Page 63 of Wolf Caged (Bound to the Shadow King #1)

And came out into a small, cobbled square in front of a half-timber forge with a crooked tiled roof and a beautifully crafted metal sign above the open doors, and several barrels of water stood outside it.

I stepped forwards, looking for the blacksmith in the heart of the building, where a great stone forge blazed red-hot, casting warm light over the tools that hung on the walls and the stacks of raw materials, and several anvils.

Two bare chested males worked at the forge, bathed in fierce light as one stoked the coals while the other turned a long strip of metal, pushing it deep into their fiery hearts before withdrawing it to check the temperature.

One male I didn’t recognise.

The other I did.

Kaeleron wiped sweat from his brow with the back of one hand as he gripped the strip of metal with tongs in his other and carried it to an anvil.

He picked up what looked like a hammer and began striking the metal, his movements precise and practiced, mesmerising to watch as firelight chased over his glistening chest and arms.

I stared, lost in the sight of him as he worked the metal, the rhythmic sound of his strikes echoing my heartbeat.

My wolf side howled at the glorious sight of him, his honed muscles streaked with soot and ash from his work, slick with sweat from the heat of the forge and the exertion of working the metal.

By the gods.

A low growl rumbled in my chest, something primal within me rising to the fore as I studied him, as I drank my fill of him. I had never seen anything so masculine.

So utterly male.

Every muscle of his torso and arms moved in a delicious symphony as he worked the metal, his handsome face set in hard lines of concentration, gaze focused on his work with an intensity that would have robbed me of my breath if he had looked at me that way.

It dawned on me that Riordan had asked me not to reveal he had been the one to tell me where to find Kaeleron because this was meant to be a sort of secret—a place Kaeleron came whenever he needed to work off some steam or distract himself from something.

I suddenly felt as if I was imposing, interrupting something where I wasn’t welcome or wanted, something private.

But before I could turn to leave, Kaeleron inspected his work and rose to his full height, saying something to the other male as he went to turn towards the forge.

His silver gaze landed on me.

Rather than scurrying away like I wanted to, I planted my boots to the cobbles and remained where I was, facing him and holding his gaze.

Seeing him.

Really seeing him.

It wasn’t a king standing before me. It was just a male.

There were no adornments on his ears, no fine clothing or a crown to denote his rank.

It was as if he had been stripped of those things to reveal the man beneath the kingly veneer—a man with the flame of joy born of passion in his eyes—a flicker of the boy in the painting.

He said something to the other male as he handed the worked strip of metal to him, barely paying him any attention, his striking silver eyes remaining fixed on me. He tugged the leather gauntlets he wore off and set them down on the anvil.

And then he was striding towards me.

My pulse picked up and I swallowed to wet my suddenly dry throat as Kaeleron prowled towards me, honed body streaked with soot and sweat, flooding my imagination with visions of him labouring over the fire, working up that sweat as he skilfully crafted weapons.

Damn .

If he had been born a blacksmith, I still would have found him irresistible. A crown hadn’t given him power. He had been born with it, with an allure that snared me and had me aching for him to come to me.

“I’m surprised to see you like getting your hands dirty with such manual labour.” My words wobbled, betraying my nerves, or perhaps that fluttering of desire that made me tremble as he continued to hold me immobile with nothing more than a look so intense it did indeed steal my breath.

He chuckled, the warmth of that sound heating my bones, my heart.

Another glimmer of the boy in that painting, one who had known how to smile, how to laugh.

Kaeleron didn’t help the flush of desire turning my blood to fire. Instead of giving me a moment to quell it, he stoked the flames by bending over one of the large wooden barrels outside the blacksmiths and splashing water over his face to wipe the soot and sweat away.

Water that dripped and rolled down his chest, cutting through the dirt as he straightened again and turned towards me.

My gaze tracked one of the droplets, mouth going drier as it rolled over the square slabs of his pecs, snaked towards his impressive abs and cascaded down the valley between them, heading for his navel.

And lower.

To that trail of dark hair that led my gaze to the low waist of his leathers.

That fire in my blood became an inferno.

His husky chuckle had my eyes leaping up to his face, my cheeks scalding as his lips curled into a wicked, knowing smile.

“Some manual labour is more than enjoyable. It is a pleasure, Saphira,” he purred, the way my name rolled off his tongue sending a shiver down my spine and making my eyes drift closed.

I snapped them open before they could shut fully, but the damage was done. His smile widened. He knew the power he had over me, how close I was to tackling him right here in this courtyard, where anyone could see, because I hungered.

And I couldn’t blame my mating heat this time.

This need growing inside me, it was all because of him.

He stoked the flames of my passion as expertly as he had stoked the flames of the forge, making me burn hot enough that I was in danger of melting, of begging him to mould me into that wild, wanton beast he had turned me into that night of Beltane—a woman who knew what she wanted and pursued it without reserve, without shame, taking the pleasure she needed and demanding more.

Uncaring of the consequences.

“Dinner was lovely, by the way,” I said, trying to cool my desire by driving a wedge between us.

Kaeleron’s dark eyebrows pitched low and he sighed, the hunger in his eyes replaced by what looked a lot like guilt. “I apologise for that. I was called away and barely had time to inform my sister. I asked her to explain my absence to you.”

“She did. This morning.” The bite to my words surprised me, and I fell silent as I contemplated the burning within me, the anger he had sparked by not telling me he had to leave, by letting me sit there like a fool at dinner, alone and forgotten.

Unimportant.

Because in the grand scheme of things, that’s what I was. Unimportant. A diversion. Entertainment.

And gods, I was a fool, but it hurt.

“You know what. It’s fine. I don’t care.

I live to serve, like others in your castle.

I’m sure the cooks and the servants who brought dinner to the table aren’t complaining, so I have no reason to either.

I’m just like them. A servant. And you’re a king.

You get to do what you want. I’m just the entertainment.

” I turned to leave, my throat closing and chest tightening, and I hated myself for saying all that, for putting it all out there, because now I felt cold and vulnerable, open to attack.

And desperate to hear him correct me—to tell me I was something more than that to him.

Kaeleron captured my wrist, holding me in place, but I kept my face turned away from him, not wanting him to see the turmoil in my eyes, the tumultuous emotions that I couldn’t tame, that were too powerful to be crushed and cast aside.

I hadn’t realised how much his absence had hurt me, or how much the fact he hadn’t taken a second to inform me had wounded me.

His fingers flexed around my wrist, warm and strong, and I gritted my teeth, despising how that touch soothed me, stirring a need to look at him, together with tears that stung my eyes.

“You are not just entertainment, Saphira.”

I wanted to believe that, I really did, because some reckless part of me had started to feel at home here, had started to see Vyr, Riordan and Neve as friends, and Kaeleron as something more than that. I had lowered my guard, and now I felt I was paying the price for it.

Suddenly tired and longing for quiet, to be alone with my thoughts, I tugged on my arm, but he only tightened his grip.

“You are right. I should have told you. I thought Vyr would let you know right away, and that is on me. Do not blame her.”

“I don’t. I blame you.” I kept my back to him, my arm stretched behind me, locked in his fierce grip.

“That is fine.” He sighed. “But perhaps this might make it better.”

I frowned as he slipped something cool onto my middle finger and looked back at my hand, wanting to see what it was.

A ring.

He released my wrist and I drew my hand up before me, studying the beautiful intricate silver ring. Miniscule markings lined the band, a language I had seen in the books and tapestries in the castle but couldn’t understand. My handmaidens had told me it was ancient fae.

“It is called a moon ring,” he murmured as his fingers traced the band and the circular opalescent stone set in the heart of two crescent moons. “I thought it might suit you.”

My eyebrows knitted harder as I noticed he wore a matching ring.

“It will protect you.” He stroked the ring again, grazing his thumb over it, his fingers against my palm as he stared down at it. “It took me longer than expected to finish them. I had wanted them ready before my trip to Ereborne.”

I was too hung up on what he had admitted to hear the rest of what he said.

I stared at the ring, my eyebrows rising high on my forehead as I took in how intricate it was, how delicate, and how beautiful and fine. “You made this? I thought you had bought it.”

His smile was small, almost awkward, as if my discovering he had made something so incredible had left him as vulnerable as I had felt just moments ago.

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted and the air of vulnerability he wore faded a little. “Thank you.”