Chapter Thirty-Nine
S ilence.
Then, whispers. They slither through the crowd like snakes. “It’s the Southlands prince.”
The air erupts. Wolves jump to their feet. One of the benches turns over. Shouts fill the air. They’re hysterical. A woman’s shriek for vengeance is so hoarse I expect to see blood pouring from her mouth. Lochlan’s men push back those who run toward us.
I’m engulfed in the anger, and I know it’s aimed at me, as well. My hands ball into fists. My breathing is ragged, like I’m trying to contain a storm in my lungs. Fire blazes through my veins.
“What are you doing here, Philip?” My tone is icy.
His smile widens and shows off his perfect white teeth. He doesn’t seem even mildly concerned by the mob that bays for his blood.
He made my life miserable. He taunted me, mocked me, belittled me. He spent my entire childhood waltzing around the palace he was set to inherit as if he already owned it, and I was nothing but one of the objects within. He did as he pleased, drank as he pleased, bedded women as he pleased, and constantly made an exhibition of himself. He never received more than a slapped wrist for his behavior. All the while, I would be punished if so much as a crack showed in my perfect facade. Now he’s here . He must have got back from the war he was fighting on behalf of my father and come straight to the Northlands to bring me home.
“I might ask you the same thing, Sister.” He clucks his tongue over the noise. “Someone’s been a naughty girl. Daddy will be displeased.”
A low growl vibrates in Callum’s chest, a sound that a wiser man would cower from. My brother has always been a goddess-damned idiot. Does he not comprehend that he’s in enemy territory, surrounded by Wolves? Does he not sense the violence in the air? The thirst for blood—his and mine?
Lochlan leans forward slightly, and his brow furrows. Philip’s grin falters, almost as if he recognizes the Glas-Cladach alpha.
Callum nods at Blake, who sits at the other end of the table.
Blake gets up and strolls toward Philip. In a sudden movement, he plunges a syringe into my brother’s neck, and Philip crumples to the floor.
“I’ll spend some time with him in the infirmary,” says Blake.
Callum stands up beside me. His arm brushes against mine. “No one else touches him until I’ve decided what to do with him.” He gestures at a couple of men, and they lift my brother and drag him through the mob toward the exit.
“He wouldn’t have travelled alone,” I say. “He can barely dress himself without his entourage, let alone travel across the entire kingdom.”
“Lochlan?”
“I’ll send out a search party,” says Lochlan. His earlier darkness seems to be replaced by intrigue.
Callum whispers something to Fiona, then he and I follow Blake out of the Great Hall.
***
When we arrive at the infirmary, Philip is tied to a chair near the cot where Kai sleeps. His head lolls against his chest, and his hair is the color of tarnished copper in the soft light of the flames. His wrists are tied to the arms of the chair, and his long legs are spread slightly, his ankles bound to the feet.
I halt close to him, by the fireplace. Callum stands beside me. Blake dismisses the two men who brought Philip here.
Philip was supposed to be fighting in one of my father’s wars in the kingdom of Rema, but if this has hardened him in any way, he wears no evidence of it. His long, high-collared coat is well tailored, he’s as well-groomed as always, and his face—the only bit of his skin that is showing—is flushed with the flames, but not tanned by the warmer weather overseas. I can imagine him sitting in one of his big elaborate tents, drinking and eating and ordering others to do his—and my father’s—dirty work.
Blake uncorks a vial and puts it beneath Philip’s nose. My brother stirs, then groans. Blake walks to the workbench behind him and pulls a leather pack from one of the drawers. He flicks it open to reveal metal blades and scalpels. My insides tighten. I loathe my brother. Still, after reading about some of Blake’s experiments, I don’t think I’ve the stomach for whatever Blake is planning.
I expect Callum to put a stop to this. Blake pulls out a small blade, and Callum’s face is expressionless. Callum has always been so gentle with me that I forget that first impression I had of him. I’d thought him a bloodthirsty monster—as wild and untamed as the mountains he came from.
He’s not a monster. He is a fierce warrior, an alpha, and now, a king. Philip being here is a threat to both me and his kingdom.
Philip tries to move his arms. There’s a squeak as he grips the arms of the chair with his leather-gloved hands. I’m convinced now he will start to panic. My brother has not endured a single hardship in all of his life.
I’m not going to let Blake hurt him, but I can still enjoy his fear.
Philip peers up at Blake. “Bondage? You’re not my usual type, but you’re pretty enough, I suppose.”
Blake leans against the workbench, and the small knife in his hand gleams. He flashes Philip a smile that most would cower from. My brother smiles back.
“Is your brother an eejit?” Callum’s tone is a mixture of irritation and genuine curiosity.
“He’s not a wise man,” I say.
Philip stares down his nose at Callum, as if he’s sitting on a throne rather than bound to a chair. “Perhaps you and I should speak in private. One future king to another.”
Anger erupts inside me. Isn’t that just typical of Philip? He’s arrived on a mission concerning me, yet it’s the highest- ranking male in the room who he wishes to have an audience with. Goddess forbid I have a say in my own future.
I grit my teeth. “He’s not the future king. He is the king.”
“Not for long, if the talk in the taverns is anything to go by.”
“What are you doing here, Philip?” I ask.
“I had every intention of telling you, little sister. I’ve been so ill-treated that now I shan’t.” He shakes his head. “I had heard the Northlands Wolves were inhospitable, but I’d not expected such a cold welcome.”
I step closer to him. He smells like ale. “This is not a game. Father is not here to save you, your title will not protect you, and you cannot pay your way out of this. You’re in the kingdom of Wolves, and you’re the prince of their enemy. You would be wise to show a little understanding of the seriousness of your situation.”
His eyes glint. “You’ve changed, Sister.”
“And you have not changed in the slightest, Brother .”
“You might be surprised.”
Blake drags a chair from the workbench and places it at an angle to Philip’s. He drops into it, and puts an arm over the back. From the ease of his movements, his bullet wound must be healed already.
“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you, Blake,” says Philip.
A cold smile graces Blake’s lips. “As are you.”
I shouldn’t be surprised they know one another. Blake was part of the King’s Guard, so it’s probable they would have encountered one another.
“Where have you been?” asks Blake.
“I don’t see why I should tell you.”
Blake rests his ankle on his thigh. He absently twirls the small blade in his hand. “Do you think Aurora will save you?”
“I think that you answer to her, don’t you?”
Blake’s smile becomes feral. “If that were true, I’d be very worried about your current situation.”
Philip meets my eye. “She does this, you know. Bats her eyelids and wraps powerful men around her fingers. Plays the innocent princess to get them to give her whatever she wants.”
Outrage blooms inside me.
“Is that so?” Blake says.
When did I ever get what I wanted? I want to tell him every bad thought I’ve ever had about him. I want to slap him across the face. The thought of snatching the blade from Blake and plunging it into his thigh is a strong one. My soul threatens to erupt.
I pull it all back. I cage my feelings, as if by having him here—a reminder of the palace—I’m regressing to an earlier version of myself. I hate that he makes me feel like a helpless, voiceless child once more.
Callum shifts closer. I step aside. I don’t want the warm comfort he has denied me all day. I’m too far beyond thawing.
“You’re dressed rather warmly, Philip,” says Blake. “Keeping up appearances, or something else?”
It’s a strange comment to make when the climate in the Northlands is considerably colder than that in the south. Philip’s smile fades for a moment, as if Blake has touched on something. He stiffens when Blake leans forward and gently takes Philip’s hand. My muscles tighten.
“Blake. . .” I say.
Blake peels off Philip’s leather glove. The tip of his little finger is missing.
“Torture?” Blake drops the glove on the workbench to his side. “Or frostbite?”
My eyebrows lift. I can’t imagine that my brother would have been exposed to either.
“You’ve been keeping track of me,” says Philip.
“Naturally.”
The door swings open. Isla swans into the room, and irritation sparks within me. I didn’t see her at the feast. She wears a dress made out of the Highfell red tartan. The top part of her light-brown hair is braided into a crown, like mine, while the rest hangs loose and wild down her shoulders.
“Is there something you need, Isla?” Callum sounds weary, and I realize today is taking a toll on him.
“I was looking for you—” She halts. Philip angles his head to one side, and her nostrils flare. “There are two of them. Are we to be constantly inundated with southerners? When I traveled here from Highfell, I didn’t expect to be so consistently surrounded by these people.”
“What type of people did you expect to be surrounded by when you traveled south?” Blake says.
Isla’s face blanches, as if she’d not realized Blake was here. She raises her chin. “I expected to be among my own people, Wolves . We’re still in the Northlands.”
“If you’re looking for oil of evening primrose, I believe it’s over there.” Philip arches back his head, and indicates one of the shelves.
My eyebrows raise at his audacity, while Callum looks confused. Evening primrose oil was the remedy the palace healer would give me for easing the symptoms of my monthly bleed. Isla’s eyes become icy.
She stalks toward Philip. She grips the back of the chair on either side of him, and brings her face close to his. “Brave words, princeling, but you forget you’re among Wolves now. Your heartbeat is racing, and your scent... you smell of fear behind your rich perfumes and your pretty clothes. You’re nothing but a spoiled little boy, acting as if you’re not afraid, wishing you were back home among your silk and jewels.” She bares her teeth. “You’re a long way from home now.”
Philip leans forward against his restraints, their faces even closer. “And what of you, Isla ?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Your perfume—rose petals, lemon, and a hint of rosemary. I met a woman at a market once who swore those were the ingredients for a love potion. Your dress, tightly fitting, and the red tartan of your clan... It’s the color of Highfell, a territory far from here, isn’t it? You’re a long way from home too, despite your apparent disdain for your surroundings. Then there’s the striking features of your face, made more feminine with powder and rouge, as if you wish to seem more demure and delicate than you are—perhaps to appeal to a figure of authority. An alpha. A king, perhaps. Yet he has eyes only for my sister, doesn’t he? Don’t worry, Isla, I see you.”
Her knuckles are white as her grip tightens.
“Now whose heart is beating fast?” His nostrils flare. “And is that another scent I detect? Have I caught your interest, little wolf?” Dimples crease his cheeks as he lowers his voice. “If ever you’d like to play with someone who can bite as hard as you can, let me know.”
His eyes shift. His pupils dilate, and threads of silver glint among the blue-green of his irises. I inhale sharply. Isla’s breath hitches.
My brother doesn’t have the eyes of a man.
He has the eyes of a wolf.