Page 55 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
There are no thick bands of menacing strength down his arms. No scales or fangs. No outward sign of the cruelty I know all too well lies inside him. His thin hands barely look strong enough to lift a sword, let alone defend himself from an attacker.
To defend himself fromme.
A shudder of the dread that’s trailed me since I came down the stairs eases, and I shake the ever-present fear from my mind, then dare to let my gaze return for a second look at the king—and the figure standing at his left shoulder.
Eyes as blue as a starlit midnight lock on mine.
The prince watches me with the intent focus of a cat with a cornered mouse. My skin erupts in a shiver all the way down the open back of my gown—and my fingers fly to the buttery leather of the gauntlet sheath at my left forearm. The smooth skin between the prince’s brow knots, and his gaze turns to ice as he tracks the movement.
My brain is all too quick to remember the cold spice of his scent in the night air, like falling snow. There was somethingbeneath that sharpness too. A faint floral so much like whatever is weighing in the room now. Like…
Fear twists like a thorn around my gut.
Likeroses.
The candlelight seems to pulse, illuminating farther into the corners of the hall and the back of the dais where the prince stands.
Heavy copper pots gleam on every long table, every surface exposed by the light.
Each one is crammed full of white roses—exactly like the one he gave me in the garden.
The familiar desperation to run races through my veins. But there’s nowhere to go.
Talon’s arm presses into mine, a silent question in their touch as every hair down my exposed spine rises straight up.
At the touch, the prince’s gaze narrows.
There’s no warmth in his eyes, no softness. Just a brutal beauty every bit as sharp as his father’s bones. The contrast between father and son chills me as the High King teeters up from his throne, eyes darting over the robed, glittering bodies filling the hall. His watery blue eyes narrow across the gathered crowd.
No words come, though. His eyes tighten, lips working furiously. One hand grips the arm of his gilded throne, and a frustrated noise breaks from the High King’s mouth then.
The prince lays one hand softly on his father’s black velvet sleeve and steps forward. His other ringed hand strokes the hilt of his sword.
“To rule is to be always ready for challengers.” His voice is colder now than it was in the rose garden. “To adapt on a moment’snotice or pay with your life. We must be quick. We must be clever. We must becunning.”
My stomach plunges. Wolf’s voice from behind the tapestry fills my mind—
Three tests for the Assay.That’s what he’d said.Cunning, wisdom, and strength.
Midnight eyes carve searching lines across my face as Prince Cashel’s sharp voice slices through the palpable shock silencing the crowd of nobles.
“Welcome to the Test of Cunning.”
FOURTEEN
A gasp rises from the crowd.
Ringing fills my ears.
My eyes jump from one noble daughter to the next.
What do we do?
Tension crashes off them in waves. Some twist back, as if they’re trying to check for guidance from their families behind them. Even Oona flinches, though her cruel eyes darken almost instantly, as if settling on a plan while the rest of us squirm.
This isn’t what any of them expected either.
A haunting pipe tune picks up from a back corner of the room somewhere behind the dais.
