Page 46 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“Our pages. If you ring the bell in your room, they will be the ones to attend to you. We call them pages, but together with a few other boys, they fulfill the duties of both pages and parlormaids.”

That’s right. The Caledonians don’t have outside staff. I’d taken that to mean a communal sharing of chores, but it seems they assign such tasks as regular jobs … including to the children.

That’s very odd. While children should have some chores, this seems more like putting them in service.

We leave the boys to help with the bags, and Angus and Dennis veer off shortly after that, vanishing into other rooms as we pass.

There are a lot of rooms, and the whole castle is as quiet as the town house I’d shared with my aunt. Trevelyan had been very different, and I’d thrived on the endless noise and bustle, as if it were energy that fed me, making me feel safe and connected even during the worst times.

At Trevelyan, I’d smiled at the endless shouts and laughter and thudding of running feet and bodies slamming into walls in rough play. It was what I’d imagined a house of young men might be like.

This is also a house of wolves, and yet I could hear the proverbial pin drop.

“It’s much quieter than Trevelyan,” I say, mostly to break that deafening silence.

“Yes,” Edwin says. “You can expect peace and quiet for your visit. You may hear the men this evening, but they will all be out of doors, and they have been told we have guests and will attempt to keep the noise to a minimum.”

“Oh, I don’t mind noise,” I say. “I grew accustomed to it at Trevelyan.”

“The castle is always quiet,” he says. “The thick walls help with that.”

“How many wolves live in the castle?” Julius asks.

Edwin’s lips twitch in a smile. “Wolves? No, we ask that all transformations be done in the forest.” He lifts a hand. “I know what you mean. I’ve heard the word is widely used in other Packs. We simply call them men. As for the castle, it’s reserved for the use of the family and the inner circle.”

I try not to gape around at the endless corridors with equally endless doors.

Stop judging. Stop comparing it to the Albion Pack.

The majority of these rooms are probably communal when the wolves aren’t at work. Just like at Trevelyan, where the massive main floor was all communal space. A library. A billiards room. The main dining hall and a smaller breakfast nook. Multiple sitting rooms. If you have nearly four dozen men here, you need spaces for them beyond sleeping quarters. That’s what most of this castle must be.

“There is a guest wing,” Edwin says. “Three bedrooms and a sitting area. It’s cozier than you might expect in a castle, but most living areas are small, which was historically useful for heating purposes.”

Julius engages in a bit of small talk on that—the challenges of castle life—and then, as we reach our wing, he says, “We won’t wander, of course, but might we know who we could meet, if we are out? You said the inner circle have rooms here? Advisor, controller, and enforcer? You have two enforcers, yes?”

“We do. One attends my father at all times, and one stays outside the castle and watches over the men. With all the men, it’s like having a small village and it helps to have someone to keep the peace.” A tight smile. “A sheriff, if you will.”

“And the family? Three sons and your father, of course. Forgive our ignorance, but are there grandsons as well?”

It’s a very innocent query, but Edwin’s jaw works before he masks it. “I understand that happens in other Packs—sons sire grandsons to ensure succession. As you said, that is what Silas hoped for. But Silas had no sons of his own. My father has three, and so he has decided that grandsons would only muddy the waters, so to speak.”

Julius smiles. “Understandable. Silas’s situation was unique. All right then. We won’t take up more of your time.”

Edwin bows his head. “It is no bother. Your rooms are right up here. The lads will bring tea and coffee and a midmorning repast, and then your escorts will arrive to show you around.”

SEVENTEEN

“Is this creepy?” Julius whispers.

We’re in our quarters, and we’re meeting in the sitting room, where the “pages” have already laid out a small feast of coffee and tea and breads and cheeses and cold meats. They’ve retreated, and Rufus has done the rounds, ensuring we are indeed alone in our quarters with no one listening in. I also cast a ward in the hall, which will alert me to anyone’s approach. But Julius still keeps his voice down as we stand at the far side of the room, away from the doors and narrow windows.

“Creepy as fuck,” Rufus says.

“It’s different from the Albion Pack,” I murmur, and Rufus sputters a laugh at that.

I hold up a hand. “I’m new to Pack life, and I am trying to not judge.”

“I know a wolf from the Hibernian Pack,” Rufus says, “and there was an American who worked for Bishop’s father, who talked about that Pack. There are differences but not like this.” He looks around. “It’s unnatural.”