And I was good at it. My dresses were disguises, my make-up a mask. I could choose to blend into the background of a meal in the Great Hall, or be the focal point in a grand ball.

I had that choice this morning. I thought I had made the correct one, and yet Blake has gotten under my skin.

Should I have chosen differently?

“Does the Wolf King have a wife?” I ask as we make our way down the stairwell.

“Hm? No.”

“What kind of women does he like?”

Callum’s eyebrow cocks up, as if he’s surprised by the question. “I don’t know. Bonny lasses, I suppose.”

I sigh. “His last lover, who was she?”

“That’d be Claire.” He lets out a half-laugh. “She was a fiery one. Kept him on his toes, that’s for sure.”

Blake’s words come back to me.

James likes his women bold.

He was telling the truth.

I halt on the bottom step. “Goddess, Callum!”

Callum’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s the matter?”

My heart pounds against my ribcage as my mind reels with choices. I glance at the door ahead, knowing the corridor behind it leads to the Great Hall where I will meet my fate. I look over my shoulder at the stairway.

I take a deep breath. “I need to change my dress.”

“Rory—” Callum’s tone is a warning, but I’ve already turned around. I run back up the stairs, almost tripping over my skirts. Callum is close behind me. “We don’t have time for this!”

I run into his chambers and close the door in his face. “Send someone in to help me.”

I hear him slam his hand against the wall outside, then curse under his breath. “It’s just a dress.” His tone is pointedly even—as though he’s trying to reason with a petulant child. “It doesn’t matter—”

“Send someone to help me!”

“Goddess, give me strength,” he growls. “Fine. But if you’re not out in five minutes, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you down to the Great Hall regardless of what you are, or are not, wearing!”

***

Ten minutes later, I step back into the corridor donning the black dress. It is strange, but after a couple of weeks of wearing clothes that make me fit in, I feel more myself, wearing it.

It is a beautiful piece of clothing, and I wonder where it came from.

The sleeves are made of intricate lace that is shaped into leaves and thorns and branches. One of the servants helped me cinch in the corset at the waist, and the collar is high. I pinned back my hair to accentuate it, and pinched my cheeks to bring some color to them, though my face must still be pale. My long skirts rustle as they trail across the floor.

Callum is pacing up and down and his hands are in fists at his sides.

“Finally!” He spins around, eyes blazing. “You—”

He swallows, then blinks a couple of times. His lips part and his eyebrows raise. Taking a deep breath, he dips his head deferentially—his eyes never leaving mine.

“Your Highness,” he says.

I grab my black skirts, and walk past him. “It’s just a dress.” I flash him a smile as I repeat his words to him.

He huffs out a laugh as he falls into step beside me. He keeps looking at me, then averting his gaze when I catch his eye.

“You know, I forget sometimes. Who you are. I mean. . . I don’t forget. I know you’re the princess. Well . . I. . .” He exhales. “Goddess, you’ve got me tongue-tied. What I mean to say is that you look nice.”

I hide my smile, though I’m sure it’s evident in my tone. “Thank you, Callum.”

“It makes me think—”

“What?”

He sighs. “Nothing. A silly fantasy.”

I throw him a curious look, but he merely smiles sheepishly and gestures ahead.

The Great Hall is full of noise when we reach it, though it barely competes with the beating of my heart. Brodie, the small freckled boy, is playing bagpipes again by the open double doors. In another situation, I might tell him that he has improved. The screeching has started to actually sound like music.

Instead, I let loose a shaky breath. I need to reserve all of my energy to keep my head held high, and to stop myself from running.

“Is he in there? Your king?”

“Not yet, thank the Goddess. He likes to make an entrance.”

I take a deep breath. The air tastes like woodsmoke and whisky.

“He won’t harm you,” says Callum, touching the small of my back.

There’s a mass of Wolves in the Great Hall already, shouting and laughing as they wait.

“Even if he doesn’t, the others might,” I say. “My people have just attacked your people once more. Who is to say that the whole room won’t turn on me?”

He cups my face in his big hand, and bends to rest his forehead against mine. “I won’t let that happen. I swear it.”

I run a hand over his chest, feeling the strength in him, before resting my palm against his heart.

It beats steadily. Calm. Unafraid.

I’m not sure I believe this will work out in my favor. But Callum seems confident, at least.

He brushes his lips against my forehead, running his hand over the back of my neck.

“Come,” he says.

He takes my hand, then leads me through the doors.

The tables have been pushed to the sides of the hall, where the tapestries that depict the story of the Elderwolf hang.

Callum pushes through the tangle of limbs. Those nearest to us move aside to let us pass. Some look at me strangely, confusion and curiosity dancing in their eyes. I wonder if my dress lends a clue as to who I really am.

I suppose I no longer look like a kitchen maid.

I look like the daughter of their enemy king.

I keep my head high, though my grip on Callum’s hand tightens. He squeezes back as he leads me up the steps onto the wooden platform where the alpha’s table usually stands.

In its place, there is now a large wooden throne. It is simple, but the back has been carved into an image of trees twisting up to a full moon.

The alphas of the clans stand on either side of it—six in total including Robert the acting Wolf King.

Callum leads me to one side of the platform.

From the far end of the line-up, Blake catches my eye.

He looks very different from the disheveled male I encountered earlier. He’s changed out of his scruffy clothes, and is wearing an elegant black coat with silver buttons, over a dark shirt and breeches.

“How did it go with Blake, anyway?” asks Callum under his breath.

“I. . . kind of. . .well. . .” I fight the flush of embarrassment. “I hit him.”

Callum’s eyebrows lift. “He let you hit him?”

“No, Callum. He didn’t let me hit him. Why would you say that?”

“You’re very small.” He grins as I glare at him. “You’re not going to hit me, are you?”

“Oh, be quiet.”

He looks at Blake, who is straightening his cuffs, and his expression darkens. “He may look like a wee weasel, but he’s more capable than he seems. He was in the King’s Guard for a time, if you believe his stories. He’s a deadly warrior when he chooses to fight rather than stab people in the back, or poison them. It’s hard to believe you could just walk into his chambers and hit him.”

“Perhaps that’s how I did it. Because you males have such difficulty in believing women could do such things.”

“Hm, perhaps,” says Callum.

Across the room, Blake smirks, and I’m sure he’s listening.

I’m trying to think of something I can say to annoy Blake, when the bagpipe music stops.

I breathe in sharply. Callum tenses, his hard bicep brushing my arm. A hush descends over the Great Hall. For a moment, the air is thick with silence.

The pipes start playing again, but it’s a more regal piece with a slower rhythm.

“It’ll be okay,” mutters Callum, and I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or himself as the crowd parts to create a walkway in the center of the room.

My heart beats fast. I think of the little that I know of the Wolf King. He united seven warring Northlands clans and big brutish alphas follow his command.