Chapter 15 #2
The guards toss the shackled Wolf onto the ground.
He lands with a dull thud, a small groan escaping his lips.
He’s still visibly weak, but his coloring is much improved.
His skin is no longer bone white and his eyes have lost the glassy sheen of the starved.
The swelling around his nose has subsided and his bruises have faded to green.
“Ah.” The king claps his hands together. “Our honored guest has arrived.” My father uprights my chair and presses on my shoulder, forcing me down into it. He gestures for the Wolf to take a seat next to me.
The Wolf watches him, his pale eyes like a storm cloud, veiled and haunting. He gets up from the floor on shaky limbs and takes a seat next to me, his chains rattling with each movement. There’s a tension in his body, like a coiled spring ready to release.
“Wine.” Father commands.
Two servants appear from behind a tapestry.
One carries a decanter and crystal goblets, the dark red liquid sloshing gently as he moves.
The other balances several plates of grapes, breads, and cheeses.
They serve us with practiced efficiency and back away, their soft footsteps fading as they disappear behind the tapestry once more.
My father watches the Wolf, predicting his next move like this is a game of chess.
The Wolf doesn’t eat.
“Come now,” my father says, like he’s speaking with an incorrigible child. “You must be famished after all of your … adventures.”
The Wolf stares at him coolly.
I can feel the fury radiating off the Wolf beside me, like heat from a raging fire.
His hands curl into tight fists, the cracks in his knuckles caked with dirt and dried blood.
Killing hands. I know, deep in my gut, that he could unleash his shadow power and slaughter us where we stand. And yet, he hasn’t.
Why?
Briefly, I think I must have a death-wish, keeping a man like this alive.
But I’ve long known that I don’t fear death.
There’s little left in this world that I care for.
It was all taken from me, replaced with parties and an eager groom whom I didn’t choose.
There’s a tiny voice inside of me that thinks I would like the Wolf to kill us all.
I’ve dreamed of Commander Malen’s death a thousand times for the cruelties he inflicted upon Hunter when we were children.
And I’d truly relish the sight of my father dripping in his own blood, even if it was the last thing I ever saw.
“Suit yourself,” Father says as he grabs a handful of purple grapes.
I hope he chokes on them, but he doesn’t.
Father shakes his head like he’s forgotten something. “What are we, beasts?” He snaps at a nearby guard. “Remove his irons. This man is our honored guest today.”
The man takes out a key and the iron shackles clatter to the ground. The Wolf barely reacts.
Father leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Who are you?”
“Tristan.”
I startle, realizing I’ve never asked his name. I’d grown used to thinking of him only as “the Wolf”.
“Who sent you?”
The Wolf—Tristan—narrows his eyes. He leans forward on the table, mirroring Father’s posture. “A ghost.”
Father rolls his eyes. “And what does this ‘ghost’ require of me that he sent you to invade my personal chambers?”
“An end to the invasion of Annwyn.” He says it so calmly that, for a moment, I think I misheard him.
My spine tingles. Us invading them? I’ve been to the borderlands. I’ve seen the carnage. If anything, it’s the Llwyn people who are in peril. For generations, Annwyn has creeped into our territory, our land. At least, that’s what I’ve always been told.
I spare a glance for Malen, who glowers at the Wolf from the shadows. I know that look. It’s one I’ve seen a thousand times whenever Hunter did something that he disapproved of. That look is a promise to make him pay for the misstep when no one is watching.
Father gives Tristan a pitying look. “A sympathizer then.”
This makes no sense. I turn to the Wolf and ask, “Sympathizer for wha—”
Father snaps. “Be quiet or I’ll have your tongue ripped from your face!”
My jaw clamps shut. My face heats to what must be a fiery flush. I can feel the Wolf’s eyes on me.
Father picks up a small knife from the cheeseboard. He twirls it in his hands for a moment, then asks. “Is this one a sympathizer, too?” He points the knife’s tip in my direction.
The Wolf stays silent.
Father’s eyes narrow, and he stands abruptly from his chair.
“I grow tired of your games, Tristan. I only like mine.” He speaks as he walks briskly toward us.
I think he’s heading to Tristan, but he pivots at the last second.
He wraps one arm around the back of my chair, pinning me to it, while his knife meets my throat.
“Let’s see how little you truly know or care about my heir.” He presses the knife closer to the delicate skin of my neck. The cool metal nips at my throat like a lover’s kiss.
The Wolf stares at the king with cool indifference.
“What?” Father asks. “Do you think I’m bluffing?
” He laughs. “My daughter and I have no great fondness for each other. Isn’t that right, dear daughter?
” He tilts his head to look at my face, but I close my eyes against the tears that threaten there.
I have no doubt that he would kill me. It would solve one of his many problems. He could just blame it on the Wolf.
But if there’s one truth universally known, it’s this: A king without an heir can’t keep his throne for long. A usurper would seize the opportunity sooner or later. And that, I know in my soul, is the single thing that has kept me alive all these years.
“What a small man you are.”
My eyes pop open to see Tristan studying us.
Father just laughs. “You’ve known no suffering until you’ve had a disobedient child.” He presses the knife closer. “Now tell me. Who do you work for and how is my deceitful heir involved?”
“She isn’t.” Tristan says simply, with a shrug. “I’d never seen her before that night.”
“Then what was she doing in my rooms with you?”
A warm bead of blood trickles down my neck. Tristan watches it fall. The drop catches on the delicate silver chain that hides Grandmother’s necklace beneath my dress. His face grows dark, the only emotion he’s shown throughout this entire test.
“She followed me.”
The Wolf stands up from his chair and my father pulls me closer into the back of mine, threatening.
Guards make a move to grab Tristan, but father shakes his head.
The Wolf leans one hip against the table and finally reaches for a grape.
He pops it into his mouth, as if this were a mere chat instead of an inquisition laced with murder.
I’ve never noticed how tall the Wolf was before.
Maybe because I’ve mostly seen him sprawled out on the ground, too weak to stand.
The night I encountered him, we were both in elaborate costumes, but now we’re just two people facing a monster, unadorned.
He’s weak, but under his worn clothes, his muscles are tense, ready to pounce.
His dark hair is messy, like that of a man who’s just been properly tumbled.
But most noticeable are his eyes. They’re pale gray and cold like the moon.
Tristan smiles. “I, however, was in your room to find information.”
“And did you?” my father asks, his voice low.
Tristan pauses, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Possibly. It’s still difficult to tell.”
“Stop playing games,” Father hisses, his patience waning. “Tell me plainly. What were you looking for?”
Tristan squares off to face us, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “I was looking for the Heir to the North.”
Father actually laughs. He looks to Malen for backup.
“Very amusing, Your Highness,” Malen says, ever the good little bootlicker.
Father turns his attention back to Tristan. “Fables and baby stories? In my chambers? You’d have better luck in that infernal library this one hides in.” Father puts his face close to my ear. I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. It smells of spirits and old cheese.
The Wolf considers this, tilting his head. “Perhaps.”
“The truth.” Father presses the knife further into my neck and I feel the flesh splitting. Slick, hot blood trickles over my collarbone. Ludicrously, I think how fortunate it is that it won’t stain my dress too badly, since I’m already wearing red.
The Wolf stiffens.
I can feel my father’s grin next to my face, like the creep of a spider. A chill runs down my spine. “Ah, there’s more to this than you’ve said.” Father tuts. “And here I thought we were developing a bit of honesty between us.”
The Wolf’s pale moon eyes give nothing away, but he clenches his jaw in barely restrained anger. “For generations, your family has stolen land, food, resources. All to fill your own palace coffers.”
“Typical sympathizer nonsense.” The king laughs it off, like it’s nothing but a rumor in the wind.
The Wolf’s fists clench at his sides. “You’ve killed men, women, and children—even your own people who you call ‘sympathizers’—just to feed your greed.” His eyes dart to mine and I know what he’s secretly telling me.
Grandmother.
The Wolf is saying Grandmother was murdered for being an Annwyn sympathizer. How could that be? I’m heir to the throne. She wouldn’t have undermined me like that. Father, yes. But not me.
The Wolf continues. “Families in Annwyn died—continue to die—of starvation, disease, and the blades of your soldiers.”