53

Of course, I was familiar with my own body. I was a lady, but I had needs. I took care of myself. I always had. “None of your business,” I said primly.

“Don’t be shy, little wolf,” the king growled—but his growl was closer to a purr. He set his hand at my lower back, and it was so big it nearly spanned the width of it. “Tell me. It will help with my dreams tonight.”

“You beast,” I said before I could stop myself. My hands fluttered to his chest, as if to push him away, but I couldn’t make myself actually do it. “I won’t give you anything for your fantasies.”

“You don’t need to,” he said with that smirk. “I’ve got plenty I dreamed up all on my own.”

My blood roared in my ears, and I forgot the cold around me. Standing with the soft dirt under my bare feet, it was like all the pageantry of the Choice dissipated like our breaths. It was just us, together, two wolves in the crisp morning air.

The king swept his hand up to my sensitive nape. He flattened his palm against it, fingertips digging into the sides of my neck, and I gasped. He swallowed the sound in a burning kiss.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Any protests I had melted away under the intensity of his kiss. He devoured me, swiftly taking control and sweeping his tongue into my mouth like he wanted to taste me.

I was surrounded by him, overwhelmed by him, the heat of his body, his strong muscles, his scent, his touch, his taste. It was so easy to surrender to my desire. It felt like it had in the cave as wolves— it was just easy to be close to him. The kiss made my head spin. I’d never felt so desired. I’d never wanted to be close to someone like this. My wolf was sated, and I was, too—for the first time in a long time, we were aligned.

Kissing Griffin had never felt like this. Griffin.

I snapped back into reality, planted my plans on his chest, and shoved him off. The king took a step back, eyes widened with surprise.

“I can’t do this,” I said. My voice was small and only wavered a little.

I expected the king to push back, to tease me, or grab me again and pull me back into his arms. It wasn’t like I was strong enough to resist him.

But he didn’t. His expression faltered slightly, then became something soft, almost understanding, with the corners of his lips turned down and a small furrow in his brow. It reminded me of how he’d looked when he’d showed up at my door, thinking I was unwell. He had these moments where he kept surprising me. Like he was right at the brink of revealing some other side of himself—something beneath the layers he wore when he was acting as the king.

“Lady Reyna,” he said quietly.

“Please,” I said. The cold was sharp on my skin again, feeling even worse now with the loss of his touch. “I need to get back to the castle.” I glanced over my shoulder, toward the source of the voices. “Alone.”

The silence hung between us. I felt small, small and isolated and confused. I wanted a hot meal, a nap in a warm bed—I wanted to go home.

“If you insist, my lady,” the king said, with a heretofore unused formality. “Just—” he tipped his head. “You can’t go back like that.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I huffed. Not like I could make my standing with the council any worse.

“Here.” He ducked back into the cave and emerged with a heavy canvas cloak. It wasn’t nearly as fine as the cloaks he wore when with the court, but it was thick and warm and fur-lined around the neck so as to not irritate my skin. He handed it to me, and I didn’t hesitate to wrap it around my body, immediately grateful for the protection from the cold.

“Thank you,” I said, and swallowed.

The king only nodded. He looked at me for a long moment, and then, in a crackle of energy, shifted back into his wolf form. His golden eyes flashed, and then the immense dark wolf bounded back into the woods, away from the city.

I pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders, standing still until the sounds of his paws receded to silence. Then I turned toward the path I hoped led back to the manor.

15

t was early enough that the manor and the surrounding town was still quiet when I returned. The path led me to the servants’ back entrance—where the laundry was hanging up to dry, and the servants hurried in and out with baskets of supplies, preparing for another day. I pulled the cloak tightly around my shoulders, smoothed down my hair best I could, and rushed toward the back door. I got a few glances from the servants working, but no one stopped me. Being wolves of Nightfall, I

could only assume they were used to seeing people hurry in from an ill-advised or unplanned shift.

I slipped in through the back door, weaving through the disinterested servants. As I made my way toward the back staircase, someone called, “Milady! Milady!”

I cringed and glanced over my shoulder, just in case they weren’t calling for me. But it was Amity who was trying to get my attention; she hurried out of the bustling kitchens. “Milady! Are you all right?” She raised her eyebrows at the cloak, then wrinkled her nose. “What on earth is this?”

Oh, gods. I hadn’t even thought about that—the Nightfall wolves were so sensitive, did she smell the king? Did all the servants know that I had—

“That smells like you pulled it out of a river!” she exclaimed. “What on earth happened?”

Rue appeared from the kitchens, too. They corralled me into the laundry room and closed the latch behind me. There, Amity took the cloak with her nose wrinkled in disgust. Amity dressed me in a clean servant’s dress, pulled from the closet in the laundry room, and a plain shawl which I pulled over my dirty hair. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me as I made my way back to my room. The fewer people knew about this, the better.