Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
“He won’t harm you,” says Callum, touching the small of my back.
There’s a mass of Wolves in the Great Hall already, shouting and laughing as they wait.
“Even if he doesn’t, the others might,” I say. “My people have just attacked your people once more. Who is to say that the whole room won’t turn on me?”
He cups my face in his big hand, and bends to rest his forehead against mine. “I won’t let that happen. I swear it.”
I run a hand over his chest, feeling the strength in him, before resting my palm against his heart.
It beats steadily. Calm. Unafraid.
I’m not sure I believe this will work out in my favor. But Callum seems confident, at least.
He brushes his lips against my forehead, running his hand over the back of my neck.
“Come,” he says.
He takes my hand, then leads me through the doors.
The tables have been pushed to the sides of the hall, where the tapestries that depict the story of the Elderwolf hang.
Callum pushes through the tangle of limbs. Those nearest to us move aside to let us pass. Some look at me strangely, confusion and curiosity dancing in their eyes. I wonder if my dress lends a clue as to who I really am.
I suppose I no longer look like a kitchen maid.
I look like the daughter of their enemy king.
I keep my head high, though my grip on Callum’s hand tightens. He squeezes back as he leads me up the steps onto the wooden platform where the alpha’s table usually stands.
In its place, there is now a large wooden throne. It is simple, but the back has been carved into an image of trees twisting up to a full moon.
The alphas of the clans stand on either side of it-six in total including Robert the acting Wolf King.
Callum leads me to one side of the platform.
From the far end of the line-up, Blake catches my eye.
He looks very different from the disheveled male I encountered earlier. He’s changed out of his scruffy clothes, and is wearing an elegant black coat with silver buttons, over a dark shirt and breeches.
“How did it go with Blake, anyway?” asks Callum under his breath.
“I. . . kind of. . .well. . .” I fight the flush of embarrassment. “I hit him.”
Callum’s eyebrows lift. “He let you hit him?”
“No, Callum. He didn’t let me hit him. Why would you say that?”
“You’re very small.” He grins as I glare at him. “You’re not going to hit me, are you?”
“Oh, be quiet.”
He looks at Blake, who is straightening his cuffs, and his expression darkens. “He may look like a wee weasel, but he’s more capable than he seems. He was in the King’s Guard for a time, if you believe his stories. He’s a deadly warrior when he chooses to fight rather than stab people in the back, or poison them. It’s hard to believe you could just walk into his chambers and hit him.”
“Perhaps that’s how I did it. Because you males have such difficulty in believing women could do such things.”
“Hm, perhaps,” says Callum.
Across the room, Blake smirks, and I’m sure he’s listening.
I’m trying to think of something I can say to annoy Blake, when the bagpipe music stops.
I breathe in sharply. Callum tenses, his hard bicep brushing my arm. A hush descends over the Great Hall. For a moment, the air is thick with silence.
The pipes start playing again, but it’s a more regal piece with a slower rhythm.
“It’ll be okay,” mutters Callum, and I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or himself as the crowd parts to create a walkway in the center of the room.
My heart beats fast. I think of the little that I know of the Wolf King. He united seven warring Northlands clans and big brutish alphas follow his command.
He likes bold women.
I need him to like me if I am to escape execution, and to avoid going back to Sebastian.
Be bold, I tell myself, though my insides are twisting and a storm is billowing in my chest.
Be bold.
I raise my chin as all gazes turn to the back of the Great Hall.
steps through the wooden doors.
He looks like no king I have encountered before. Tall and muscular, he wears no crown or fancy jewels, and dresses simply in a cream shirt and kilt. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing tattoos inked on his corded forearms. His tangled hair is brown, and it brushes his powerful shoulders. I cannot quite tell his age, but I’d wager he is around thirty.
He commands all the attention in the room, and as he strides toward us, the Wolves drop to one knee.
As he gets closer, and my pulse races faster, I notice that his kilt is predominantly red, like Callum’s, but it’s a different pattern. It seems to contain the colors of all the clans.
He walks up the steps of the platform, his boots thudding and shaking the wood. The alphas all dip their heads deferentially, Callum included.
I, however, cannot stop staring.
‘s eyes land on mine, and he frowns. Slowly, he walks toward me. Callum tenses, and my insides clench.
Be bold.
He seems to appraise me for a moment.
“It’s customary to kneel in the presence of a king,” he says. His voice is low and powerful, thick with the accent of the Northlands.
I always thought my wedding day was the moment my whole life was building toward, but now, I think perhaps it was this one.
I have one moment to make an impression. One moment to show I am not a useless doll. Nor a pawn to be played in a game between men. Nor a statue, made of stone, with nothing inside.
I spared Ryan in that fighting ring. I chose to come with Callum to this Kingdom of Wolves. I bartered with him for my freedom.
Be bold, my pounding heartbeat demands.
Be bold.
I swallow and raise my chin.
“A real princess does not kneel to a false king,” I say.
There’s a collective intake of breath within the Great Hall. A few of the alphas step forward. Shouts ring through the room. Robert’s hand curls around his sword.
I can barely focus on the disruption I have created. The hall is blurring around me. The adrenaline that pumps through my veins makes everything seem faraway.