The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(12)

I open the door, step out of the council chambers, and close it a little too forcefully behind me.

Callum and Ryan look up abruptly from the other side of the corridor. Both seem annoyed. Ryan’s face is flushed, and Callum has his arms folded across his chest and his jaw is tense. Callum’s brow creases in concern, a question in his eyes. I nod. I’m okay. He offers me a strained smile before turning to Ryan.

“No,” says Callum. “And that’s the end of the matter.”

“But—”

“Everything okay, Red?” A deep voice comes from the shadows, drowning out Ryan’s protest, and I jump. Jack leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

I frown as I recall him plotting with Blake in those dungeons I was brought to before I was presented to James. She smells like the Highfell alpha, he’d said, and suggested that Blake bathe me.

“How original you are,” I say. “Calling me Red on account of my hair.”

“On account of your hair?” says Jack. “No, I was referring to your blush, Red. Are you feeling flustered?” His grin widens, flashing white teeth, and my cheeks heat even more.

“What are you lingering out here for?” I try to appear more composed. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

“My mother may have mentioned it.” He shrugs, then nods at the door to the council chambers. “Blake’s had more suitable accommodation prepared for you. I’ll take you there, now you’ve woken up.”

There’s a grunt of displeasure as Callum dismisses Ryan. The young wolf huffs and stomps away. Callum mutters something under his breath about insolent pups as he crosses the space between us and threads my fingers in his. The tension softens in his shoulders.

“Ready?” says Jack.

“Aye.”

We follow Jack through a labyrinth of corridors.

“What was that all about?” I ask under my breath as our footsteps thump against the stone.

“Ryan wants to go back to Madadh-allaidh.” Callum sighs, and again, he looks as if he’s carrying a great weight on his shoulders. “The lad’s come up with some grand scheme to rescue Fiona. He thinks he can trick James.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “That doesn’t sound like a sensible idea.”

“No. It doesn’t. He’s going to get himself killed if he doesn’t listen to me. And he has a history of not listening to me.”

“Is he close with Fiona?”

“Being part of a clan . . . we’re family. She taught him how to ride a horse, and Fi, James, and I, we used to let him tag along when we went hunting.” He shakes his head. “I think he used to have a wee crush on her, before Becky.”

I squeeze his hand. “We’ll get her back.”

“Aye. And I shall make James pay for all of this—hurting you, claiming you, taking Fi. I could do without worrying about Ryan on top of everything else.”

Jack points things out as we pass them—the doors to Blake’s Great Hall, a drawing room, a corridor leading to the infirmary. Just like earlier, I notice the absence of any clan banners or tapestries within the castle. It’s quiet, too. We pass a few people in the corridors—two women in brown dresses having a hushed conversation, and an old man in a black and grey kilt carrying a box of fish toward the kitchens. A young child—around four years old—with a mop of black curls tears down a stairway past us, causing Jack to tell him to run faster if he means to outrun his mother. Either Blake’s clan is not very big, or they’re residing elsewhere.

When Jack gestures to a spiral staircase leading to a library in the tower, I make a note of it so I can visit later. I want to find out how Blake connected our lives, so I can disentangle myself from him. The library seems to be a good place to start.

Finally, we stop outside a door on the second floor of the castle. Jack opens it.

The room is much larger than I expected. A huge four-poster bed dominates the space, covered in furs, and two armchairs sit on a sheepskin rug in front of the roaring fire. In the corner, a wooden partition partially hides a dressing area and a sturdy oak armoire. Despite the lack of decoration, there’s a rectangle of lighter stone above the wooden mantelpiece, as if a picture once hung there.

“Blake thought it might be more suitable than the room you were in before,” says Jack. “The former alpha of Lowfell used to reside in here.”

“This was Bruce’s room?” Callum’s tone is dark as he looks around.

“You knew him?” asks Jack.

“Aye. Did you?”

Jack strides to the window, which looks out onto a vast expanse of water, and leans against the ledge. “Our meeting was short-lived.” His eyes glint in the grey light. “Blake took a particular dislike to him. It’s why he opted not to take this room for himself. He didn’t want to sleep in Bruce’s bed.”

Callum leans by the door, mirroring Jack’s easy posture. “Did he kill him in here?” He sounds as if he’s merely enquiring about the weather.

“No. He did it in the infirmary.”

A flicker of disgust surges through me at the reminder that Blake is a killer, who likes to inflict physical, as well as emotional, torment.

Callum’s mouth pinches at the corners, as if he doesn’t approve, either. “I see.”