaw tightens. That is rich, coming from him. Blake is a male whose entire persona seems contrived. He continually wears a mask of disinterest to hide his true intentions, whatever they may be. “And you don’t pretend?”

Dimples puncture his cheeks. “I’m always pretending.”

The door behind the throne opens and both of us look over our shoulders.

Callum stands in the doorway, looking tense. He gestures me over with a strained smile. His glaze slides to Blake and hardens. He says something I cannot hear and Blake inclines his head.

“As the king commands,” he replies.

My heart is in my throat as I walk past the throne and down the steps toward Callum. This is it. This is the moment when my fate will be sealed.

Blake looks bored as he follows closely behind.

“Calm yourself,” he whispers, his tone dark. “Wolves like to hunt little rabbits. Your pulse is pounding so hard that even I could be tempted to give chase.”

“Be quiet,” I snap. “How is saying something repugnant like that supposed to help?”

“Who says I’m trying to help?”

When we reach the doorway, Callum steers me into the room. His hand is strong and comforting on my lower back.

“It’ll be alright,” he says under his breath. “He just wants to meet you.”

Blake follows and shuts the door behind us, sealing out the noise from the Great Hall.

It is as if I have left the hurricane and now stand in the very eye of the storm.

The room we are in is small and windowless. Claustrophobic. There is no escape.

A fire crackles in the hearth and fills the air with the thick scent of woodsmoke. Above the mantel, a large rectangle of the stone wall is lighter than the rest—as though a painting or tapestry once hung there but has since been removed.

There is no furniture except for a couple of high-backed leather armchairs. The Wolf King sits in one, and his fingers drum against the arm of the chair.

Now I know they are brothers, I can see some of the similarities between them despite their different hair colors, and the ink that covers James’s arms.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and well built, I can imagine both are a fearsome sight on a battlefield. They also have a similar stubbornness in the line of their jaw, and almond-shaped eyes—though James’s are hazel.

We assess one another, and an uncomfortable silence spreads across the room. I will my pulse to calm and my posture to remain straight as I push down my emotions.

Be bold.

Finally, James leans forward. “So, this is the princess of the Southlands.”

“She—” Callum starts to speak, but James’s gaze snaps toward him.

“You’ve had your chance to speak, Brother.” His tone is harsh and gruff.

I catch a huff of laughter from Blake, where he leans by the door with his arms folded across his chest.

I meet James’s glare. “Yes.”

“A lot of my men died because of you,” he says. “Good men.”

Callum grits his teeth and a flash of pain passes over his features. It is as though he bears the weight of those lives lost.

“A lot of my men have died because of you, too,” I say, softly.

The king’s jaw tightens in the same way Callum’s does when he is displeased. He runs a hand over his stubble. “Our sources tell us your betrothed has the Heart of the Moon. Is that true?”

“I would not know. I only met him twice.”

His gaze moves to Blake. “Are we certain he has it?”

Blake shrugs. “As certain as we can be.”

James rises and I tense at the power that radiates from him. Callum shifts slightly so that his arm is in front of mine.

I fight the urge to step back.

“Has my brother dishonored you?” James’s voice is dangerously quiet.

Indignation rises in me, my cheeks flaming.

“I would never—” Callum growls.

“I can smell you all over her, Brother!” James’s eyes blaze as he glares at Callum. “What were you thinking? You kidnap the princess of our enemy without running it by me first, provoking the wrath of both their king’s army and Sebastian’s army! A plan that would have pleased me, had my men been prepared for it, and had you not gone all sappy-eyed for the lass! He has Wolves working for him, you know? Prisoners he’s turned. If I can smell you all over her, they will too. How the fuck are we to trade her when Sebastian will know that you’ve had her first?”

My breathing sharpens, my stomach hardening. I feel as if my insides are turning to steel.

“We’re not trading her.” Callum’s body is unsettlingly still.

“You forget your place, Brother. Don’t make me put you in the dungeons.”

Callum laughs, but it is not his usual easy laugh; it is dark and unfamiliar. “I’d like to see you try.”

The air thickens in the room and the tension is like a palpable thing. It is like elastic pulled too tight. Callum is breathing fast and James’s biceps strain against his shirt.

I need to do something, anything, to stop this from happening. If they fight and James wins, I am doomed. Callum will be locked away, leaving my fate in the hands of the Wolf King, who clearly does not want me here. If Callum wins, surely civil war will break out among the Wolves and the mob will turn on me anyway.

“I can be of more use to you here,” I say, my voice quiet yet clear.

Both of them snap their heads toward me.

“You do not even know for certain Sebastian has the relic you seek.” I make my voice sound stronger, more commanding. “I was raised in the Southlands palace. I know the King’s City. I know its defenses. And, what’s more, I know how my father’s mind works. My father and Sebastian do not care for my safety—I am nothing but a pawn to them—but they care that you’ve taken me. It makes them look weak. They will stop at nothing to get me back, and that will make them careless.”

I force myself to look the Wolf King in the eye. “If you want to win this war, you do not need some old rock that may or may not have magical powers. You need a strategy. You need me.”

The first hint of a smile ghosts James’s lips as he looks at me. “And why should we trust you, daughter of my enemy?”

“She chose to come here, you know?” says Blake as he studies his fingernails. “So strange for a rabbit to walk willingly into a den of Wolves.”

“Is that so?” asks James.

“Aye.” Callum sounds almost proud. “It’s true.”

James blows out hot air, then he laughs. “Fuck it. Let’s keep her. Piss off some Southern cunts. No offence, Blake.”

He slaps Callum’s arm, then walks past us to the door.

When he glances over his shoulder at me, something unreadable passes over his face. I tense, even as Callum relaxes beside me. There’s something hard in his eyes. Something calculating.

This doesn’t feel right. He was too easily persuaded. Too many of his people have died because of me.

Blake watches him warily, too.

James smiles and I could almost believe I imagined it. “Come. Let us put this behind us. Tonight we feast. Make no mistake, the Southlands armies are on their way. Tomorrow, we’ll further discuss how the princess can be of use to us.”