CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
Another game from the prince, to keep a close eye on her, while filling her with lust, only to be unsatisfied in the end.
Sterling entered the shop behind Amalli and couldn’t deny that the gowns were beautiful. Her gaze settled on an emerald one—ornate stitching decorated the hem and bodice.
“This isn’t a ball.” Amalli rolled her eyes and motioned Sterling toward the back of the shop where leather and furred fabrics hung on a long rack.
The sheer curtains behind a counter parted, and a slender woman stepped out, swirling black tattoos covering her arms and neck. “Do you need help with anything?” She smiled, interest lighting up her eyes.
“She’s attending her first mating ceremony, and she’ll need her choices fitted,” Amalli said, nudging Sterling toward the rack.
Sterling frowned and sifted through the fabrics. A short brown and green leather dress caught her attention when Amalli tsked, “I think you can do better than that.”
With a grunt, Sterling shifted past piece after piece until her fingers halted on a brown leather skirt. Gray fur decorated the hem, and thorned vines etched into the fabric. The bodice held a matching design, fur lining the top.
“That will look perfect on you.” The dressmaker beamed and hurried over as if she’d been waiting for someone to choose that specific piece. “Try it on, and I can make any adjustments you wish.”
Sterling peered around the shop, not finding the curtains that one would generally go into to try something on.
But she was in wolf territory where modesty didn’t matter, so she drew off her uniform and slipped on both pieces of clothing.
The dressmaker tightened the strings at the back of the bodice and pushed Sterling’s cleavage up even higher, her breasts nearly spilling out.
She then stitched along the skirt’s hem, making it rise until it barely covered Sterling’s backside.
She peered at herself in the long rectangular mirror between two green cloaks, and all she could focus on was the scars on her face and chest, reminders of why she was there.
Neither of these wolves had put her in this predicament—they’d been nothing but kind.
Besides that, there was nothing she could do except behave and win the next game.
As Amalli paid for the clothing, Sterling’s brow rose.
This was nothing she would’ve ever been able to afford, but she’d never even gone to a village dance to need something nice.
She and Nareth had preferred to get drunk on gin and fuck wherever they wished.
Her chest clenched at his name, praying to the gods that he was in another court with his new lover.
When they stepped back into daylight, a carriage from the castle awaited to take them to the king’s home. The horses pulled the carriage past several farms, then entered a wooded area with an abundance of rich foliage before venturing by cozy villages.
The sun eventually shone down on a massive castle, its coloring mirroring that of a forest. Browns and greens interwove with one another, and ivy lined the stone front in a gorgeous artful decoration. Turrets, a deep earthy shade of brown, brushed the sky.
They passed through moss-covered trees and hanging vines when finally, they reached the castle.
Once they came to a stop near a side entrance, Sterling stepped down from the carriage and followed Amalli into the castle, the woodsy scent pleasant but not nearly as much as Winter’s home.
Even though the castle was more extravagant with murals and a dome-shaped ceiling, a coldness lingered as she watched the servants clean without once looking up from their duties.
“This way,” Amalli said, pointing to the wooden staircase. They ascended the pristine steps, and Sterling looked at paintings of who she assumed was King Valco since he resembled Winter. But all the paintings, she realized, were of him. Not a single one of Winter or the queen.
“Were there ever any other paintings here?” Sterling asked as she settled on one of Valco, bare-chested, and relaxed in a bronze throne, a smirk on his face as if he was staring back at her. A cockiness exhumed him from that picture alone.
“Of anyone besides King Valco?” Amalli shook her head. “Not since he ascended the throne.”
A vain, cruel king and a manipulative, wicked prince.
Amalli stopped in front of a dark-stained wooden door and drew it open. “The prince will come for you later. I’ll be at the manor, but a servant will bring you dinner shortly.”
A pit formed in her stomach now that the one wolf she slightly trusted would be gone, that she was now truly parted from her brother.
Even though she hadn’t seen Cyan, there’d been relief that they were under the same roof.
But for now, she had to believe he would be cared for by Amalli, the way he had been thus far.
“Will you tell my brother I love him?” she asked, tears brimming her eyes.
Amalli nodded and ushered Sterling inside, locking the door behind her.
The room was simple, not a single window in sight.
A luxurious bed of green silks rested in the corner with a chest of drawers opposite it.
Releasing a breath, she sat on the edge of the bed.
She never expected to be in the king’s castle, especially not in a room over the dungeon.
Just as she considered rummaging through the drawers, the door unlocked and a silent servant brought in a food tray.
Once the woman left, Sterling drank down the chicken broth and purple tea, then waited in the quiet, wondering what the next game would eventually entail.
This time she would make certain to win on her own and free her brother.
After a long while, the door unlocked and opened to Winter.
He ran a hand through his hair and stepped inside.
His chest and feet were bare, his trousers hung low, a trail of dark hair just below his naval led down into the waistband.
He wore a wooden necklace with an engraved pendant against his sternum.
His slitted gaze met hers and inspected her from head to toe. “Remove your boots.”
She arched a brow. “Is that all you’d like me to remove, Your Highness?”
“For the time being,” he drawled and waited until she was finished setting the footwear aside. “Now come.”
Sterling walked beside him down the steps, his desirable scent brushing her senses.
“So, are you going to ask how I slept in your bed last night?” she asked to break the silence.
“No.” His fists clenched at his sides as if he were controlling himself, and she smiled.
“I didn’t only sleep naked in your bed—I touched myself to orgasm while moaning into your pillow,” she purred.
“Silence. You’ll speak only when I tell you to speak,” he growled.
Something was off about him, more so than usual. And it must’ve had to do with him being at this castle. Perhaps the reminder of his mother.
Sterling held her tongue and followed him through the back entrance into the forest of trees. They walked out of hearing distance from the castle walls when a large field slipped into view. Torches lit the night, and at the field’s center, a bright bonfire crackled.
At least forty wolves stood around the fire, their faces turning toward the prince and Sterling as they stopped at the outer circle. She took in the shifters, their clothing similar in style to hers, noting that none were the king. Where was he?
“You may begin,” Winter called, his tone one of boredom.
Drums pounded, and two wolves stepped out from the crowd.
A gown of ivory draped the woman’s curvy form, and the man wore dark trousers, a necklace matching Winter’s hanging around his neck.
The couple smiled brilliantly at one another, peeling off the two simple layers of their clothing.
Their canines slipped out, the only wolfish part of them showing beneath the orange glow of the fire.
The man circled his arm around the woman’s waist and carefully brushed her hair aside before biting her shoulder.
She gasped in pleasure, and he licked the beads of blood clean with his tongue.
The woman took her turn, piercing his flesh, giving him her mate bite.
With a satisfied grin, he scooped the woman up and lay her on the grass while the drums grew more violent, a sound that Sterling could feel crashing through her blood.
And then the wolf buried himself into his lover as an animalistic moan escaped her.
Heat pooled low in Sterling’s body as she became a voyeur and watched on, the fucking hard and fast. The man easily flipped the woman to all fours and continued to thrust into her.
Sterling glanced at the prince who observed them as though he was witnessing two people discussing how their day was.
Once the couple howled in pleasure, they stood, their chests heaving while they waited for something. A few moments later, three forms slipped through the trees—the king, trailed by two other men she’d briefly seen when dusting Winter’s manor. General Rawling and Caston.
Sterling’s eyes widened at King Valco, whose face was even more attractive in person than in his portraits.
He didn’t appear the least bit ill, his body muscular and lithe like his son’s.
His obsidian hair, holding streaks of gray, hung in thick waves down his back, and his eyes glowed with their own cruelty.
She caught Winter staring at her, and anger churned within his gaze. “Are you planning to ask the king if you can fuck him for your freedom too?” he cooed, sounding as if he didn’t give a damn.
Sterling startled, her lips parting, but she remained quiet as King Valco’s deep baritone reverberated through the crowd.
“I bless this couple as the gods would.” He dipped his thumb into a cup of some sort of blood and pressed it between the man’s brow first, then the woman’s. “And now we celebrate.”
Valco’s dark eyes found his son—a smirk played on his lips before his stare fell on Sterling.
He sauntered toward her, and her heart thundered.
She didn’t know if he would reveal his claws and rip her heart out right there.
The prince wanted Sterling to play another game, but the king could easily take that away.
“Red Riding Hood,” he purred. “We meet at last.”
She bowed her head, her voice a murmur, “Your Majesty.”
“It seems my son has chosen to keep you as a pet,” he said gruffly. “That’s not something I approve of. You should either perish in my dungeons or die by my hand. So tell me, why do you deserve to live?”
“I-I didn’t know my grandmother was a hunter,” Sterling stuttered.
“The wolves came when I was there and slaughtered her as revenge for killing the queen. If I had known my grandmother murdered her, that she was a hunter at all, I wouldn’t have become Red Riding Hood.
I’m at your service.” It could’ve been the truth, but it could’ve also been a lie—she really didn’t know how she would’ve reacted back then or what path she would’ve truly chosen.
Either way, it was better she didn’t reveal anything except regret for her brother’s sake.
“Ah, I understand how you got that pretty scar and the reason for your confusion now. My wicked son is at fault for keeping you in the dark.” Valco chuckled mirthlessly.
“He didn’t mention anyone else had been there when he avenged his mother.
However, I suppose both wolves and humans have suffered over the centuries.
Unlike my son, I see you as a way to strengthen the court.
” He paused, looking between her and the prince with a devious glint in his eyes.
“The wolves look up to the royals, but the humans look up to Red Riding Hood. You can understand why that’s a problem.
There are two ways to mend this—one, you die.
” He paused and tilted his head slightly.
“Since you’re the granddaughter of hunter royalty, it could make you a martyr, so I prefer the second option.
As a prize for winning my son’s games, you and Prince Winter will unite the Bloodstorm Court.
Two nights from now, we’ll have a fine feast in your honor where you and the prince will have a mating ceremony of your own. ”