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The Black Wolf’s attention snapped from whatever he was reading.
Sitting in her father’s solar among her family’s possessions and most private correspondences, he made a jarring sight. Anger simmered inside her, and holding her tongue took every ounce of restraint.
He stood and wheeled around the writing desk, his broad body blocking the sunlight through the window. For a moment, the light transformed him into a formidable silhouette—a dark cloud shielding the sun. The wolf tracked his steps. Its wise, yellow eyes missed nothing. “Wait outside the solar, Edrick. We shall discuss our plans after.”
The captain gave a curt nod, then threw Blanchette a pointed look and obeyed the command.
She gave a mocking, delicate curtsy, moving with a sophistication she knew Rowan could never equal. She wanted him to feel unclean. Like a true invader. “Shall I address you as sir? The Black Wolf? My Lord? Your Grace? Your identity seems to change quicker than I change my smallclothes.”
He gave a small, crass smile that she didn’t like at all. “The Black Wolf has a nice ring to it.”
Blanchette stood a little straighter and forced herself to meet Rowan’s piercing hazel eyes. She tried not to pay attention to the wolf at all, lest she lose her nerve. “I see. Well, you are a lord now by right of conquest. I’m sure that brings you great satisfaction.”
He crossed his arms over his wide chest and measured her with his gaze. Those eyes were like hands, and she could feel them on her body. “I am a lord and was always a lord and not the first lord of my house. And by right of conquest, I am king of Norland, should I choose it.”
Blanchette swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. “I shall never kneel for you.”
“And I shall never bow to you,” he parried. The wolf wheeled around his body. Rowan absently placed a hand on its back, like a soldier placing a hand on his sword’s pommel. “Though you did just curtsy for me,” he murmured, that cruel smile making another appearance.
Her body vibrated with disgust. She wanted to yell a thousand obscenities, to tear this monster apart with her words, if not her hands. Instead, she felt tears wash up and into her eyes.
Her voice shook as she spoke. Raw emotion broke up her sentences. “You sit there at my father’s study, your hands still wet with his blood. You were supposed to be his friend! Now, you stand before me,” she said as he looked down at her. “H-how can you? How could you do this? Why did you even call me here? Why am I still alive?”
He came forward, his long legs eating up the distance between them in a few swift strides. The wolf kept pace beside him, its massive paws barely making a sound. Like a ghost, she thought with a shiver. “I wanted to see how you’re faring. You were limping.”
“What? You are mad.”
He reached out and lightly rested his hand on her leg. She winced backward.
“Perhaps I am mad,” he said with a shrug. “Your injury. Let me see it.”
“Wh-what?”
“Your leg. Let me have a look at it. My patience is limited, unlike my authority.”
She withdrew from his touch, her hands trembling from the force of her emotions.
“So be it. If it’s infected, let it rot off.”
She studied him with a level gaze, her eyes never leaving his own, as her right hand slowly lifted the hem of her dress. His eyes moved away from hers. He dropped to a knee and examined her leg, gently running his fingertips over the healing skin. She’d expected pain and harshness yet was met with tenderness. The deftness of his touch shocked her. “Slightly red,” he murmured to himself. “Looks to be healing.” The Black Wolf sighed, and she felt his hot breath fan against her thigh. She tensed, and her cheeks flushed.
Good God, she felt lightheaded.
Rowan came to his feet and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Blanchette slowly dropped the material of her dress, her heartbeat pounding.
“You loathe me. I understand that,” he said in a slow, careful voice. “You desire to avenge your family. I respect that. And I understand that too. It’s not my desire to see you suffer any more than you already have. Your father did not die from my greed but from his own.”
She burned to scream at him, to rush to the desk, where she knew her father stored gilded daggers and dirks… to thrust a blade through his eye or throat, then give a little twist for good measure.
She knew all that was a foolish fantasy. It would get her nowhere. She had to play the complacent and dejected captor while plotting her revenge and escape.
It’s the only way… the one way I can keep my promise.
His boots thundered as he strode over to the studded door. A metallic groan sounded as he raised the crossbar and swung it open, then addressed his captain, who stood guard just outside. “We’ll be wanting a hot meal and some refreshments. Call the healer as well to check on her wounds. And hurry.”
“You keep great company. How long has he been your captain?” she spat, not even wanting to speak the vile man’s name.
“Edrick has been with me since the beginning,” he replied.
