Page 5 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

Hard fingers gripped my shoulders, digging into the flesh.

“I don’t ask it of you very often, but I need your obedience now.”

That was patently a lie. She asked me to comply over and over until I found myself using the subsequent hysterical feeling of being locked down and trapped to devise a way out of things, but even I could suppress that instinct now. Father ruled the keep with an iron fist and no one wanted to be on the other end of it when he brought out his whip. So I nodded to the laundresses who had clustered over to one side of the room, ostensibly to sort through the washing ready to be cleaned once I was out of their tub.

I stripped out of my dress and underthings, tossing them on the floor in my haste, one of the women moving closer to retrieve them and put them with all the other dirty clothes. I scrubbed myself down with the harsh yellow soap that stank of pig fat and lye and, for once, my fairly brisk attempt at getting clean was complimented not criticised.

When I got out, Linnea stepped in with a thick drying cloth, drying me all over. Gordon had closed the door, no doubt keeping guard in the hall to make sure none of the men in the keep saw me, including him. A lady’s body was a sacred thing, not to be seen or touched without permission. That thought brought memories back. They should’ve been of Kris, of the feel of his armour-clad body pressed against mine, the way those well-muscled arms kept me steady on Breaker’s back, my hips rocking against his… But thoughts of him slipped from my mind as easily as water, quickly replaced by another memory.

Wet, slick, sucking mouths. Hard hands grabbing me. Low groans…

“What on earth are you waiting for, you addled girl?” Linnea said, having handed the drying cloth to a laundress and obviously having directed an order at me while I was overwhelmed by other sensations. She passed me a robe and wrapped me up tight in it, not a scrap of skin to share as I was bustled out and down the hallway.

“Into the seamstress’s rooms,” Gordon said. “Her clothes and shoes are all there. Now I must fly. The Strelan are due here any moment.”

“You hear that, girl?” Linnea snapped, then grabbed my arm and wrenched me inside.

“Ahh, milady…”Joan, a plump little woman with a permanent smile on her face, came rushing over but Linnea waved her away.

“Enough pleasantries. Dress her, now!”

I hated the look of fear in Joan’s eyes, the way her cupid’s bow of a mouth pinched as she worked furiously to layer all the garments I was required to wear at a formal event like this. A chemise, then a corset and underdress, then the gown proper over that. Jewelled slippers, earrings, necklaces, red rouge mixed with wax rubbed into my lips and then my cheeks were pinched brutally to give me some colour.

“Nearly there, my lady,” Joan said as she raised a gossamer thin veil and placed it on my head, securing it to my head with a simple golden circlet. She stepped back and looked at me admiringly. “Oh, milady…”

“Enough of that.” As Linnea grabbed my hand the brassy sound of trumpets alerted us to the fact that visitors, important visitors, had just ridden into the courtyard. I was yanked out of the room, the two of us scurrying with a most unladylike haste until we emerged out of the servants’ quarters and into the building proper. There the two of us glided along with the smooth and unhurried pace of a true lady until I took my place by my father’s side.

“You look lovely, daughter,” Father said, sparing me a quick glance, although the frown on his face only softened slightly when he saw me. “But I asked for Darcy some time ago, Lady Linnea.”

“Of course, Your Grace, but we spent the morning trying to find just the right dress. You said that we needed to assume a position of strength at this meeting, and we all know what a jewel and a distraction a lovely daughter of the house can be,” she replied in an unctuous tone.

“Quite right.” He gave me another assessing look, then nodded. “Darcy, you’re to remain by my side until you are excused, and your movements will need to be severely constrained while we have the wolves in our den. They are not to be trusted, ever. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been getting up to in the stables.”

I didn’t reply, didn’t dare say a thing, instead placed my hand on my father’s arm, keeping my head demurely downcast as he led us into the great hall.

“I sent Kristoff on patrol!” Father muttered in a tense tone, but there was my knight, standing to attention in full armour as we passed, like so many of Father’s men, his helm held under his arm. I wasn’t sure how Kris bore the glare that was shot his way, but he stared forward as Father took his seat on the massive chair at the head of the hall.

Carved from slabs of marble and padded richly with cushions, a black bear’s pelt hanging from one side, he sat down, leaving me to curl my legs under me and sit on the cushion set at his feet for just this purpose. Knees pointing away, feet hidden by my skirts, back straight, my eyes slid to where Linnea stood with the other ladies of my father’s court and her slight nod was enough to tell me I had it right. I placed my hands neatly in my lap and then did as I was bade. Sit still, be decorative, be a symbol of my father’s wealth. I watched as the huge doors were pulled open and Gordon, dressed now in an ermine-trimmed doublet, strode up the thick red carpet that led the way into the great hall.

“Your Grace,” he said with a low bow. “May I present the four sons of Ulfric, the Wolf King of Strelae…”

That was all I heard of the introduction, Gordon’s voice falling away and the further explanations he delivered to my father sounding muffled, as if I was listening to them with my head dunked underwater. My heart, already skittish since the moment I had arisen this morning, began an even more frantic pulse. The steps of many men reverberated through the hall, despite the sound-stifling carpets, because no nobleman travelled on his own, not even the wargen. Their chain mail armour jingled as they walked, their boots slamming down on the stone flagstones, but it was when the four princes stopped the polite distance away from my father that my muscles began to tremble.

“Welcome, Prince Dane, Prince Weyland, Prince Axe and Prince Gael,” my father said in a formal, yet warm tone, confirming all my worst suspicions.

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