The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(20)

Lochlan makes a dismissive gesture as he steps back. “I know what you want to talk about but we’ll have time for politics later. Blake has invited me to stay for a few nights. Let us enjoy the festivities tonight, and we can talk about your brother—and what I want from you in exchange for my support—tomorrow. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m parched after the climb. My men brought a barrel of Glas-Cladach’s finest whisky. Can I tempt you?”

“Always,” says Blake, his voice smooth as silk.

Lochlan’s grin is almost wolfish. “Excellent. Callum?”

Callum is still for a moment, then he relaxes. “Aye. I’ve heard you barrel it in caves blessed by Ghealach.”

“My clan will tell you that because of this, it brings the wolf to the surface more than any other whisky in the Northlands.” Lochlan grins at me, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Really it’s just the exceedingly high alcohol content.” He winks. “Want to try it?”

I blink, surprised to have been asked. “Please.”

He walks away and Blake falls into step beside him. “I’ll join you. There’s another matter I wish to discuss.”

Lochlan inclines his head. “I had one my of men bring you a cart of moonflower, by the way.”

“Excellent. My supplies were low. . .”

Their voices fade as they walk toward the group gathering around a barrel in the center of the stone circle. Callum frowns.

“He’s up to something,” he says darkly.

“Lochlan or Blake?”

“Blake. Whenever he lays on the charm, there’s reason to worry.” His eyes darken. “I didn’t even know they were friends.”

I touch his arm. “At least he can probably talk Lochlan into supporting you.”

Callum sighs, his breath a plume of mist before his troubled face. “Likely with promises of what Lochlan can expect when Blake has put himself on the throne.”

I squeeze his muscles. “You’ll just have to offer him something better, won’t you?”

“Did I ever tell you you’re rather nefarious, Princess?”

I shrug and give him a coy smile, but Callum frowns.

“Are you feeling alright?” His tone is soft, and he touches my cheek. “Is it the fever?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re looking a wee bit sweaty. Perhaps we should get you sat down.” Indignation floods my system, and I shove him. I may as well be trying to move a rock for all the good it does. He arches an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “What?”

“Don’t tell a woman she looks sweaty!” I shove him again. He doesn’t budge an inch. “I’m sweating because I’ve just hiked up a big bloody mountain!”

He laughs. Loudly. “You should have said something. I would have carried you.”

“I don’t need carrying! I’m not completely fragile, Callum!”

He looks like he’s going to say something, probably obnoxious, judging by the glint in his eye, but his brow furrows. At the same time, that thread of Blake’s life force coils around my soul. I stiffen as it implodes, and ice crackles through my veins.

Blake stands with Lochlan and Arran by the whisky barrel. The wind drags its fingers through his dark hair, and makes his black coat flutter. His expression is careful, casual, but I catch a hint of ice in his eyes.

On the other side of the circle, the blonde priestess in the white dress has her hand curled around the young boy, Alfie’s, arm. She appears to be scolding him, and his bottom lip wobbles as his eyes, big as saucers, fill with tears. The wind carries her voice toward me, as Elsie—his mother—storms across the circle, knocking shoulders with an older gentleman in her haste to get to him.

“. . . an abomination. Your mother should be ashamed bringing you here. You’re as tainted by darkness as she is, and you have no business—”

The roar in my ears tunes out whatever she says next. I don’t know why she is punishing the little boy, but I won’t stand for it. I have little patience for religious zealots, having been whipped throughout my childhood for my “sins against the Sun Goddess”. I want to be respectful of the Wolves’ culture, but I can’t stand by and watch a young child be made to feel small by someone who claims to know the will of her goddess.

I stride toward them. “Let go of the child,” I say.

The Moon Priestess’s blue eyes snap toward me, and strands of blonde hair whip her face. There must be something in my expression she doesn’t like, because she releases her grip on his arm. “You’re the Southlands princess, aren’t you? You’re ignorant of our customs. But—”

“Careful.” Callum puts his hand on my shoulder, as if to let me know I have his support. His heat sears my back, but it does little to warm the ice in my veins. I’m unsure whether it’s my anger or Blake’s that makes my body shake.

The priestess points at Alfie. “His mother is tainted. Promised to the God of Night—”

“He is a young child. An innocent,” I say. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” I hold out my hand to him. “It’s okay, Alfie.”

He grasps my fingers with his tiny hand, his black hair in disarray and his cheeks flushed and wet. I pull him toward Callum and me as Elsie shudders to a halt beside us. The wolf blazes in her eyes as she prods her finger in the priestess’s direction. “You stay away from my son.”