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Feral. Haunting. Wild. Not of this world.
It was an eerie, human sound that caused her stomach to drop.
Then heavy footsteps headed straight for the door.
The Black Wolf’s coming for me.
She curled her fingers into fists and raised them against her cheeks in a silent grimace. She choked back her scream. Bit her lip until the metallic flavor of blood filled her mouth.
Blanchette burst toward the window—but the Black Wolf snatched the trail of her red cloak. He reeled her to him, like a trout caught on a line, and dragged her bodily into the room.
Trembling from her anger, she glared straight into the Black Wolf’s eyes.
His stare locked on her own. The wolf’s lips curled, exposing its razor-sharp teeth. The creature was huge, well over two hundred pounds. Rowan silently set a hand on its back. The wolf quieted and sat beside him, its lantern-like eyes burning into Blanchette.
Absently, she heard Jonathan speaking. His words were a clumsy mess. “One of my daughters, sir. She hasn’t been well. She’s been resting in the chamber, see.”
“You said you had the one child.”
You murdered my family—murdered everything I’ve ever loved. A scream churned inside her. It rolled up into her throat like bile, but she choked it down.
The Black Wolf said nothing for what felt like minutes. The very air seemed to thicken with the tension. Blanchette struggled with the desire to take two steps back, but she stood tall and still, refusing to show fear in the face of her family’s killer.
“You…” Her voice sounded hoarse and somewhat delusional.
The Black Wolf attempted a smile. “Come forward,” he commanded in a voice she dared not deny. He reached out a hand gloved in kidskin and ran his fingers through her blond hair. Then his shrewd eyes—eyes that missed nothing—probed Jonathan’s child.
“Even a blind man could see she lacks any resemblance to your son.”
“No, I wouldn’t suppose so. She’s not of mine own blood, sir. A foster girl?—”
“Yet she bears a striking resemblance to the late royal family. Why were you hiding from me, girl?” She said nothing. She bit her lip until blood filled her mouth again. “Now lower your red hood.” Blanchette froze, unable to stir a limb. “That was not a request,” the Black Wolf pressed on. The words shivered through her. He stood perfectly still as if made from stone. The wolf sat just as still, its attention riveted on her every breath, every movement. Its body was wound tight, like a coil ready to spring at the slightest provocation.
Blanchette inhaled a sharp breath and brought her fingers to the edge of the hood. She felt the hate seething in her stare. She flipped back the hood with a silent prayer.
“Just as I thought.” The Black Wolf turned back to Jonathan. “Perhaps you know something I do not, my friend.” No one dared to speak, so he went on. He walked around her—nay, he prowled around her—his fierce hazel eyes taking her in from head to foot, then back up again.
“My men have lined and fished that river since the boat capsized. Maybe half a dozen times. Her mother, fair Queen Joanna, had washed up ashore. No sign of Princess Winslowe has been discovered, however. Yet I see a blond beauty standing before me, who’d be just about the princess’s age and aesthetic.”
He doesn’t recognize me from all those feasts…
Jonathan feigned a look of surprise that his innocent and honest nature hid poorly. “Princess? I… I don’t believe so. It is quite news to me if she is. Look at her, sir. She is dressed in rags like a common peasant.”
“Of course she is,” the Black Wolf said dryly. “She’s in disguise, as any lady with half a mind would do.”
“Do you take the Black Wolf for a fool?” one of the soldiers said while the two others slowly drew swords from their scabbards.
The Black Wolf knelt beside Petyr, who clung to his father’s trousers and hid his face there. “What’s your sister’s name, little one?”
Petyr said nothing, bless him.
“Drawing swords on an unarmed man and his children,” Blanchette spat. “You call that justice?”
The Black Wolf rose to his full six-foot-five height. He swooped forward in a rush of movement and grabbed Blanchette’s trembling hand, which was half-buried under the red cloak. He held it up in midair as if he meant to kiss it before a first dance… but turned it slightly instead, so the signet ring twinkled traitorously in the morning light.
Blanchette felt her throat fall into her stomach. He started to slip the ring off her finger, but she jumped out of his wretched reach. She felt his eyes burning down at her, into her, and she returned the glare with equal hatred.
“You really are the princess.”
