The Wolf King

Lauren Palphreyman

OceanofPDF.com

Copyright © 2023 Lauren Palphreyman

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Damonza

Copy edits by: Rachel Rowlands

Contact the author:

www.LaurenPalphreyman.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter One

Dog fights are barbaric.

They say the fighters in the ring revel in violence. They say the wolf inside them is always looking for a release. Even on nights like tonight when the moon is not full and they look like men.

And don’t they deserve violence for what they have done to our lands?

Yet how many will die? And for what?

I shift on the wooden chair, tugging at the high collar of my gown, then pushing an errant strand of red hair out of my face. It’s hot in here. Too hot. Claustrophobic.

When I stepped out of the carriage two days ago, the rugged landscape of the Borderlands called to something deep inside of me—even though I have never been this far north before.

Thinking of what lies beyond these stone walls makes me want to rip off this dress, and escape this castle. I want to tear through the untamed grass and feel the wild dandelions between my toes. I want to smell the pine trees, and hear the wind howling through the mountains.

Instead, I take a sip of water, and clasp my hands tightly in my lap. I try not to flinch at the crack of bone that resounds through the Great Hall as one of the males is thrown across the floor. Blood splatters the flagstones by my silk slippers.

Lord Sebastian, sitting on the other side of my father, looks at me, something cruel and hungry in his gaze as he observes my discomfort.

I wonder if he’s thinking about tomorrow night, our wedding night.

The thought makes me feel even sicker than the fight.

“Your daughter doesn’t approve, Your Highness,” he says to my father, only partially misreading the distaste that must be showing on my face.

“She is a woman,” my father replies simply.

I bristle. Of course that is all my father sees when he looks at me.

It doesn’t matter how many lords I have sweet-talked on his behalf, or how many balls I have attended to serve as a pretty distraction while he makes his plans for the war.

It doesn’t matter that I agreed to this marriage to strengthen his kingdom.

“Of course.” Sebastian nods, leaning back in his seat as though he doesn’t notice the crown atop my father’s neat white hair. “These creatures are unpleasant to behold for those of the fairer sex. Though surely she gains enjoyment from them killing one another. The wolf clans have ravaged our lands for centuries. They murder, and brutalize, and steal. To any woman traveling alone, unlucky enough to encounter one, they bring about fates even worse than death.” He arches an eyebrow. “If you know what I mean.”

“I do,” says my father.

Sebastian sips his ale. “Though, I suppose your women do not encounter many Wolves down south—thanks to my armies guarding the border.”

“An honorable duty in service of our great kingdom.” My father doesn’t deign to look at the lord. “And one that comes with its rewards.”

“Oh, indeed.” Sebastian’s eyes darken.

I try not to recoil. I will my body to be a statue, a vessel for the soul within. I allow my mind to glide across those wild mountains, even though I can never go there myself. Even though I will always be a prisoner to castle walls, and a woman’s body.

A prisoner. Or a prize. That is all I have ever been. I will be both when I am wed to the lord in exchange for his continued allegiance to my father.

“If she has some sentiment for the creatures, however—”

“She does not.”

“Still, she should know that not only is this beastly aggression in their nature, there is glory in fighting, too,” says Sebastian. “People throughout the Borderlands learn the names of the top fighters. And those who win their matches tonight will be moved to the more spacious kennels and fed a good supper. Concubines will tend to them too, to help them release their wolf in different ways.” He drums his fingers against his cup. “As distasteful as that may be.”

“Indeed,” says my father.

I watch the muscular, shirtless forms in the ring, snarling and bloody. There is certainly cause to be wary around Wolves. And yet, as I look at the murderous eyes of the crowd, the coin passing hands, and the way my father’s lip quirks as one of the warriors is pummeled to the ground, I wonder if all men are monsters deep down.

I glance at my betrothed. He isn’t muscular, or rugged, or nearly as tall as the monsters in the ring. His dark hair is tied neatly at the nape of his neck, not wild like those north of the border wear theirs.

But there is something cruel in the angles of his face, and the way his dark eyes keep running up and down my body. I have been around monsters my whole life, and I can recognize the one that lurks beneath his pale skin.

I think I would prefer someone who looked like a monster to one who was adept at hiding it.

One of the Wolves tears out the other’s throat. He grins, and crimson spills down his chin. Nausea rises within me but Lord Sebastian merely smiles and claps as though he is watching a theatrical performance.

“Good show, good show.” He clicks his fingers at a couple of stewards. “Escort him to the kennels and clean this up. Then bring the next ones in.”

The stewards balk at the task at hand, but lead the bloody wolf away as the Great Hall echoes with noise. People exchange coin, make new bets, and refill their cups.

I can’t stop looking at the body though.

It’s so still. It looks so heavy. It makes my body feel heavy, too. Perhaps he was a monster. Perhaps he had a wolf beneath his skin that came out when the moon was full. Right now, he just looks like a man. A dead man. A man who will never run through those howling mountains again.

Two stewards cross the hall, grab his arms, and drag him across the stone floor as though he is a piece of meat.

I take a sip of water to steady my trembling hands. At my side, Lord Sebastian and my father enter into a conversation about army numbers on the northern border.

I’m putting my beaker back down on the table when silence falls. It is followed by an excited murmur as two more males—two more Wolves—enter the ring.

My attention is first taken by the one in front. He is young. Too young for this kind of violence, wolf or not. He must be sixteen at most—four years my junior. His coppery hair sticks up in tufts as if he’s been frantically running his hands through it. There is fear and sadness etched into his expression, yet his jaw is set. It’s as if he knows there is no hope and has resigned himself to his fate. Something in that expression feels familiar. It fills me with anger that I don’t dare to summon for my own situation.