Chapter 43

Was this what freedom felt like?

To just dance to the rollicking beat in any way I saw fit. To not worry about what my mother, my father, my grandmother—or even some ambassador from a country I couldn't point out on a map—thought about the way I was dancing. To not have to prove I was worthy of my title in every step of the dance I performed. I'd tossed aside my stays and the ornate gowns packed for me when Fern and the rest of Creed's family had appeared at the cottage, but it felt like I'd set aside more than just royal protocol when I pulled on the loose cotton dress they gave me. It felt like I'd let another aspect of my true self come out.

Stormarian court dances were made up of a million complex steps. Your ability to remember them and then perform them with any sort of grace was an achievement akin to being a skilled swordsman. Each time you stepped onto the dance floor, you demonstrated your worth to other women and hopefully caught the eye of the men, but I didn't think about any of that right now. My eyes fell half closed as I just… moved.

My body was tugged to and fro by the beat of the music, my hands rising, rising, then trailing through the air. I felt lost in the tune. I was floating on happiness, without a care, and best of all, when someone noticed that, it wasn't to critique me or drag me right back down to earth but to smile.

"Look at you, human girl," one of Fern's friends said with a grin. "You can actually move."

"Humans tend to be a little uptight," Fern explained with a sheepish smile. She spun around and then danced closer. "But you're really moving those hips. Try this."

Dresses always marked important moments in my life. I knew that the one I wore now would not have passed muster in Stormare. It's simple design and loose fit would've had the court ladies in fits, but as I moved in this dance, I understood more clearly the soft cotton folds of the dress Mother Marian had given me. Each of the single female wolf shifters moved with a liquid grace, their dresses swinging around their bodies, caressing them as they moved, almost an unspoken dance partner.

"Like this," Fern said, performing a complex roll of her hips that made her look both graceful and boneless. I stilled, trying to work out how the hell she was doing it. She laughed and so did the other women, though not unkindly, then Fern slowed her movements down, making clear how. "The mothers always say we should dance like this to make sure all the muscles in our abdomens are strong, but we know."

Her eyes darted sideways, skimming over the heads of the other dancers to where several of the men had risen, coming to the edge of the dance floor. It appeared that men watched women dance on the packlands as well as at court. I did not find their collective gaze oppressive, because while I watched them watch us, I knew whatever lurked in their eyes didn't matter to me. I didn't answer to these males, didn't require their approval, not even the four who said they were mine.

Beyond the heads of everyone gathered, were Arik and his pack. I couldn't help but be aware of their presence in the dining hall because it felt like all conversation had stopped when they arrived. That silence hadn't been a friendly one. The single women who Fern had taken me to sit with had listened to my tales, frowned, and then gasped in horror at my treatment, offering sympathy and their willingness to plot my revenge if I needed it. I'd laughed, then realised all I'd needed was for someone to hear my plight and actually empathise with me. Each one had given me that assurance that they would be my co-conspirators. The thought made me smile before I pulled my attention back to where Fern's gaze was focused.

"It drives the males mad," she said, slowing down her movements to form a much more complex swivel of her hips.

The warriors closest to us followed every shift of her body with hungry eyes. I liked the way her lips curved, the sense of power that seemed to gleam there and not just because she sported sharp, wolfish fangs. I once again was envious and amazed at the authority and confidence of these women shifters. Fern was teasing the males with the promise of her body, and while my ingrained response was to expect the worst, she had no such concerns. It became obvious she didn't need to. They didn't surge forward, ready to take what they saw was theirs. Instead, the males shifted restlessly before joining the throng. Her goal achieved, Fern turned to me.

"It makes them think of how they'd like our hips to move if they got us alone," she said, twisting her body side to side. "Or how they'd like to slap their hands down on them and force us to stay still as they serviced us." Her eyes glittered as she searched mine for a response. "In the packlands, we don't hold to the prudish notions that humans have. When Mum said you were safe here, she meant it."

"Try it," one of the other females said, then let out a whoop that others echoed as she danced more freely, the musicians speeding up the beat of the song. It seemed to get faster and faster, in time with my heart, as I tried to imitate their rolling hips.

And failed miserably, at least at the start. It felt like I was wearing my corset still, every bone and muscle locked into place. When I tried to perform that silken motion, my cheeks flushed. It was as uncomfortable as an ill-fitting dress that I was trying to wrest over my head, but I was determined to do it. My gaze sharpened, taking in the way they moved and then analysed it the same way I with had my dance teacher's instructions: using their example to learn how to shift mine. And then I did it. Fern's grin widened instantly, her eyes sparkling in surprise. That made me bold, forcing me to try again and again until I felt it.

A very feminine kind of power.

You could put me on a training ground, push a sword and shield into my hands, and I'd never, ever be the equal of even the smallest of men. Even with persistent effort and an excellent teacher, I'd struggle to lift a sword and, more importantly, I didn't want to. There was a power to wielding a weapon, but the one I wanted to use was much more subtle. I swayed, twitched, and rolled in time with the music, my body becoming suspended somehow by the notes of the music.

"You got it!"

Fern grabbed my hands in hers and we both laughed as she spun me around then let me go. We danced away from each other in a series of rippling movements, like we were different tides in the same sea. The moon, the music, they brought us back together.

And drew others closer.

Could women ever experience power without men inserting themselves into the proceedings? I wasn't sure if I knew the answer, but it might have been partially answered in the form of great hulking wolf shifter warriors weaving their way through the dancing crowd. Like predators, each one of them zeroed in on one of the single females, edging closer and closer.

"Fern." That was the only greeting the first big fellow gave as he swayed closer. I stiffened at the sight of him, but she just smiled, throwing herself into his arms and twining hers around his neck. "You have to have sold your soul to some demon to look as beautiful as you do."

"Pretty words, Toren." She seemed utterly unfazed by them as she turned in his grip. His hands slid up her ribs as she dropped down and then up his body before twisting around again to meet his eyes. "But it'll take more than that to lure me away tonight."

"Oh?"

The challenge, the dark promise, was clear in his voice.

"My friend, Jess, has been through hell and back at my brother's hands." She went to pull away and return to me, and Toren let her go, reluctantly. "Those idiot males seemed to have forgotten every rule the elders taught them on how to treat a woman, or they never bothered to learn them properly in the first place."

"Is that right?"

I spun around at the sound of another deep, masculine voice, a sharp spike of fear jolting through me. Or was it the thrill of one? For a second, I was sure Creed, or Roan, or even Arik stood there behind me. The sight of a particularly large wolf shifter warrior that I did not know was both a relief and a disappointment. His keen hazel eyes seemed to sense that, and his lips twisted into a smile under a thick blond beard.

"Well then, we'll just have to show you how a male should treat a woman. I'm Jorah."

He held out his hand in an invitation to dance, making clear it was my choice whether I wanted to take it, and that's what sealed the deal for me. Choice was something far more seductive than the wide spread of his shoulders or the flex of his muscles. I smiled at him, truly smiled, as I slid my hand into his and let him spin me around on the dance floor and into his arms.