The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

Callum falls into step beside me.

I should be taking note of the way through this labyrinth. I should be mapping out the exits, and memorizing the rooms in this castle where the Wolves await.

Instead, my attention is ensnared by the man beside me. His eyes travel over my messy hair, then linger on tartan dress.

He swallows before focusing on the corridor ahead.

My throat tightens. “Is there a problem?” I ask, pulling my fingers through the tangled knots of my hair.

I do not want to be nervous about meeting with Callum’s king. But my stomach is turning over and over. If I’d just had a little more time to get ready—to compose myself and present myself in a way that is more fitting for the occasion—then perhaps this strange ball of energy inside me would have subsided.

“No.” He shrugs. “You look—”

“Don’t say I look nice. I don’t. I have not slept properly, I’ve been on a horse for two days, and I haven’t even had time to bathe!”

“I was going to say you look like a wolf.”

“That’s not a compliment!”

He grins. “But you do look nice.”

“So you’re a liar as well as a killer?”

“I’m only one of those things, Princess.” We head down a stairway. “And I seem to remember you hitting a solider on the head when we were at Sebastian’s castle, so perhaps I’m not the only violent one here.”

“I didn’t kill him,” I protest.

“No, you didn’t. It was a pretty weak hit.” He raises his eyebrows. “We’ll have to do something about that if you’re to stay here with us for much longer.”

“I saved you!”

The corner of his mouth tilts. “You caused a minor distraction, I suppose.”

I cannot believe he is referring to the single most outlandish thing I have ever done in my life as a minor distraction.

I have only known Callum for a couple of days, yet he is already the most irritating male I have ever encountered.

We head down another flight of steps, then through a narrow corridor. The different stages of the lunar cycle are carved along the stone walls. There’s a set of double doors at the end of the corridor with a colorful coat of arms hanging over it, depicting a wolf and a moon.

That must be where we are heading. I wonder if the man behind those doors will be cruel like the king I know.

“It’s going to be okay, you know,” says Callum softly. “The king is—”

He halts. All the muscles along his jaw tighten. For a moment, he is not the teasing Callum with mischief in his eyes. He’s the Callum who was in that dog-fighting ring—still and solid. A warrior. His biceps bulge against his sleeves.

He pushes me against the wall, and presses his palm over my mouth.

I inhale sharply. He doesn’t move for a moment and his heat burns me. He puts a finger to his lips, and I nod.

He steps back, takes my hand, and pulls me back the way that we came.

Whatever he has heard, or smelt, has obviously rattled him. Danger lies ahead.

We’re almost at the end of the corridor when the doors open behind us.

“Callum!” says a man behind us. “Where are you going?”

“Shit,” Callum curses under his breath. He takes a breath, composing himself, then turns around. “Duncan, I need to speak with James.”

The man in the doorway is shorter than Callum, and has blond hair scraped into a bun. He’s wearing a blue tartan kilt—so he’s not one of Callum’s clan. He grins, then gestures behind him.

“Come inside,” he says.

Callum pauses for a beat before he sighs. He heads back toward the door, his hand still clasped around mine.

I push down my panic.

When I first met Callum, I told him I had faced worse monsters than him.

I survived my father, who treats me like cattle to be traded to the highest bidder. My brother, who gained pleasure from demeaning me and humiliating me. Even the High Priest, who would beat me for my alleged sins.

I can face the Wolf King. Even if he is so fearsome that males like Callum have submitted to him.

Callum and I walk into a room that reminds me of a darker version of the council chambers back at the palace. There are fiery sconces on the stone walls, interspersed with carvings of lovers and Wolves and wars and moons. They might depict the story Callum told me about the Elderwolf and the Moon Goddess. A large green patterned rug is lying across the flagstones, faded where feet have walked across it. The air smells like woodsmoke, even though there is no fire lit in the grate. A thread of cold daylight comes in through the narrow window.

My attention is taken by the long table at the back of the room. And the four men sitting behind it.

The man—the wolf—in the center is obviously the king.

He is huge, with a shaved head, broad shoulders, and a thick neck.

On one side of him, there’s a male with an unruly beard, and on the other sits a short male with long brown hair.

My gaze snags on another male sitting further away from them at the end of the table—the only one who is not looking at me. He’s sitting with one arm over the back of his chair as he peels an apple with a small knife. He is strikingly handsome, with a sharp jawline and dark hair. Unlike the others, he is wearing breeches, not a kilt.

A strange feeling jolts through me. Recognition, perhaps, though I am sure we’ve never met.

Callum stiffens.

Duncan sits down at the empty seat at the left hand side of the table, and my attention flicks back to where it should be right now.

The Wolf King.

There’s something predatory in his gaze as he looks me up and down. His kilt is the same color green as Magnus’s. Callum implied that Magnus’s whole clan was horrible. Yet when Callum spoke of the king, his voice softened.

It doesn’t make sense.

I want to run away from this man, but I must play along.

I bow my head and curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

There’s a beat of silence, then all the men behind the table roar with laughter. All except the male with the apple who sits at the end.

“He’s not the king,” says Callum darkly. “Where’s James?”

“He had business to attend to,” says the male I mistook for the Wolf King. “Did he not tell you? He left me in charge in his stead.”

Callum’s eyes narrow. “Aye. Course he did.”

“You’re welcome to challenge me for the title, if you wish.” The big man leans forward, resting his sizeable arms upon the table. “As it’s my castle you’re in, I don’t imagine it’ll go well for you. Nor do I imagine James will be happy if I throw the whole lot of you out.”

A muscle twitches in Callum’s jaw. “When will James be back?”

The man shrugs. “How should I know? A couple of weeks, maybe.” His attention moves back to me. “I’m Robert. You can call me Your Majesty, if you like.” His grin twists into a leer, and a couple of the others snicker. “The real question is, who are you? And what are we going to do with you?”