Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
“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.”
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.