“Take the young one to the nice. . . kennel.” The inhuman word catches in my throat.

I know these men are not human—even though they look it. I know that, being from the south, I’ve not had to face constant attacks from the Wolves like the north have. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t judge. The way the alpha fought in the ring proves the Wolves have little mercy within them.

Still, it feels wrong.

Ahead, the muscles in the alpha’s arms tense. He looks as if he’s going to turn around.

But then the guards push him through the next set of doors and he’s escorted away.

I let loose a breath.

The steward who is propping up the boy turns to me, his thick eyebrows knitting together. “The lord said—”

“I am to be your lady, and I’m the daughter of your king.” I stand straighter.

I have played pretend all of my life. I have smiled when my heart was breaking, I have laughed when I have been disgusted. I have swallowed my rage when a lord has been handsy with me on the dancefloor at a ball.

I can play the part of the formidable lady of this castle.

I raise my chin. “Put him in the nice kennels, and make sure he has a decent supper.”

I skirt past the two of them, and make my way through the labyrinth of stone corridors to my chambers in the northern wing.

There are a couple of handmaids waiting for me, and I allow them to dress me for bed in a long-sleeved white nightdress that reaches my ankles. I dismiss them, walking past the four-poster bed to stare out of the window at the rugged mountains in the north. The sky is lit by a crescent moon.

A growing restlessness writhes inside me as the trees sway in the distance and the wind batters the walls of the stone castle. What I said to the steward was true. Tomorrow I will be the lady of this castle. Yet I have no power.

I never have.

I have no power to take my leave of this place—to breathe in the scent of heather and fern, to bathe in bubbling brooks, or drink in local taverns. I have no power to speak to whom I choose, or form friendships, or to fall in love.

And I have no power to save the young wolf who will surely meet his end—if not tonight, then tomorrow, when he is deemed not fit to work and put back into the bad kennels.

I grit my teeth, then I grab a cloak from my wardrobe and throw it on.

Powerless as I am, I cannot do nothing.

The memory of my mother’s voice chases away the fear.

They will make you feel as if you have no choice, she told me before she died. But there is always a choice. Have courage, little one.

Perhaps I have the power to do one small thing before I am wed to the lord and left here to rot. Even if getting caught could mean losing my life.

Even if it may put me in close proximity to that monstrous alpha.

I put up my hood to hide my recognizable red hair. Then I grab a satchel, and slip out of my room.

I am going to the kennels.

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Chapter Two

The castle is quiet, most of its inhabitants sleeping or at the dog fight, so I reach the staircase leading down to the kennels undetected.

As I walk onward, the air gets colder and damper. It’s as if I am heading into the jaws of a great beast—the darkness below a hungry mouth waiting to swallow me.

When I’m faced with the two guards flanking the heavy iron door at the bottom, I adjust my hood to make sure my hair is hidden. I pray to the Sun Goddess that they do not recognize me. Beneath my cloak, the weight of my satchel is heavy against my thigh. It’s full of the items I stole from the apothecary—fabric for bandages, alcohol, willow bark, and water. Items that reveal my intent to help the enemy.

“Alright, love?” says one of the guards. “What are you doing down here?”

I still my nerves. I remember what Sebastian said about how the Wolves are rewarded for their wins.

“I’ve been sent from the brothel,” I say, making my voice sound as husky as I can.

The guard who spoke snickers and opens the door. He passes me a key.

“It’s silver,” he says as I take it. “Burns if it comes in contact with their skin. But if they try anything, give us a knock and we’ll come put them down.”

The other guard looks at me with disgust when I slip inside. I am disgusted too. Disgusted at the thought of a woman coming down here and providing such a. . . service to these creatures. Disgusted that he believed I am one of those women.

When they lock me in, I am faced with a long corridor—a damp stone wall adorned with flickering torches on one side, and tall iron bars on the other.

The air is musky with mildew and sweat and blood, and my breath mists in front of my face. There is no one within the cell on my right, but ahead, I can hear a man snarling something under his breath, followed by whimpers.

Pulling my cloak close to me, I make my way down the corridor.

Someone growls from the shadows on my right and I hurry on to the next cell, where the wolf who won the fight that took place before the alpha’s is leaning against the bars, a grin on his bloody face. As I pass the next cell, a male with dark tangled hair walks alongside me.

“Hello, sweetheart. I’ve got something in here for you.” He grabs his crotch through his green kilt. “Do you want to come see?”

I look away, quickening my pace. I reach the final two cells.

The alpha is sitting against the wall with his arms resting on his raised knees. He’s snarling something through the bars at the shuddering form huddled on the floor in the middle of the final cell. My jaw sets. Hasn’t he tormented the boy enough?

He shuts up as I approach and I feel his full attention on me as, hands shaking, I slip the key into the lock.

“You shouldn’t be here, Princess,” says the alpha as the lock clicks and I slip into the cell. His voice is as gruff as gravel and it’s thick with the accent of those north of the border.

My face is concealed by my hood, so I don’t know if he has recognized me by some other means. Perhaps that is what he calls all women.

I kneel on the straw by the young wolf, then shrug off my cloak so I can access my supplies.

The male in the green kilt whistles as my nightgown is revealed. A low growl reverberates in the alpha’s throat, and he quietens.

I ignore them both as I slip off the satchel.

I am no stranger to healing—my mother was ill for a lot of my childhood, and she often had bruises and scrapes. But this young male looks particularly bad. His face is bloody, and he’s writhing in pain.

“Shh.” I push the coppery hair off his sticky forehead. “It’s okay. What’s hurting? Tell me what’s wrong.”

I feel the alpha’s eyes on me. “I dislocated his arm,” he says.

“Be quiet,” I snap.

I wet a rag, and start to wipe the blood from the young male’s face. Surprisingly, the bruising beneath it is not as bad as I expected. The cut across his eyebrow looks like it has already healed, and his nose is crooked, but barely swollen.

“Bring him over here so I can deal with him.”

The boy winces.

I turn to glare at the alpha. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He stands up and leans against the bars between the two cells, dangling his big arms through the gaps. It’s cold in here, and even though he is dressed in nothing but a kilt, his body heat washes over me.

My pulse quickens. If he stretched, he could almost touch my hair. His expression gives nothing away as he watches me.

“You’re brave to come here,” he says.

On my knees and in my nightgown, he seems even more imposing than he did when he was causing havoc in the ring. Even with the bars between us.