Page 14 of Wolf Duke

Impatiently, he beckoned the procession of food to begin, and countless servants moved into the hall with platters of beef, pork, venison, chicken, stuffed goose, an array of vegetables, pasties and pies, salted fish, and honey cakes. Wolves preferred savory dishes; the kitchens rarely served tarts, comfits or sweetmeats like the humans enjoyed, but no one could resist a honey cake. As per protocol, the procession halted first in front of the high table so they could make their selections.

Alaric gestured for Evaine to be served, and after licking her lips in a way that made his toes curl, she chose beef, venison, a serving of vegetables and several honey cakes. A servant nodded politely, then began skillfully cutting neat slices of meat.

Fury blasted through Alaric. Evaine wasn’t being served the juiciest, rarest, most tender parts!

“What are you doing?” Alaric bit out.

The servant looked at him in confusion. “Beg pardon, my king, I’m carving Her Highness’s preferences.”

“But not the best!” Alaric snarled. “Anyone who dares to serve Princess Evaine less than the very finest food and wine on the best gold dishes…the freshest herbed water to wash her hands and the crispest linen napkin for her shoulder…will not survive the night!”

Absolute silence reigned in the Great Hall. In truth it was astonishing how quiet five hundred hungry wolves could be, but not a foot or finger tapped, not a spoon dipped or eating dagger sliced as pack members stared at him, their eyes wide and mouths agape. They were stunned at their king’s unprecedented show of temper, but not nearly as stunned as he was.

His mother cleared her throat, but her eyes positively twinkled. “Now that you understand the importance, do carve as your king has instructed.”

The fright cleared from the servant’s face and he bowed, abruptly appearing almost…jaunty? “Forgive the misstep, my king. I did not know, but now I do. We all do. Of course I will carve the choicest slices for Her Highness. It is my honor.”

Alaric scowled. Everyone in the whole damned castle, including him, had run mad.

The sooner this banquet was over, the better.

She was eating the most delicious food imaginable, her wine goblet and plate were made of gold, and the most handsome, best-scented king in the entire realm had growled at a servant for not giving her the finest cuts of meat. Was this real? Or would she soon wake up and discover herself still starving and freezing in an abandoned fox den?

Evaine swallowed the last bite of honey cake and sat back in her chair, her stomach pleasantly full. Banquets were truly magnificent, and hopefully no one here had guessed that this was her first time attending one, let alone as a guest of honor. Mother and Father had often hosted banquets and tourneys at Ashcross Castle, but their cubs were only permitted to attend events during the day, as they became too loud and mischievous at night. She, Isabel, Cecily, and Lucan had pleaded to no avail to join in the dancing and feasting. Fortunately the musicians grinned and pretended naught was amiss when four furry cherubs belly-crawled into the gallery overlooking the Great Hall and peeped down at the festivities.

Isabel had admired the pageantry and processions of food, especially the elaborately dressed goose or boar’s head. Cecily hoped to hear conversations from emissaries in French and Gaelic and Latin, so she could attempt to translate a few words. Lucan loved the various weapons on display: the decorative sword sheaths, the deadly pikes held by the guards, the jeweled eating daggers, and his tail would twitch this way and that, as though engaged in a duel. But Evaine enjoyed the music most, the way the notes soared and danced in the air, how everyone laughed and clapped and stomped their feet to the steady beat of the drum, the lilting flute or the rich harp. Music was like food for the soul, but also an excellent way to be close to the one you loved. When Mother and Father had danced, they gazed into each other’s eyes like the rest of the world ceased to exist.

“Princess?”

King Alaric’s gruff voice in her ear sent a sensual shiver through Evaine and made the back of her neck tingle. It was the strangest sensation; sometimes it felt like a little insect crawling on her nape, but when she reached up to swat it away, there was nothing there.

“Er, yes?” Evaine replied, offering a quick smile.

“Is aught amiss? You appear a little saddened.”

Dismay crashed through her. If the Beaumont pack thought her haughty or ungrateful, she would not be welcome at Blackstone very long. A lie reached the tip of Evaine’s tongue…then halted as she stared into the king’s fathomless gold eyes.

I cannot actually lie to him!

Evaine blinked. “I was just remembering,” she blurted. “When we were cubs, my brother and sisters and I would hide in the gallery with the musicians and watch the feasting and dancing below. I loved listening to the harp and flute and drums. Music makes me happy.”

“Do you wish to dance?” asked King Alaric. “I can have the hall cleared at once.”

“No,” she said swiftly. “I…er…”

Once more, his golden gaze compelled the truth.

“I cannot,” Evaine whispered painfully, her cheeks flushing red. “I do not know how. At Ashcross Castle, all wolflings were given lessons, but we were too young when we fled.”

“I understand,” he replied, his hand hovering above hers as if he meant to pat it. “My squire, Wesley, is currently trying to learn. It has reached the point where no she-wolf will partner him, not even Blanche, for he simply cannot stay in time to music and crushes toes like a falling anvil. If a pack warrior is ill-disciplined, their punishment is an hour tutoring Wesley. Nothing could be harsher; he also likes to talk. A lot.”

A giggle bubbled within and escaped before she could swallow it down. “Oh dear. Perhaps if your warriors are so well-versed in toe torture, you might spare one to instruct me?”

“No,” the king growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I will teach you. Everything.”

Evaine bit her lip, inhaling unsteadily as the now-familiar throb began between her thighs. Each day it seemed to grow fiercer, heating her from the inside. Now that she’d moved from the fireside cushions to a feather bed, she kicked away her sheets and quilt at night so the cold winter air might ease her feverish flesh. Last evening had been the worst so far; she’d slid her hand down between her legs and touched the crisp hair, the delicate petals and tender, swollen bud there. But the resulting jolt of sensation had been too overwhelming and she’d ceased at once.

She whimpered. “I…I…”