“Then why haven’t you?” Hector japed. This seemed to be a conversation they’d had before. “If Sawyn isn’t a threat, then why hasn’t anyone taken Olmdere?”
“They were probably waiting for her.” Sadie hooked her thumb at Briar. “King Nero needs a Marriel daughter before he can name his son King of Olmdere.”
And there it was, laid out on the dining room table. I bit back on the bitter taste in my mouth. My kingdom would no longer be ruled by Gold Wolves, and all because Briar and I hadn’t been boys. Grae and his father would get everything, having won their titles and thrones the moment the midwives peeked between their legs.
I scowled at Briar, trying to wish away the pain of that truth. She leaned across the dining table, in deep conversation with Maez. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. It’d been only a few minutes and Briar had already lost interest in entertaining Grae, preferring the company of the guard. Grae and Briar had always been amiable, but they’d never really been friends . . . not like us.
Grae’s eyes lifted to meet mine, one cheek dimpling. That bloody grin turned me into a melting idiot. I grabbed my wineglass and dropped my eyes, shifting back in my seat so the candelabra blocked my view of the handsome prince. I wasn’t a swooning dame. Leave the fans and coy smiles to Briar.
With a flicker of shimmering light, the empty plates on the table filled. The greasy scent of spiced meats lifted into the air as the guards gaped at the sumptuous meal before them. I picked up my fork and speared a balsamic-glazed carrot.
Listening to the guards’ banter, I ate in silence. Briar was magnificent as she regaled our guests with story after story of our magical childhood, spinning our sad tale into something worthy of a song. But every story took place in the same cabin in the same forest. That sameness became nagging no matter how magical, and it kept reminding me that we were both like caged animals, ready to bolt from a trap. Tomorrow, all that would change. I didn’t care if the food was rotten and my clothes were the itchiest wool. I was ready for something more.
Four
I stumbled out of the dining room, the goblets of honey wine rushing to my head. I couldn’t believe how many times Vellia had refilled my cup over the course of the evening. On wobbly legs, I somehow made it across the entryway. The chandelier above me still glimmered with half-melted candles. A fire roared to life beside me, despite the balmy summer air. Vellia seemed determined to make this home seem grand, using up every last drop of her magic before our departure tomorrow.
The night had droned on until the genteel voices became drunken howls. The guards became more boisterous with each hour that passed, endearing them to me even more. Vellia had kept the food coming, dish after dish, until the third round of desserts. At that point I was so stuffed I thought I might be sick and had finally excused myself.
“Little fox,” a mirthful voice called after me as I reached the stairs.
I certainly didn’t feel like “little” anything at that moment, and I practically froze with the thought that he could see how the butterflies in my stomach had nowhere to go. I turned anyway, and the impact of seeing his figure in that uniform again made me suck in a breath. The wine had loosened my limbs, along with my good sense. I scanned him from head to toe, permitting myself to appreciate his glorious features for one more night. Those muscled thighs, lean hips, and broad shoulders. My eyes roved up his angular cheekbones to his hooded bedroom eyes.
“Your Wolf form is magnificent, Grae,” I murmured, waving my hand at him. “But you are quite the dashing prince in this outfit, too.”
Ebarvens kill me, had I said that out loud? I grimaced, gripping my hands together as Grae chuckled.
“And you look like a warrior—beautiful and mighty,” he said with a grin, taking a further step toward me.
My eyes dropped to my hands as I picked at my fingers, feeling his eyes upon me as his shined black boots came into view. I had a hard time believing his words. Because with them, I knew he saw the same person I did when staring in the mirror. He saw me.
“Calla,” he whispered, his breath in my hair. I loved the way he whispered my name, wished I could hear the resonance of that sound every day of my life. “I need to talk to you.”
The tips of my ears tingled as I looked up at him. His storming eyes met mine, and I had to wring my hands together to not reach out and touch him. I couldn’t handle being this close to him as his bonfire scent wrapped around me. That golden wine hummed in my veins.
“Why didn’t you visit?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You didn’t even write. They sent you south for school, but surely there were holidays and breaks. I . . . I missed you.”