The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

I have been alone since my mother died.

The loneliness has always spread through my body like rot. Even though I am continuously surrounded by people, it has lurked beneath my skin and threatened to consume me.

This morning, when I wake up alone, it feels different.

It’s an alone where I can hear my own thoughts; they mingle with the gentle patter of rain against the thin window.

For once, I don’t have to perform to anyone, because there are no ladies-in-waiting ushering me out of bed. Instead, I can lie bundled up in the soft quilt in a room filled with intriguing piles of books and sweet-scented herbs.

This morning, I’m not the king’s daughter, or Sebastian’s wife, or a princess with duties.

I am just. . . me.

A thrill surges through my body.

There are so many things I should be worrying about—the Wolves, the inevitability of Sebastian’s army finding me, Blake telling the acting Wolf King who I am.

And Callum.

Callum, and whatever condition he wants me to agree to in order for me to keep my own room.

Callum is so unlike anyone I have met before. He is lacking in decorum, and he continually behaves in a manner I am not used to. He teases me, and asks me questions, and touches me.

And the worst thing is, I’m not sure I dislike it.

Right now, I feel at peace. Content.

Free.

I lie here for around twenty minutes, savoring the feeling.

My eyes catch on the wardrobe. I was too tired to investigate last night, but I’m curious about what clothes are in there.

Today, I intend to learn as much about the Wolves as I can, and I’m hoping I’ll have a little more control over how I present myself than I did yesterday.

I stretch, my limbs aching from being on horseback for two days. I limp across the room and throw open the wardrobe.

I’m pleasantly surprised by what I see.

There is an array of dresses waiting for me. They’re all made from dark materials—black, greys, and navy blues. I skim my fingers along them, noting most are simple enough for me to put on without assistance, and all are well made.

There’s an elegant black dress in particular that catches my eye—made with silk and intricate lace. It emits power. I run my fingers over it.

It is not appropriate for today, though. I want to fit in, not draw attention.

I notice a couple of pairs of breeches in here, too.

In the Southlands, women do not dress in such garments. My father would probably disown me if he saw me wearing clothes like these.

Perhaps I’ll try them another day.

Instead, I select a simple brown dress that should make me look non-threatening, and put it on.

I’m pulling my fingers through my hair when someone taps against the door.

My breath hitches because I know who it will be.

“Can I come in, Princess?” asks Callum.

When I open the door, he’s wearing the same clothes as last night. A couple of the top buttons of his cream linen shirt are undone, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, and I wonder if he slept.

His eyes are still bright, though.

“You look nice,” he says.

Compliments seem to come so easily to him, and they seem sincere. It is unnerving.

I walk toward the window so that he can’t see my smile. “Thank you.”

The sky is full of grey clouds, and rain ricochets off the loch. The scenery, and the weather, is so different to the sun-drenched city beyond the Southlands palace walls.

Callum comes to stand behind me and his scorching body heat burns into my back.

“Miserable day, isn’t it?” he says. “It rains a lot up here. I don’t suppose you’re used to such weather down in the south?”

“Have you ever been? To the south? Beyond the Boderlands, I mean.”

“Everything’s south when you’re from Highfell.” I hear the smile in his voice. “Aye, I visited King’s City once. About. . . hm. . . must have been five years ago.”

“To cause trouble, I presume?”

He laughs. “No. I was looking for someone. I thought she might be there.”

A strange feeling surges through my body. “You were looking for a lover?”

“A lover? No.” He sighs. “I was looking for my mother.”

I glance up at him. He’s staring out of the window, a pensive look on his face. Something softens inside me.

“Why would she be in the Southlands?”

He chews his bottom lip. “She went missing one night. My father thought she was taken by humans. She was presumed dead. But. . .” He shakes his head. “I never bought it. I think she ran away.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Why would she do that?”

Callum swallows. “My father was. . . he was a difficult man.”

“Oh,” I say, softly. “Did you find her?”

He offers me a sad smile. “No.”

A long silence stretches between us as we both stare out of the window. The trees beyond the loch whisper in the breeze, and there are no people in sight.

Again, peace washes over me.

Until Callum sighs.

“So, about this condition I have for you staying in here. . .” he says.

I turn to face him, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “What is it?”

He pulls a small black box from the pocket of his kilt. He stares at it for a moment. Then he exhales, before passing it to me.

I frown as I open it.

Inside, there’s a red tartan ribbon with a crimson jewel attached to the front.

“What is this?” I ask.

“It’s. . . erm . . . a necklace.” Callum rubs the back of his neck.

I take it out of the box. The length is short.

This is not a necklace. It’s a collar.

He has the good grace to look a little sheepish.

“It’s an old tradition.” Callum clears his throat “When an alpha is in an. . . intimate relationship. . . they can ask their partner to wear one of these. It signals to the rest of the pack that they’re spoken for.”

He swallows, and his jawline hardens. His eyes smolder with intensity.

“If you wear this, it signals that you’re mine.”