Текст книги "The wolf king"

Автор книги: Lauren Palphreyman

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Forty-Seven

“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.”

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Chapter Forty-Eight

The Great Hall is transformed for James’s feast.

There is drinking and laughter and shouting. We eat roast venison and potatoes and vegetables smothered with butter. Fires roar in the two hearths, fighting the cold night that seeps through the narrow windows. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke.

As the night gets darker, the food gets cleared away and people dance raucously to the upbeat music coming from the band in the corner. The sound of bagpipes and fiddles and drums accompanies stomping feet that shake the hall.

To an outsider, it would seem like a joyous occasion. Yet the emotions inside my chest are as turbulent as the couples spinning on the dancefloor and the wind that rattles the windows.

Something is wrong.

Despite James telling the Wolves I am not to be harmed, hostile eyes have fallen on me all evening. The thought that Magnus and his friends must be here somewhere puts me further on edge. I do not want those disgusting men so much as looking at me.

And, what’s more, I do not trust the Wolf King.

There was something about the way he looked at me that worries me. Whatever his plans are, I do not think they will work in my favor.

I have had no time to voice my concerns to Callum. He has been in meetings with the other alphas all day—leaving me in my chambers with Ryan at my door.

Now, we are seated at the alpha table—with Callum in deep conversation with his brother about battle tactics. As he has been for most of the evening.

I’m fiddling with my wooden beaker of water, when Blake drops into the empty chair beside me. He’s taken off his black coat, and his dark shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Hello, little rabbit.” I catch a hint of whisky on his breath. “Enjoying the festivities?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Exceedingly.” He leans over me to reach for a decanter full of amber-colored liquid. I have to lean back to prevent getting his armpit in my face. “Yet you are not drunk in the slightest. Something we simply must rectify.”

He tops up his glass, then fills my beaker and pushes it toward me. His eyes glint in the torchlight—curious and watchful. And certainly more intelligent than his current demeanor suggests. I wonder if he is even drunk, or whether this is just a game.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to drink all this and start behaving like that.”

I gesture at one of the men stumbling around on the dancefloor, who—as if knowing the point I’m trying to prove—trips over his boots and crashes into one of the tables, knocking over a chair and spilling a jug of ale.

A dimple creases one of Blake’s cheeks. “Not at all. I’m merely trying to help. You seem on edge, little rabbit. Whisky helps.”

“I’d prefer to keep my wits about me.”

I scan the Great Hall—filled with Wolves who gave me grief before they knew I was the Southlands princess. I catch sight of Isla, dancing and giggling with a group of women. I think of what Magnus tried to do to me. I cannot suppress the cold shiver that crawls up my spine despite the blazing heat in here.

“It’s a shame Magnus couldn’t make it tonight,” says Blake, as though he read my mind. “He got a nasty bout of food poisoning. As did his friends. They’re in my infirmary. Don’t worry, though. I’m taking care of them.”

His voice is as dark as the night outside the castle.

The Great Hall seems to still. The music fades. All I can hear is my heartbeat, pounding in my ears.

My gaze snaps up to Blake’s, and something in his eyes makes me shiver.

I recall the vial of poison he took from me in the kitchens; the one I was going to use on Isla. He said he had a use for it.

Did he use it on them?

The corner of his lip quirks in answer to my unasked question.

“Will they. . . will they survive?” I ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He shrugs. “What do you think?”

A shadow stirs inside me—provoked by the darkness in Blake’s gaze. Everything else seems distant.

He is offering to kill them for me. I do not know how to feel about that. They deserve death, for what they were intending to do. But could my conscience bear it?

I swallow. “I. . . I don’t know.”

“Pity.”

“Are they in pain?”

“Very much so.”

I grab my beaker with shaking hands, clutching at the wood until my knuckles whiten.

I smile. “Good.”

Blake raises his glass. And, Goddess help me, I clink my beaker against it and drain it. I wince as the hot smoky liquid burns my throat. Coughing, I place it back down upon the table.

Blake nudges the bottle toward me before getting up and walking back into the crowd.

I pour myself another whisky.

He’s right. It does take the edge off.

***

“You’re drunk!” Callum roars.

Hundreds of candles flicker on the tabletops, and the light dances over his handsome face.

James has gone to mingle with his people, so Callum and I are alone at the alpha table. The Great Hall is a blur of dancing and brawling and music.

I poke him in the chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. I giggle. “You’re drunk.”

He laughs, as if he cannot believe what he’s seeing.

“Aye, I am a bit. Not as much as you.” He shakes his head. “You’re going to be a bloody nightmare tomorrow when the hangover kicks in! Goddess! I’m a wee bit scared!”

“You’re scared of me?”

“Oh aye. Very.”

“You said I was small!”

“You are small. You’re a small and fearsome creature.”

His face swims in and out of focus. I grab both sides of his head, and push my forehead into his. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

He laughs again, and his big hands curl around my waist. “You see? Terrifying.”

I dip my mouth to his ear. “That thing you did last night. I want you to do it again.”

He stills, his fingers tightening, and a soft groan scrapes his throat. His expression is pained. “Let’s see how you feel in the morning, shall we?”

“No. Now.”

He twists me around and pulls me onto his lap. “You see? You’re a small, fearsome, and demanding creature.” His warm breath tickles my ear. “And, believe me when I say, if you torture me tonight, I shall repay the debt tomorrow.”

“I’m not torturing you!”

I try to face him, but he pulls me back again, his thick arm hooked around my waist. His chest rises and falls deeply against my back.

“Oh, but you are. I’m hard just thinking about what we did last night, and about how much I want to do it again right now.” His words turn my insides to molten gold. He nips my ear with his teeth and I gasp. “I’d slide my hand between your legs right now if I could. I’d make you come while they all danced—oblivious to what I was doing to you.”

My pulse hammers in my ears, heat pooling at my core. “Why don’t you do it then?”

The wolf is in his eyes, and he does not try to hide it. “Because you’re drunk. And I’m drunk. And I fear you’d regret it in the morning.”

I stroke the side of his face, my fingers tracing his lips. “I wouldn’t.”

His eyes return to their usual forest-green. “Be that as it may, I won’t take that risk while you’re drunk. I will dance with you, though.”

“I’m not drunk!”

I push my fingers into his mouth. He nips them playfully with his teeth. I giggle.

“You are very drunk, Princess.” He glances at the writhing mass of people on the dancefloor. “Let’s dance.”

“I don’t know the moves.”

Callum nods at a couples of Wolves, spinning around and causing mayhem as others dodge out of their path. “I don’t think many of them do, either.”

A grin spreads across my face, and I jump up. “Okay. Come on then.”

He takes a deep breath, giving me a sheepish smile. “Aye. Just. . . just give me a moment.”

He looks away from me, exhaling. I’m about to ask him what the problem is, but he adjusts his kilt, and gets up.

He puts an arm around my waist, smiles, and leads me to the dancefloor.

***

I’m happy.

The thought jolts through me like a silver bullet—unfamiliar and strange and certain.

My feet ache from dancing. Strands of my hair escape their pins and stick to my face. My chest hurts because I’m constricted by my corset, and I’m far too hot beneath my long lacy sleeves.

Yet I am happy.

I do not hide the smile on my face, or my squeal of glee as Callum spins me around—his eyes filled with wonder and delight. His hands are warm and firm around mine.

The joy that has washed over me seems to have flooded the entire Great Hall. The dancefloor has cleared a little since earlier, with some of the Wolves heading into the alcoves, but the nearby Wolves dance alongside us. They’re too caught up in the music and the alcohol and their own laughter to throw any ill-feeling my way.

I have attended many dances in my twenty years, but I’ve never cut loose and felt so free.

Callum laughs as I spread my arms and spin around. He pulls me close. “I’ve just seen Fi. I need to speak with her about something.” His warm breath tickles my ear and I giggle. “Come on, sit down for a moment. Let’s get you a glass of water. I fear the havoc you will cause if I leave you unattended.”

He grins as he leads me to one of the tables and sits me down on the bench.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He kisses my forehead. “Be good, okay?”

He strides over to Fiona, who is standing by the oak doors dressed in her stable gear. It could be my imagination, but she looks a little tense.

I follow her gaze to the seat at the middle of the alpha table where James now sits. He is speaking with Robert, one hand on a tankard of ale.

As they’re speaking, Blake walks past them to the band. Nearby, Brodie is watching them play. The young male’s expression is a mixture of resentment and awe, and the corner of my lip twitches.

Blake whispers something to one of the band members. They change the tune they’re playing to something a little slower.

I sway on the bench. The melody is familiar to me, though I cannot place it. I reach for a beaker and pour myself a glass of water.

When I turn back to the dancefloor, Blake stands in front of me.

He holds out a slender hand.

“Would you care to dance?” he asks.

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