Page 11 of Wolf Duke

That howl.

Until the day she rose to the stars, she would never forget the low, guttural, powerful sound. It had jolted her awake, and she’d scrambled up off the cushions so fast her paws skidded on the cold stone surface as she made for the door, her throat actually hurting as she tried to howl a reply and only coughed and spluttered. Until her mind caught up to her instincts and asked a most pertinent question: what are you doing?

Since then, Evaine had swung between pacing and staring out the chamber window as new guards took their posts along the ramparts and around the gatehouse, and various castle servants began their daily tasks of preparing food, tending animals, doing laundry, and hammering weapons in the armory.

A princess waiting. Watching.

Who am I waiting and watching for?

Evaine shook her whole body, trying to clear the lethargy, the fogginess of her thoughts. Several times the previous day she’d tried to change to human form, but no matter how much she urged herself on, shutting her eyes and imagining arms and legs and long fair hair…nothing. Queen Siân had tried to comfort her, counseling that time and rest and food would resolve the issue, but Evaine wanted to change now.

A brief knock at the door made her tail twitch, then Blanche bustled in carrying a bucket of steaming water, a cloth, and a large platter of thickly sliced pork.

Evaine’s mouth watered. “Good morning, Blanche.”

The elder wolf beamed. “Good morning! Forgive me for being a little late—my youngest cub Wesley returned in the early hours and had many tales to tell about Eltham Palace. Naturally, I had to prepare his favorite breakfast. Cook never puts enough pork slices on a platter, wolflings can’t survive on a quarter loin! Especially not a wolfling who is the king’s squire.”

“Was it, er, Wesley who howled?” Evaine asked, her heart beginning to pound.

Blanche chortled. “Ha! My sweet babe would adore above all things to have a howl so low and strong and constant. Alas, his range hits much higher notes. No, the howl you heard was King Alaric, who is finally home from London. And he wishes to meet you! So eat your breakfast, then I’ll give your fur a nice, gentle scrub.”

An audience with the King of the Western Lands!

For a brief moment, Evaine forgot decorum and her shoulders dipped in despair. Usually, all formal occasions took place in human form, as it was an opportunity for great pomp and ceremony. They would sit at long trestle tables near-groaning with food, drink wine from silver goblets, and wear magnificent clothes and jewels to demonstrate the ruling pack’s wealth and power. How a royal bestowed and received hospitality was a matter of fierce pride and even fiercer judgment; bad enough she’d met the elder queen as a wolf, but to greet the king like this would be a mark of shame on the de Wynter name.

“Right now?” she asked softly.

Blanche’s gaze turned sympathetic. “I know it’s not ideal, Your Highness, but King Alaric insisted. He’ll not be offended in any way; Queen Siân explained the situation. My master is eager to make the acquaintance of King Hugo’s daughter—your sire and his were such great friends. It’s a shame you are not acquainted already, but then-Prince Alaric was beginning his knightly training when his parents visited the Eastern Lands.”

Evaine glared at the floor, her claws extending and retracting several times as she fought an inner war. Half of her yearned to meet the owner of that most glorious alpha howl with all haste. The other half wanted to wait until she could stroll on two legs into his presence and gracefully curtsy, wearing an elegant gown with a long train, gems winking on her fingers, and her neatly plaited blond hair shimmering under the warm glow of beeswax candles.

Eventually, she sighed. “Very well.”

Far too soon for her peace of mind, Evaine finished the pork, succumbed to Blanche’s careful yet brisk sponge bath, and was making her way to the king’s library. Thankfully, he had courteously left the door ajar so she didn’t have to demean herself further and scratch at it to be let in.

She almost paused and declared herself. Instead, Evaine moaned as she was struck by a wave of the delectable library scent, a scent that seemed to pull her inside, and she charged into the room.

Goddess.

Whatever she’d been expecting of King Alaric, it certainly wasn’t the most gloriously handsome male she’d ever seen in her life. He wasn’t an elder wolf at all…and he was huge. Much taller and broader than her own sire, and rather than fair hair, this king’s shoulder-length locks were as black as his castle. She’d heard chatter of the king’s Spanish grandmother, and the warm, sun-kissed hue of his skin certainly offered proof of that. But most startling of all, under stern black brows, his eyes were pure gold.

That gaze was like being seared by the sun.

Without warning, the back of her neck began to tingle, and Evaine whimpered in confusion as heat coursed through her veins. Then she cried out in pain as her wolf form twisted and cracked and lengthened, making her writhe as she changed.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

As she lay naked on a rug wincing at the cramping and stiffness of her human limbs, the king growled, a rough, raw sound that caressed her flesh. Abruptly all discomfort was forgotten, and Evaine gasped as her nipples hardened to jewel-like points and a shocking wetness gathered between her legs.

What on earth was happening?

Her mind, still so enmeshed in human customs, bellowed that she was behaving like a harlot and should cover herself or turn onto her side and curl into a ball. But her body refused, reveling in the way the king stared at her with such blatant hunger. Such need. When Father had gazed at Mother like that, they kissed. Sometimes they’d dashed away saying they were late for an important meeting.

Does King Alaric wish to kiss me?

The unruly thought made Evaine burn, and she pressed her thighs together to try and ease the ache. Why wasn’t the king doing something? Why wasn’t he making it stop?

“P-please,” Evaine choked out. “Help me.”