The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

The wind picks up around us as we ride out of the valley. It is as wild and untamed as the feelings that whirl around in my stomach. Even the mountains seem to move as the gust blows through the grass and the trees.

But the mountains remain whole. And so must I.

I can’t let anyone see I am afraid of the fate that awaits me when we reach the Wolf King.

After a few hours of riding, due to my insistence, we take a break to eat some more bread and hard cheese. Much to Callum’s exasperation.

If I’m honest, I’m not hungry. Every hour we ride brings us closer to the Wolves and a part of me wants to delay what is coming, to prepare myself.

We’re just about to set off again, and Callum is packing up the horse, when the sky opens.

I gasp. I have never seen rain like this—so wild and loud and wet. It even makes the rain I’ve experienced over the past couple of days seem tame. It runs down my face, my lips—making my hair stick to my cheeks and seeping through my furs.

It rains in the King’s City, too, of course. But there, it’s nothing more than moisture in the air and patters on the cobblestones; a moment’s reprieve from the heat from the Sun Goddess. And even then, if I am ever caught out in it, one of the King’s Guard will put a parasol over my head and usher me indoors as if I will break if the water touches me.

Dolls are not supposed to get wet, after all.

It frustrated me at the time, but I wonder now if they were right. I think I am breaking. The stone statue I dream about is cracking beneath the raindrops.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m turning my face toward the sky and stretching out my arms—welcoming the feeling of cold water on my skin.

I laugh.

I am here, and I am human, and I am alive.

A footstep causes the laughter to die in my throat as the realization of where I am and who I’m with crashes through me.

Slowly, I turn to face him.

I have always thought of rain as an equalizer of men. It doesn’t matter if you’re dressed in rags or finery, the rain will soak you and make you look smaller all the same.

It is different with Callum. It is like the rain strengthens him.

Water rolls off his kilt, and his tree-trunk calves are muddy. His shirt sticks to his muscles and emphasizes how big they are.

I look up at his face—fearing the disgust I’m sure I’ll see in his eyes, and wondering if he’ll scold me, or backhand me, like my father would if he’d witnessed such a scene.

He is looking at me as though I am the strangest, most wonderful thing he has ever seen. There’s a broad smile on his face, and it’s that, more than anything, that makes me realize how dangerous this man—this wolf—is.

This is someone who has no need to conceal his emotions, because who would dare judge him or take advantage of him because of them? He looks like if he decided to punch the ground, he would cause an earthquake.

Heart thumping, I drag my gaze away.

“I’m glad the rain pleases you, Princess,” he says. “There’s plenty more of that where we’re heading. Now come, we’d better be on our way.”

***

An hour later, I am no longer laughing, nor pleased.

The rain has stopped, and I am bedraggled and miserable.

“You need to find me some suitable clothes to change into when we arrive,” I say. “You can’t present me to your king like this.”

“You can change into one of my shirts and—”

“Something suitable, Callum.”

He sighs. He sounds resigned. “Aye.”

“Well. . . good.” Some of the nerves in my stomach steady.

If I was back home, I’d spend the entire day preparing for something like this—bathing, braiding my hair, selecting the perfect dress; one that would convey whatever message my father was trying to send.

I’d be demure and sweet, or fun and flirty, or a tempting prize to be won.

I would be more confident about meeting the Wolf King if I had access to my finery and my costumes. But at least if I can change out of my nightdress, I can make myself somewhat presentable.

We fall silent for a while, and the wind beings to calm as we take an overgrown road through the grass and fern.

The sounds of bird calls that I’ve not heard before and running water surround us.

The sun is higher now. It does little to warm the Northlands air, but I close my eyes for a moment and bask in the light regardless. When I open them, I notice how it turns the vein-like streams coming down the mountains silver.

A strange sense of peace settles over me. I find myself sinking back into the man behind me.

Even if I bring my father valuable information about the Wolves and their king, he’ll still find something to punish me for when I get home. What does it matter if I relax for a while? Even if I am sitting inappropriately close to a man who is not my betrothed.

I glance down. Callum’s thighs are huge, and they rub against mine through his red tartan.

A rumor I heard the ladies-in-waiting whispering back at the palace comes back to me, about how Wolves wear no undergarments beneath their kilts.

I stiffen. If that is true, he is sitting way too close to me.

“It’s going to be alright, you know?” Callum says, misreading my tension.

I can’t exactly ask him about his undergarments, so I decide to follow his track of conversation. “You don’t know that.”

“I told you, I’ll protect you. I take care of my own.”

I’m about to tell him I’m not his, and as such, that means very little to me. But an image of muscle and blood, and the sickening sound of cracking bone, flashes behind my eyelids.

“You didn’t take care of Ryan,” I say quietly.

His knuckles whiten as he clenches the reins on my lap.

I tense. It was the wrong thing to say.

Although it is a valid fear of mine. Because how can he tell me he will take care of me—the daughter of his enemy—when he was going to kill a young man from his own pack?

I don’t think he’s going to respond. I hear him swallow.

“No.” His voice is rough. “No. I didn’t. I should’ve dislocated his arm back at the castle, when I saw him loading up his horse.”

“Your regret is you should have hurt him earlier?”

“Aye. I let him disobey me because I knew about the lass he wanted to save. I was too soft on the lad.”

“Dislocating someone’s arm is hardly taking care of them, nor being soft!”

“It’s better than killing them for your betrothed’s amusement!” His tone is harsher than I’ve ever heard it, and cool shame floods my system.

“It’s not as if I have a say in who I marry!”

“No? I thought you said there was always a choice, Princess.”

I grit my teeth. “Yes. And the choice was to marry Sebastian and survive, or refuse him—rendering myself useless to my father. I made my choice to survive, and I would make it again.”

“Aye. And I made my choice, too,” says Callum, his tone a little softer. “I chose to rough up the lad in the ring so you’d take pity on him and spare him.”

My breath mists in front of my face as I breathe out slowly. “You couldn’t possibly know I would do that.”

“I didn’t,” he says. “Not for certain. But I could smell your fear, and hear your heartbeat. I could sense your repulsion of the men sitting beside you, and I could feel you didn’t want to be there in that hall. And yet, you didn’t show it. And when your eyes met mine, I could see the steel in them. I could see the determination, and the strength, and the fire in your soul. Most people would’ve looked away from me if I’d looked at them the way I looked at you, but you didn’t. And I felt the hatred in that gaze. You hated everyone in that room, and you hated me. Goddess, you hated me. You hated me for what I was about to do to the lad.” He lets loose a half-laugh that sounds almost like a growl. “No. I didn’t know for certain. But I was pretty sure.”

Something tightens, then loosens, inside me.

I’m not sure why his words are having such an effect on me. Perhaps because he is right. Perhaps because, in a room crowded with people, he was the only one who noticed me. I cannot remember a time when anyone else has ever really looked.

“I noticed something else about the way you were looking at me, Princess.” His voice is lighter, almost teasing.

My eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“You thought I was handsome.” His voice is alight with amusement now. I can hear the stupid grin on his face.

“I did not!” My face flushes as I elbow him in the side.

He roars with laughter. I’m surprised he doesn’t upset the horse. She’s probably used to carrying around big brutes like him, poor thing. I’m about to ask if that’s true, when we reach the crest of a hill, revealing the valley below.

A rugged castle made of stone stands in the distance. It’s beside a loch with water so black it looks bottomless. Beyond, there is a backdrop of mountains, and a forest that stretches into the distance.

My stomach clenches.

“There she is,” says Callum. “Castle Madadh-allaidh. No doubt the rest of our party will have alerted the king that we’re on our way. Are you ready, Princess?”

I swallow, steadying my writhing nerves.

I will myself to be stone. No, steel.

I nod. “Yes.”

Callum tightens his arm around my waist in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring gesture.

He takes the reins with both hands, digs his heels into the horse, and we gallop down the hill toward the castle.