Page 36 of Savagely Mated (Shared Mates #1)

D arcy

I’ve never been to the palace before. Each class usually goes every year, but I’ve always been pulled out of the trip for one reason or other. I’ve usually done something bad and been put on detention and restrictions.

So this is my first time actually being taken through the gates. The entire place is cut from marble, which does not come from around Eclipse. Instead, it is floated down the river from further upstream, where stone is better, I guess.

Gold and white marble are quite striking complements to one another, and they are everywhere.

If something is not marble, it is gold. If it is not gold, it is marble.

All of this is punctuated by large (marble of course) edged areas where trees and ferns and things that climb are grown in such a way to further increase the beauty of the place.

The ground we walk on is made of other kinds of stone all cut and polished to create pretty geometric repeating patterns.

“Wow,” I say, thoroughly impressed. “This place is nice.”

“Quiet,” Madame Kier says. “Speak as little as possible. We are going to try to keep you out of the king’s sight.”

“But he asked to see me?”

“Yes. I am hoping he has forgotten.”

I look at her, frowning slightly in confusion. “I’m not very forgettable,” I say.

“I know, and therein lies the problem,” she replies. “If you must speak…”

I wait for her to tell me to speak politely.

“Be yourself,” she says. “Be as much of yourself as you are capable of being. Display everything you have ever been censured or chastised for.”

“This really feels like very bad advice. Are you trying to sabotage my audience with the king? Are you jealous or something?”

“No, foolish girl. I am trying to stop you from…”

I never find out how she might have finished that sentence because we are suddenly met by a courtier who attaches himself to us like a limpet.

“You must be Darcy,” he says. “What an honor for us. We’re all very excited to meet a wild female.”

“I’m not wild.”

“Well, you know, manner of speaking,” he beams. “Not raised in the palace, as is tradition.”

“It’s tradition to be raised in the… ow!”

My question gets cut off this time, because the director of the academy has just jabbed me very hard in the ribs, which happens to be the same place I hurt when I ended up in the bush a few days ago.

I fall silent, not wanting to make little pathetic puppy sounds in a place like this.

The palace is busy. I am used to a bit of bustle at the academy, but there are hundreds of people milling about here, all wearing the finest clothes—nothing like what gets worn in the city either.

The green gown actually fits in very well here. Ladies swoop back and forth wearing dresses with skirts some twice as wide as mine. It’s really more like being in a jungle than I imagined, with all the plants and the people in their birdlike finery.

I always imagined the palace to be a very wolf-y place, given that the king is renowned to be a shifter, and all his mates are shifters too. But this place is much more Versailles than it is wolf den.

We are led through what feels like endless courtyards of various shapes and sizes. Some of them have buildings leading off them, others are bounded by walls.

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 your age 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 hand painted 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.