Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
When one of the men who brought me down here earlier walks to the cell door, I lift my head to meet his cold stare.
I will not die tonight.
“It’s sundown,” he says. “I’m to take you to the Wolf King. He awaits your decision.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Iam taken to a room on the ground floor of the manor.
It is dark and sparsely furnished. In one corner, there is a bucket filled with water. A white dress is draped over one of the tattered armchairs.
The hearth is unlit and the air is stale and bitingly cold.
“You’re to bathe, then dress,” says my guard. His voice is gruff and devoid of warmth.
He has a dark beard, severe eyes, and wears the same green kilt that Robert and Magnus wear.
I swallow, calming my racing pulse.
I will get out of this. I will survive.
I survived my mother’s illness, and the beatings from the High Priest. I came with Callum to the Northlands in search of my freedom.
I will find it.
But I must pick my moment. I must play this game, and accept my role in it. Until the opportune moment comes for me to make a move.
I nod. “Very well. Wait outside, please.”
“Bathe. Now.”
Does he really expect me to undress in front of him?
“Are you aware of the choice your king has presented to me?” I ask.
“Aye.”
I remember what Blake said to his friend when I awoke in the cell.
He’s territorial. It works in our favor.
Was he talking about James?
“Then you know he has offered me a betrothal.” I raise my chin. “Do you think he will be pleased to find out you have watched his potential future wife undress?”
He clenches his jaw and glares at me. “You have five minutes. And if I can smell the Highfell Wolf on you when I come back, I’ll bathe you again myself.”
He turns on his heel and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
I release a breath and it plumes in front of me in the darkness.
I rub my sore and aching wrists. The skin is red and raw from the handcuffs.
Untangling the ball of nerves in the pit of my stomach, I scour my surroundings for anything that might be of use. The room is decaying and barren. There is no poker by the fire, no weapons in sight. One of the armchairs is covered with a tattered sheet. There’s a layer of dust on the floorboards.
I walk to the window.
Even if it were not fastened shut with bars across it, I would not be able to escape through it.
Outside, against a backdrop of shadowy mountains, Wolves are gathering with their horses. There must be about one hundred of them. Their voices seep through the thin glass, low and excitable. Men preparing for war.
The night sky above them is lit by the moon. Although not full, it is brighter than usual. It is as if the Moon Goddess herself has come forth to watch the events of this evening unfold. It is a good job she is locked away in Night’s prison, because surely her favor would fall upon the Wolf King-not the princess of a kingdom that worships the Sun.
I turn away from the freedom that taunts me, and walk to the bucket in the corner. I strip off my damp shirt and breeches.
The water is ice-cold, but the anger burning in my soul keeps me from shuddering as I lather up the soap and wash myself. As I do, I’m aware that I’m washing away all trace of Callum’s touch. It fills me with a profound sadness.
How could only a day have passed since I was in his arms, thinking we could be free together? How could I have been so naïve to think I would have a happy ending?
I recall Blake’s touch as we grappled in the cell, his grip on my thighs, his mouth close to mine.
I scrub myself harder.
When I’m clean, I shiver as I pat myself dry with the towel by the bucket. I pull on the dress that has been laid out for me.
My muscles harden as I realize it is the long-sleeved white dress I was going to wear to meet the Wolf King for the first time. The one Blake said made me look like a doll. Did he bring this here for me to wear?
It serves both of James’s purposes, I suppose. It is the right color for a wedding gown, should I accept his proposal. But it also signals an innocence I no longer possess, should he need to sell me back to Sebastian.
I take a deep breath, and taste dust and decay on the air. I smooth down the front of the dress, then run my fingers through my tangled red hair. I straighten my posture.
I know what I must do.
The door opens, and the guard returns. He reaches for me, but I step back.
“I will not run,” I say, meeting his hard glare. “I am ready to meet with your king.”
He nods. “Fine.”
He leads me out of the room.
We exit the manor through a cold entrance hall, and step out onto the grounds outside where the Wolves are gathering. The wind whips my hair, and ruffles my dress, yet I am not cold. I am too fired up with adrenaline for that.
We weave through the crowd. Swords and daggers glint in the moonlight. My boots sink into the mud. The air smells like horses and male sweat, sweetened by the heather that grows in the surrounding mountains.
A little way ahead of them stands James with a large white horse. Its mane is the color of moonlight. He’s looking away from his men, up at the sky.
Not far from him, I spot Blake.
He’s dressed all in black, and stands still among the chaos. The wind ruffles his dark hair. His expression is unreadable.
A flash of anger surges through me. I walk to him, and tilt my head.
There is no smirk on his lips. He emanates darkness.
“You will get what is coming to you, Blake.” My breath plumes, twisting in the air between us. “Everything that you have, everything that you are, is built on lies and pretense and falsehoods. One day, you will make a wrong move, and it will all crumble around you. One day, you will be your own undoing. I only wish I could be there to see you fall.”
He brushes past me and weaves through the crowd toward the manor without so much as a word.
A tornado of rage whirls inside my chest. That is the last interaction we are to have? Does he not have anything to say to me? Is he even coming with us?
“Keep going.” The guard pushes me, and I stumble forward toward the Wolf King.
James turns.
All thoughts of Blake dissipate. I gather myself, and stare at the more pressing threat before me. He’s dressed for battle with a sword and a dagger on his belt. He’s an imposing figure, standing in front of a backdrop of shadowy mountains with the wind stirring his shoulder-length hair.