Page 89 of Settle Down, Princess

I would curse his name until the day I died, but never more than now, because the princess dropped her bottle of oil back down on the table and then wrenched her gloves off before leaving the tent without a word.

Chapter 51

“You can do a whole lot more and I’ll endure it all, because when you make me pay for every idiot thing I’ve done, hope remains.”

Silas’ words haunted me as I hurried out of the tent and back towards the crowds. His reaction, the way his breath picked up as I smeared the brutally intense liniment on him wasn’t what I expected. It definitely wasn’t what I wanted. I was trying to extinguish any connection to me, and he… I shook my head sharply, bringing my attention back to the crude arena before us.

There was the large flat area in front of us, with a small hill ringing it so every member of the packlands could sit and watch, because once our little meet and greet session was over, the males were all to peacock past the collective, like stallions at market day.

I just wanted to geld mine.

“How did it go?” Fern asked me as I sat down beside her. “Did that liniment leave them gasping?”

“Liniment?” One of the other older women in the crowd turned around, glancing at Fern, then me. “Did you put liniment in the massage oil?” Some other people moved our way, and for a moment I felt a pang of fear. “Oh, you didn’t!” She cackled, something that others joined in on as my supposed mates emerged from the tent.

“What the hell happened to your brother?” one of the men asked Fern. “Looks like he’s been labouring out in the sun all day without a shirt.”

“More like a roast suckling pig!” a woman chuckled. “Red as tomatoes, those boys.”

“Well, that’s what comes from forming a pack with humans,” said another. “Is this the fashion now in the bloody capital, to paint your skin bright red?”

“Looks bloody ridiculous if it is.”

While the laughter and titters went up through the crowds, I straightened up. Fern shot me a sidelong look, a dimple popping in her cheek as she fought to keep back a giggle. That look, it drove out Silas and Creed and the rest of the pack’s reactions more surely than any attempt on my part to push the memory aside. Something lightened in me, letting my lips twitch then curve into a smile, but that wasn’t enough. A rattle of something shook me, fighting to get out.

Was this what it was to be free?

To let out a snicker, then a giggle, not caring whether it was appropriate or not. As if in response to that, Fern’s came out in a rude snort, which had me abandoning all control. Laughter burst out of me, the tide unable to be held back, one that seemed to rise and rise as we stared at each other, bearing witness to the other woman’s response. People turned to stop and stare at us, which only made us laugh harder. We laughed so hard we were fighting to take a breath. Each time we struggled to, the resulting wheeze would have the other person cackling all over again. It was only the arrival of Saffron and Hazel that had us settling back down again.

“I assume this is your handiwork?” Saffron’s stern tone was a familiar one, and Fern and I sat up straight then, trying to look abashed and failing utterly. The twinkle in her eye followed by a slow smile made clear her true reaction.

“What on earth did you do to them?” Hazel peered across the parade ground and our eyes followed. Each one of the shifter packs was a picture of masculine perfection, the glisten of the oil delineating every muscle. “Did you put cochineal in the massage oil?”

Made from the carapace of a beetle, it was used to stain eggshells during the spring solstice.

“Gods, we should’ve done that!” Fern said.

“Muscle liniment, Hazel,” one of the onlookers said.

“Liniment…?” The older woman shook her head slowly, and for a second, I felt a pang of fear. This was her grandson we were tormenting, but she let out a rough bark of laughter. “This is what comes from forgetting the faces of your ancestors. If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them twice…”

As the muscles in my body slowly unwound, Elder Wren asked for the attention of the crowd again.

“Now you have met the contenders, it is time to open this mating games with a grand melee!” she announced.

“What’s that?” I asked Fern.

“You remember how you were asked to rub a piece of fabric over your body?” I nodded. “Well, each of the females that have fated mates were asked to do the same.” She pointed to the broad expanse of the parade grounds. “Yours is buried in there somewhere, as is those of the other females.” We watched the different packs be directed to the perimeter.

“There are flags of varying colours buried underground,” Wren said. “For each prospective mate, there is a flag that is imbued with her scent. The pack that finds the flag with their mate’s scent first, wins.”

“That seems pretty simple,” I said to Fern. “A wolf shifter’s sense of smell is keen, isn’t it? Wouldn’t they just sniff it out?”

“Them and all the others,” one of the crowd members answered for her with a wicked grin.

They all leaned forward, the idle chatter dropping away, as if they were spectators at a sporting field, though I guess that’s what this was.

“And what do the others do if they catch scent of another’s flag?” I asked, my focus split between the field and the crowd.

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