The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

The castle corridors outside Callum’s chambers seem colder, the shadows longer. The torches on the wall flicker as we pass, as if possessed by the same nervous energy that builds in my stomach.

When I descended the kennel steps that night in Sebastian’s castle, I felt as if I was walking into the jaws of a great beast.

Now, it has swallowed me.

When I meet with the Wolf King, I will find out whether it is to chew me up and spit me back out again.

Or worse.

Callum walks by my side, his hand pressed against the small of my back. The warmth he radiates is of little comfort. Not when he is uncharacteristically quiet. His heavy footsteps echo off the stone walls, steady and slow, as though he is delaying the inevitable.

As we reach the stairwell, loud voices pierce the gloom from the lower floors of the castle. Some agitated, some excitable, some tainted with anger. It reminds me of the noise one hears on the day of an execution in the King’s City.

Perhaps there will be an execution today.

And yet, all I can think about is the dress I am wearing. It’s white and long-sleeved.

The perfect doll—that is what Blake said I looked like.

I’ve had little choice over so many things in my life—who I’d marry, where I’d live, what my purpose should be. But my clothing—the way I present myself—that was a choice I always had.

And I was good at it. My dresses were disguises, my make-up a mask. I could choose to blend into the background of a meal in the Great Hall, or be the focal point in a grand ball.

I had that choice this morning. I thought I had made the correct one, and yet Blake has gotten under my skin.

Should I have chosen differently?

“Does the Wolf King have a wife?” I ask as we make our way down the stairwell.

“Hm? No.”

“What kind of women does he like?”

Callum’s eyebrow cocks up, as if he’s surprised by the question. “I don’t know. Bonny lasses, I suppose.”

I sigh. “His last lover, who was she?”

“That’d be Claire.” He lets out a half-laugh. “She was a fiery one. Kept him on his toes, that’s for sure.”

Blake’s words come back to me.

James likes his women bold.

He was telling the truth.

I halt on the bottom step. “Goddess, Callum!”

Callum’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s the matter?”

My heart pounds against my ribcage as my mind reels with choices. I glance at the door ahead, knowing the corridor behind it leads to the Great Hall where I will meet my fate. I look over my shoulder at the stairway.

I take a deep breath. “I need to change my dress.”

“Rory—” Callum’s tone is a warning, but I’ve already turned around. I run back up the stairs, almost tripping over my skirts. Callum is close behind me. “We don’t have time for this!”

I run into his chambers and close the door in his face. “Send someone in to help me.”

I hear him slam his hand against the wall outside, then curse under his breath. “It’s just a dress.” His tone is pointedly even—as though he’s trying to reason with a petulant child. “It doesn’t matter—”

“Send someone to help me!”

“Goddess, give me strength,” he growls. “Fine. But if you’re not out in five minutes, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you down to the Great Hall regardless of what you are, or are not, wearing!”

***

Ten minutes later, I step back into the corridor donning the black dress. It is strange, but after a couple of weeks of wearing clothes that make me fit in, I feel more myself, wearing it.

It is a beautiful piece of clothing, and I wonder where it came from.

The sleeves are made of intricate lace that is shaped into leaves and thorns and branches. One of the servants helped me cinch in the corset at the waist, and the collar is high. I pinned back my hair to accentuate it, and pinched my cheeks to bring some color to them, though my face must still be pale. My long skirts rustle as they trail across the floor.

Callum is pacing up and down and his hands are in fists at his sides.

“Finally!” He spins around, eyes blazing. “You—”

He swallows, then blinks a couple of times. His lips part and his eyebrows raise. Taking a deep breath, he dips his head deferentially—his eyes never leaving mine.

“Your Highness,” he says.

I grab my black skirts, and walk past him. “It’s just a dress.” I flash him a smile as I repeat his words to him.

He huffs out a laugh as he falls into step beside me. He keeps looking at me, then averting his gaze when I catch his eye.

“You know, I forget sometimes. Who you are. I mean. . . I don’t forget. I know you’re the princess. Well . . I. . .” He exhales. “Goddess, you’ve got me tongue-tied. What I mean to say is that you look nice.”

I hide my smile, though I’m sure it’s evident in my tone. “Thank you, Callum.”

“It makes me think—”

“What?”

He sighs. “Nothing. A silly fantasy.”

I throw him a curious look, but he merely smiles sheepishly and gestures ahead.

The Great Hall is full of noise when we reach it, though it barely competes with the beating of my heart. Brodie, the small freckled boy, is playing bagpipes again by the open double doors. In another situation, I might tell him that he has improved. The screeching has started to actually sound like music.

Instead, I let loose a shaky breath. I need to reserve all of my energy to keep my head held high, and to stop myself from running.

“Is he in there? Your king?”

“Not yet, thank the Goddess. He likes to make an entrance.”

I take a deep breath. The air tastes like woodsmoke and whisky.

“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.

The Wolf King 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.

The Wolf King’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.

I brace myself. I wait for the Wolf King to strike me down, to push me to my knees, or throw me into the dungeons.

As my pulse calms, I notice his displeasure is focused on Callum—who has stepped forward, his arm in front of mine. His head is no longer dipped, and his hard gaze is locked on the Wolf King in direct challenge.

My insides twist. Goddess, what have I done?

Across the platform, Blake’s lips curve into a wicked smile.

I try to think of something, anything, I can do to make this right, to make it look like Callum is not challenging his king.

Then the Wolf King’s jaw tightens as he stares at Callum.

“A word, please, Brother,” he says.

My eyebrows lift as James walks past us both, heads down the steps leading down from the platform, and through a door behind the throne.

Callum scans the Great Hall as a mixture of hostile and intrigued faces stare up at us. When he doesn’t find what, or who, he is looking for, he turns to Blake.

He gives me a hard look before turning on his heel and following the Wolf King through the door—leaving me alone with the Wolves.

Blake saunters over with his hands in his pockets. He stares out at the room.

“Well, it was bold, I’ll give you that,” he says.