4
1160 Words
I walk toward the door, but Derrick stops me, his voice low. “Hold on.”
Annoyed, I look at him. “Whatever it is, can’t it wait? I want to eat and have a bath. And you smell worse than me.”
He winces. “I’m not sure who smells worse right now, but I don’t want you to execute your fated mate.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter to me. Not all wolves seek out their fated mates. I don’t like being controlled by the Goddess—”
“Well, I don’t believe that,” my friend says abruptly. “A fated mate is a gift. And honestly, I can’t see any other woman putting up with you aside from your fated mate. You should go ahead with what you were planning.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I walk past him, and he trails after me.
“I don’t want you to kill her, Cedric. I forgive her.”
I pause. “You forgive her? You forgive her the blood of your family?”
“Yes,” he growls. “I believe in fated mates. I don’t want you to miss out on yours. I killed her father. I killed someone precious to her. That makes us even. I can live with that.”
“Maybe you can, but I won’t force you to make this choice based on—”
“Cedric, it’s my decision!” he snaps. “I’m telling you to mate the girl! Not everybody gets to meet their fated mate. No matter your views on the subject, I won’t have you walk away from her for me!”
Edgar and Rothan voice their agreement from behind me.
“Fine.” I glare at Derrick. “You have till tomorrow to change your mind. Now, I need to bathe. Get out of my way.”
He moves aside but not before pretending to gag as I walk past him. That earns him a punch in his gut, and as I walk away, I hear him groaning while Edgar tells him, “You had that coming.”
A hot shower and a meal relax my muscles, and I head to my chambers. When I open the door, however, I’m assailed by a rich scent that has me stopping in my tracks. My wolf snarls.
Intruder!
Before I can react, I smell something else, a soft, earthy scent that’s quite familiar to me. It’s buried under that rich aroma, and once my wolf recognizes it, it rumbles in approval.
Did Harriet bring the woman here?
I told her to—
No, I didn’t tell her what to do with the princess. She must have assumed I wanted her in my chambers. I ring the rope for the bell attached to Harriet’s quarters before closing the door behind me and searching the room for the woman. She’s not on the bed. She’s not on the chair…
I pause.
There’s a small figure curled up in front of the fire.
Frowning, I walk over and look down at her.
Her hair is spread out behind her—a beautiful, ebony black, with long, glistening strands fanning out from her head. The girl is curled into a tiny ball, and even after having cleaned up and put on some fresh clothes, she still looks gaunt. I saw Princess Vivian once at a gathering for royals and nobles. She was an exquisite creature, but her eyes made my skin crawl. Still, I would have recognized her as my fated mate the moment we met.
So, why now?
The woman moans in her sleep, curling herself up even tighter, and I feel a tinge of annoyance. If she had to lie down, she should have just lay down on the bed. Leaning over, I pick her up in my arms. I’m not surprised by how light she is. The princess weighs next to nothing.
I carry her over to the bed and slowly lower her onto it. I study her as she begins to shiver. The cold of the North must not suit her. She’ll have to get accustomed to it, though.
Her hair falls over her face when she moves in her sleep. Without thinking, I remove the strands from her cheek. My hand looks massive compared to those small features. I could crush her head in my fist.
The idea amuses me, but when she shivers again, I pull the blanket up over her body.
There’s a knock on the door, and I walk over to answer it.
It’s Harriet, her face pallid. “I have a message for you, Your Majesty.”
I glance at the sleeping woman and nudge my head to the side. “In the sitting room.”
She blinks in surprise. The sitting room has not been opened since my mother passed. It is cleaned by Harriet, but I’ve never gone in. She must have assumed it was for sentimental reasons. Maybe it was.
She follows me into the adjoining room and sits down on the sofa beside me.
“Rothan received a message from one of your men in the East. I was already coming to see you, so I said I would pass it on to you.” She hesitates. “He insisted he should come himself, but I could tell he was tired.”
A flicker of a smile plays on my lips. Harriet is Rothan’s mother. She still worries about him.
She hands me a folded piece of paper. I open the message and read the contents.
Deceased woman with the mark on her wrist found just outside the palace in a maid’s uniform. Badly disfigured. Jewels on her.
I press my lips together, crumpling the paper in my hand, my mood darkening.
I was right.
“What did you want to talk about, Harriet?” I turn my attention toward the woman who oversees the upkeep of this entire castle.
“The princess bears marks of abuse,” she says quietly. “There are scars on her back and other parts of her body that are concealed by clothing.”
“Scars?” I feel confused. “Wolf shifters rarely have scars.”
“Scars are possible if the wounds are constantly opened over and over again, or if the wound is too grievous. It can also be that she was not allowed to see a healer. I do not know the circumstances, Sire, but I did apply a healing balm. It did not work. Perhaps if we keep applying it repeatedly, it may.”
“What about her demeanor?”
She shakes her head. “Quiet, subdued. She’s very polite. I got your letter when you started your journey back, so when you arrived, I observed her closely. She doesn’t behave like royalty. One of the maids ran her an ice-cold bath to play a prank, and the girl didn’t make a sound.”
- Writer
