Chapter 6 Wen
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Wen
The private library smelled like dust, old leather, and what I suspected was actual medieval decay.
Books were stacked everywhere, scrolls covered every available surface, and in the middle of it all sat Scholar Umrik, bent over a massive tome like he was trying to merge with it through sheer force of will.
He was ancient. Like, potentially older than the concept of time itself.
“Scholar Umrik,” Mal said, his hand warm on the small of my back as we entered. “Thank you for seeing us so quickly.”
Umrik looked up, blinking slowly like a turtle waking from hibernation. “Ah. Yes. The boy’s powers. Quite extraordinary. And quite inexplicable. You see, in my three centuries of study...”
Oh god. We were going to be here forever.
“...I have encountered precious few cases of how shall I put this... Well, there was this one incident three hundred years ago where a wolf mated with a...”
“Perhaps we could focus on the present situation?” Mal suggested, his voice strained with the effort of staying polite.
“Yes, yes, of course. Where was I?” Umrik adjusted his spectacles. “Ah yes, witch hybrids with wolves. Exceedingly rare. In fact, I remember a case from my early studies, must have been around the year 867, or was it 678? No, definitely 867, because that was the year of the great...”
Someone please end me.
Killian squirmed in my lap, already bored out of his tiny mind.
He started playing with my hair, twisting strands around his fingers while Umrik droned on about bloodlines and magical theory and seventeen different cases from two centuries ago that had absolutely nothing to do with our current situation.
Mal and I exchanged a look. A perfectly synchronized “oh my god, make it stop” look that would’ve been funny if we weren’t desperately trying to figure out why our son could open portals to other dimensions.
“The point being,” Umrik continued, finally, mercifully getting somewhere, “human-wolf hybrids with magical abilities are completely unprecedented. There is no record of such a thing occurring. Ever. At least not in Ravenor’s records.”
Killian chose that exact moment to interrupt. “Are you older than Grandma?”
Umrik blinked. “Well, I suppose...”
“Are you older than Papa?”
“Yes...”
“Are you older than DIRT?”
I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing. Mal’s shoulders were shaking slightly and he was suddenly very interested in a book on the far wall.
“Killian...” I started.
“I’m just asking! He looks REALLY old. Super super old. Like maybe dinosaurs old.”
“Pup,” Mal said, coughing to hide what was definitely a laugh. “That is not polite.”
Umrik adjusted his spectacles again, looking more amused than offended. “Children are refreshingly honest.”
“That’s one word for it,” I muttered.
“What’s un-press-den-ted mean?” Killian asked, latching onto the word like a dog with a bone.
“It means this has never happened before,” Umrik explained.
Killian’s face lit up. “Like when I ate ALL the cookies?”
“That happens at least once a week,” I pointed out.
“Oh.” His face fell. “Then not un-press-den-ted.”
“No, pup. Very press-den-ted. Extremely expected, actually.”
Umrik cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Queen Gwendolyn, might I inquire about your family history? Any unusual abilities? Strange occurrences?”
“My mom left when I was seven,” I said flatly. “Dad’s in jail. My grandparents raised me until they died a few years ago. Nothing particularly magical about any of them. Unless you count my dad’s magical ability to be a complete piece of s-”
“What’s jail?” Killian asked immediately. Shit.
“Time-out for grown-ups.”
His eyes went huge. “FOREVER time-out?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Wow. He must’ve been REALLY bad.”
“Yeah, he was.”
“Did he not eat his vegetables?”
Mal actually smiled at that. “Something like that.”
Umrik was watching us carefully, his ancient eyes sharp despite his age. Then he looked at Mal, really looked at him, and something passed between them. Some unspoken understanding that I was definitely not part of.
“Your Majesty,” Umrik said slowly. “You have been remarkably quiet. Do you have something in mind about the origin of the Queen’s abilities?”
Mal’s expression closed off immediately. Shutters slamming down. “Apologies. I am listening.”
That look. What the hell did he know?
Also, why did he still look hot when he was being shady? This was completely unfair. I was potentially about to be mad at him and my stupid brain was like “but look at his jawline though.”
Traitor brain.
“Or perhaps,” Umrik pressed, “you already suspected something?”
Mal said nothing. Just stood there avoiding eye contact like it was an Olympic sport.
“Mal?” I prompted.
“We should do a blood test,” he said abruptly.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I am not...”
“You absolutely are.”
“I would very much like to test the queen’s blood,” Umrik interjected. “It may provide answers.”
I was still glaring at Mal, but my hands were trembling. “Fine. Test it.”
“NO!” Killian shouted, practically launching himself out of my lap. “Needles HURT!”
“It’s okay, Killian.”
“But you’re scared! I can feel it!” His face scrunched up with worry and determination.
Right. He could literally feel my anxiety radiating off me.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“I’ll hold your hand!” He grabbed my hand with both of his, gripping tight. “Then you won’t be scared! I’m very good at holding hands!”
Something warm spread through my chest. “Thank you, pup. You are very good at holding hands.”
“The best,” Killian said seriously. “Papa says so.”
“You are,” Mal said softly, watching us with an expression that made my ribs feel too tight.
I deliberately didn’t look at him. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being sweet right now. I’m starting to get mad at you.”
“You can be mad and I can still think you are incredible.”
“Quit it.”
“No.”
Killian looked between us, frowning. “Are you guys fighting?”
“No, Killian,” I said quickly.
“You sound like you’re fighting. You’re using the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The mad voice. The one you use when I eat cookies before dinner.”
Mal coughed. “He is not wrong.”
I glared at him. “Not helping.”
Umrik cleared his throat loudly, reminding us he was still in the room and we were being ridiculous in front of an ancient scholar who probably had better things to do.
I offered my free hand to Umrik, the one Killian wasn’t death-gripping. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The blood test involved a small needle prick, some ancient magical ritual that looked like it came straight out of a fantasy movie, and my blood glowing in ways that blood definitely should not glow.
Killian watched with enormous eyes, providing running commentary.
“Is Mama dying?” he asked with genuine concern.
“What? No!”
“But he’s taking your blood OUT. That’s where blood lives! Inside you, not outside!”
“Just a little bit. For science.”
“Science is weird.”
“Very weird,” Mal agreed.
“Can I touch it?”
“No,” I said immediately.
“Why not?”
“Because Mama said so.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“It is the best reason,” Mal said.
Killian subsided but kept watching the glowing blood like it might do a trick.
Umrik began his analysis, muttering and waving his hands over the sample. While we waited, an awkward silence descended over the library.
I kept almost making eye contact with Mal, then looking away at the last second. He was doing the same thing. We were like two people who desperately wanted to talk but had forgotten how. I didn’t know what was going on, but Mal knew something I didn’t, and he was shitty to hide it.
“Stop looking at me,” I said without looking at him.
“I am not looking at you.”
“You were totally looking at me.”
“You are difficult not to look at.” He winked at me. How dare he.
“Stop being charming. I’m mad at you.”
“I am not trying to be charming.”
“Then stop doing it accidentally.”
Mal made a sound that might have been a laugh.
“Mama, you’re making a face-”
“Killian, I love you, but please stop narrating my facial expressions.”
“Okay.” He was silent for maybe ten seconds. “Mama, I’m SO bored.”
Torin, who’d been standing quietly by the door this whole time, stepped forward. He’d clearly been reading the room and decided we all needed a break from each other.
“Young prince,” he said. “Would you like a special mission?”
Killian’s entire face lit up. “A MISSION?!”
“Hunt for purple flowers in the garden. I bet you cannot find five before your mother is done here.”
“I accept this mission!” Killian straightened to his full three-foot height, looking extremely serious. “It’s dangerous but I’m VERY brave!”
“The bravest,” Torin agreed solemnly.
Killian gave himself what I could only describe as a mission briefing, complete with hand gestures. “Okay. Purple flowers. Five of them. Maybe more if I’m really good. I need to be sneaky. And fast. And observant! That’s a good word, right, Mama?”
“Perfect word.”
He saluted us and ran out the door with Torin following at a respectful distance.
I watched him go, smiling slightly despite everything. “He’s talking to himself.”
“He does that when he is focused,” Mal said softly.
“I know.”
Our eyes met. For a moment, there was that shared parent affection, that united front we always presented when it came to our son. But before either of us could speak, Umrik made a shocked exclamation that had us both spinning toward him.
“This is impossible,” he breathed, staring at the blood sample.
“What?” I stepped closer, pulse quickening. “What’s impossible?”
“Your blood, Your Majesty. There are clear traces of wolf ancestry. Very clear. Unmistakable.”
The room tilted. “What? No. That can’t be right. I’m human. I’ve always been human.”
“And something else,” Umrik continued, like I hadn’t spoken. “Something powerful. Witch ancestry, very unique.”