And with that, he turns and leaves me alone.

I sigh and go and sit on the bed.

I pick up the small box, and look at the offending item inside once more.

In my lifetime, I have done many things I have not wanted to do to ensure my survival. I didn’t want to marry Sebastian to help my father secure the north, but I was planning to do it regardless. Because I feared what would happen to me if I didn’t.

Putting this on would be the wise thing to do. If Callum is telling the truth, it would allow me to freely walk around the castle and learn about the Wolves. Who else in the Southlands would ever have such an opportunity?

On the other hand, it is degrading. Even if I cast aside what my father would think, I have to consider my future. My people would never respect me if I put this on.

What’s more, Callum got frustrated with me when I refused. I don’t know why, but that satisfied me. He is so big and strong and in control—it makes me wonder what will happen if he loses it. What will happen if I provoke the wolf behind the man?

I drop the box back down onto the mattress beside me. If anything, I’d like to see what Callum does if I offer a little resistance. He deserves it for not bringing me any breakfast.

My stomach grumbles as I continue my exploration of my new chambers.

There are books everywhere. I pick out A Healer’s Encyclopedia, A Collection of Diseases and Ailments, and A Compendium of Poisons from among the titles. One dusty tome in particular catches my eye. Experiments: Book One is handwritten in an almost illegible scrawl across the thick spine.

I open it on a random page.

Wolves Healing Times is written in blotchy letters across the top of the parchment.

Tool: Iron knife. Insertion made along Subject Thirteen’s lower torso, one inch deep. Healing time approximately three minutes, significantly faster than when cut with silver. If the blade was poisoned, would the substance linger beneath the skin? Test theory tomorrow.

Goddess! Did the former resident of these chambers write this book? I shudder, yet cannot help but flick to another page.

If I remove a wolf’s organs, will they grow back? is written along the top of the parchment.

Someone knocks on the door, and I look up, startled, dropping the macabre book on my mattress. It lands with a thud, and releases a cloud of dust.

Has Callum realized he was harsh to leave me alone without breakfast? Or is it someone else?

I tiptoe to the door. “Who is it?”

“Can I come in?” The voice is female, and familiar.

Before I respond, Fiona walks into the room, bringing the earthy scent of horses with her. She’s carrying a tray that has a teapot and chipped cup, a bowl of steaming porridge, and a small pot of honey atop it.

“On Callum’s orders.” She brushes aside a stack of papers and sets the tray down on the writing desk. “I’m also under strict orders that I’m not—under any circumstances—to tell you Callum was the one who told me to bring it up to you.”

She grins over her shoulder, her brown eyes glinting.

“So why did you tell me?” I ask.

“Because he’s a good man. And I don’t see the point in hiding that.”

She turns and leans back against the desk, her gaze narrowing on the small box on my bed. From her expression, I wonder if she disapproves of it as much as I do.

“He told me who you are, and why he brought you here,” she says. “He also said you were being difficult.”

I fold my arms. “Well, what does he expect?”

“He expects you to treat him as your alpha, and to do everything he says. And he doesn’t know what to do with you, now he’s found out you won’t.”

“He doesn’t like people saying no to him, does he?”

“Oh, I think he does, actually. He’s not used to it.” She nods at the collar. “You don’t want to wear it? Why?”

I assess her, wondering whether to tell her the truth. Back home, the ladies who would keep me company at balls, or on walks in the grounds, would go along with anything I said—wanting desperately to gain my favor and the favor of the king.

I get the impression that, for once, I can have a candid conversation. Perhaps she’ll even understand.

“My whole life, I have been treated like a prize or a possession. I thought. . .” I sigh. “I don’t know. I thought it might be different here. Like, maybe I could be something, or someone, else. If I wear that thing, I just belong to another man. It’s the same as back home.”

She nods. “Aye. I get that. You know, it’s freer up here for females than it is in the Southlands. We can fight, and work in the stables, and we have a say in the clan politics. But you’ll have noticed that there were no females sitting at that alpha table in the Great Hall last night. And there are certain old wolf traditions that, in my opinion, should be wiped out.” She nods at the small box. “If it makes you feel any better, Callum doesn’t like it as a tradition, either. And wearing it will give you the freedom to go about the castle without fear.” She bites her bottom lip and looks like she’s deciding whether or not to tell me something. “Honestly, I’m surprised he decided to give it to you. The cost is as high for him as it is for you.”

My eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps he’ll explain it to you sometime.” She pushes off from the desk and walks back to the door. “You should wear it though. The full moon is coming and you’re a human.” Her eyes darken in the morning light. “You’ll need all the protection you can get when she rises.”

Perhaps she is right, but I cannot bring myself to put on the collar.

***

The next few days pass by in a similar manner.

I wake up aching and sore—my muscles stiff from the journey here. Callum visits in the morning. Fiona brings me porridge and berries and fresh tea at breakfast time. And a lady-in-waiting visits in the evening to bring me potted pies, and cuts of meat and bread.

When I am alone, I explore my small bedchambers while the rain patters against the window.

I read more of that horrible book of experiments, flicking through pages titled The effects of wolfsbane on a wolf’s ability to heal, The order in which a wolf’s bones break when they shift, and Provoking the inner wolf: A half-wolf’s response to emotional trauma.

I am certain I do not want to meet the person who stayed in this room before me.

I find myself looking forward to Callum’s visits—where he inappropriately sits on my bed, or stands by the window, and shares snippets of his life with me.

He tells me about his clan’s castle, which is so far north that it barely sees sunlight, about hunting in the forests as he was growing up, and about breaking his leg when he was a boy—climbing down into Glen Ghealach to find an old temple dedicated to the Elderwolf.

Despite his frustration with me that first morning, he doesn’t push too hard about the collar.

“You know, some would think it an honor to wear,” he tells me one morning.

“Like who? Isla?” I cross my arms. She practically swooned over him when we first arrived at the castle. I bet she would love to “belong” to him.

A slow grin spreads across Callum’s face at that. “Aye. Like Isla.”

I scowl and tell him to leave.

“But I’d prefer it if you wore it, Princess.”

A traitorous smile crosses my lips that I quickly hide from him.

I know I should just end this stupid morning ritual—yet I cannot quite bring myself to do it. The days are peaceful, and a part of my soul I didn’t even know was broken feels as if it is slowly starting to heal.

Strangely, Callum seems to be enjoying our newfound routine as much as I am. Though he appears increasingly disheveled each morning.

A small seed of guilt begins to sprout in my chest.