Callum falls into step beside me.
I should be taking note of the way through this labyrinth. I should be mapping out the exits, and memorizing the rooms in this castle where the Wolves await.
Instead, my attention is ensnared by the man beside me. His eyes travel over my messy hair, then linger on tartan dress.
He swallows before focusing on the corridor ahead.
My throat tightens. “Is there a problem?” I ask, pulling my fingers through the tangled knots of my hair.
I do not want to be nervous about meeting with Callum’s king. But my stomach is turning over and over. If I’d just had a little more time to get ready—to compose myself and present myself in a way that is more fitting for the occasion—then perhaps this strange ball of energy inside me would have subsided.
“No.” He shrugs.
