Page 77 of Savagely Mated

The further in we get, these yards stop being open-air and have big glass ceilings that rise in faceted domes, creating greenhouse spaces. It’s all very fancy. I note that my sense of smell is a little muted in some of the places where flowers bloom profusely. Interesting. I wonder if that’s deliberate. Most of this palace seems designed to delight and impress, but wolves rely on scent. You don’t notice how much you use it until all you can smell is big red flowers with big yellow things sticking out of them.

“King Amathar is excited to meet you,” the courtier says to me. “It’s very exciting for us all. Imagine a female shifter of yourage and beauty loose in the city, handling matters of justice and survival on her own.”

He sounds impressed and incredulous at the same time. Next to me, I feel the director bristle. We are not drawing a lot of attention at the moment. Everybody in this place has their own agenda, I believe. They smile at one another and speak animatedly, but there is something in their eyes that makes me think whatever is coming out of their faces is laced with untruths and misdirects.

This is not the sort of environment I am used to. The only thing that makes me feel very comfortable is the guards who line the walls in their white and gold uniforms. I like guards. They are my people. They studiously avoid my gaze, which doesn’t surprise me. They’re not here to interact with the courtiers and whoever else is here. They’re here to guard the king.

“Are we not going to the main court?” The director asks the question.

“We are not going anywhere. The king has asked for a private audience with the young lady. Through here, if you please, Miss Darcy. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for us, Director Kier.”

“I will wait here,” she says, though there’s something hopeless in her tone. It’s the same tone I think I heard from my mates at breakfast. What the hell is going on with these people?

We are now indoors, and the inside of the palace is even more impressive than the exterior. I follow the courtier through halls with vaulted ceilings, mural painted walls, and of course, polished marble floors occasionally draped with ornate red rugs of some kind. You could spend hours just walking around this place looking at the artwork, which is detailed and clearly handpainted by great artisans and appears to depict various historical events, along with some legends.

We suddenly, to my mind, come to a set of large white doors. They are flanked by king’s guards. Very, very large and imposing king’s guards who absolutely bristle with all manner of weapons. They are carrying halberds, but those are the least of anyone’s worries. They have firearms strapped to their waists and bandoliers containing both grenades and ammunition. I’d be willing to bet there’s a lot more I can’t see either.

“I will not accompany you further,” the courtier says. “This is one of the private family chambers. Go in. Your presence is anticipated.”

“What’s a private family chamber? Like a…”

“Go in,” he repeats, more firmly. I feel the guards shift ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. Their eyes are on me now, as they were not before. I have the instinctive impulse, a flash of image across my mind, of these two grabbing me and dragging me into the room if I were to resist.

I shake that off. I can’t get paranoid now. I’m finally being acknowledged for my services to Eclipse. If that means the king considers me family, so be it.

They push the door open, and I step into the room.

It’s a large apartment, with big windows looking out over several of the many courtyards. Floral scents waft up from the gardens below. The place itself is furnished in… who fucking cares. The king is standing in front of me.

King Amathar himself.

The king looks like a proper king should look. He is tall, and he is handsome, and he is wearing a great deal of furs and jewels. I’d say he’s a little older than Einar, though he has clearly taken pains not to look old.

His skin has been tightened, his teeth whitened, his beard is jet black and perfectly trimmed. His hair is similarly black, and cut in the most stylish of ways, with a light wave that falls around his ears. It’s the same cut that all the courtiers have if they have the hair for it, and now I see why.

He is wearing very fancy clothes. His legs are clad in silk stockings that lead up to breeches belted with a big gold belt. His upper body is in a sort of tunic. The tunic is slightly open at the top to reveal his broad, hairy chest. His arms are bare and are roped with muscle. For some reason I expect tattoos, but there are none. Just a thick-ish pelt of man hair.

I am certain I have been told how to greet a king before, but in this moment, absolutely everything I have ever known goes right out of my head. It’s like I’ve never been taught anything about anything ever. I’m just stuck in front of this massive royal man who can command anybody in this city. I’ve never felt pure authority like this before, authority that doesn’t just come from his own physical being, or mental capabilities, but comes from everyone collectively agreeing they should definitely do what he says.

“Hi,” I say, immediately wishing I hadn’t said anything at all.

“So. This is the female wolf who has somehow avoided my harem,” he says, stalking around me, his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowed not in annoyance, but in intense concentration as he inspects me.

I don’t know what to say to that. I am awed. It’s not every day I meet a king. I am sure that my innate smart mouth will resurface soon, but if I picked up one thing at the academy, it’s that it isn’t a good idea to annoy someone who has their own army.

I wait to hear what his conclusion will be. I am sure he will be impressed with my exploits in the city. After all, I came to his attention after handling a gang of robbers on my own. He’s probably going to ask me about my fighting prowess, or maybe what position I’d most like in his guard.

“You should have been on your hands and knees begging for my cock on the very hour of your eighteenth birthday. You should have produced at least two heirs by now. We have some making up to do.”

Oh, no. He’s gross.

All of the majesty of the most impressive and majestic man can be stripped away in a moment when it becomes apparent that all he wants is sex. Filthy, unpleasant, cloying sex. The kind of sex that comes from men you do not want to touch you, who have everything going for them and yet somehow still manage to make your skin crawl.

I let out a laugh that I hope he will find charming.

“I’m not really a producing heirs type of girl,” I explain. “I’m more of a career woman.”

“Ah, yes. I’m informed you left the academy in order to pursue recklessness and murder on the streets of Eclipse.”

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