Chapter 7
There’s a panicked rush to help my lovesick fiancé off the ground. I’m pushed out of the way, clearly not the court’s favorite partner in this fairytale couple. It’s like being battered by a tornado of black sequins and feathers.
“Someone get him some punch!”
“Fetch a healer!”
“Help me carry him!”
I allow myself to be pressed into the back of the crowd, unnoticed. Then, I slip behind a tapestry and out the nearest servant’s exit. The thick fabric muffles the sounds of the ball as I pass through, like stepping from one world into another.
My steps echo down the narrow hall lit by dusty lanterns.
When I look behind me, I notice my red skirts are trailing silver glitter, like stars escaped from a celestial ball.
I give my dress a good shake, watching as the glitter falls to the floor, then I continue on.
There’s not much time before I’ll be missed.
This could be my only chance to find the answers I need.
I tiptoe past the kitchens with their fires blazing, the heat radiating through the walls.
Through a half-open door, I see tables filled with cakes and pastries ready to be brought into the great hall.
Cooks’ assistants rush to and from the enormous wash basins, picking up discarded bowls and stirring spoons wherever they find them.
Feeling lighter than I have any right to in this heavy dress, I dash up flights of stairs. I gather my skirts to avoid tripping on the stone steps that have been worn smooth by centuries of use. My breath comes in quick gasps, the corset restricting my lungs as I climb higher and higher.
Finally, I reach the door near Father’s chambers.
I peek my head out into the corridor, my heart pounding.
Two bored-looking guards stand at the opposite end of the hall from his grand doorway, making it impossible to sneak in without them seeing me.
This dress isn’t exactly discreet. I close the servants’ door, the latch clicking softly.
Then, it hits me. If my father has kept a mistress secret long enough for her to be visibly with child, then there must be another way inside his rooms. I continue down the dim servants’ hall.
The further I walk, the fewer sconces line the walls until there are none at all.
I summon my golden light from the depths of my core, holding it outstretched in my hand like an offering.
It’s no help. The hallway is a dead end.
Frustration builds up inside me. I pause to think. Why would a hallway lead nowhere?
It wouldn’t.
I drag my fingertips along the seams of the stones running next to my father’s quarters, searching for any irregularity, any hint of a hidden passage.
The stone is cold beneath my fingertips as I feel the rough surface.
A few feet back from the dead end, I feel a slight shift in airflow along a dingy tapestry.
The tapestry looks like it’s been in this dank corridor for decades, if not centuries.
I hold my hands just above the surface of the fabric.
It’s moving gently in an invisible current.
It’s a doorway.
I push the fabric aside. Beyond a hidden doorway, there’s a short, dark stairwell that leads to the back side of another tapestry. Light glows around its outer edges. I scramble up the steps, lifting my skirts so I don’t trip.
The only light in my father’s room comes from several lanterns along the walls and a low fire in the hearth.
Their glow is muted, casting long shadows that dance and flicker across the ornate furnishings.
It’s also chilly. The air carries a crisp edge that raises goosebumps along my skin.
When I look around, I realize where the breeze is coming from.
One of his windows is open, allowing the cool night air inside.
I run to his writing desk. It’s enormous, with dozens of drawers filled with paper and notebooks scattered about.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. Anything to do with Grandmother’s death.
A letter, a journal, or a notice of some kind.
As king, my father would need to keep everything, preferably in some semblance of order, which these clearly are not. It slows me down considerably.
I move to a nearby cabinet. More papers are strewn about in front of it. Royal decrees. Minutes from important meetings. Notes from his lovers, their perfume lingering on the delicate paper.
Nothing about áine. This was my last place to find clues, but there’s nothing here. The realization settles like a weight in my stomach. I’ll never learn what happened to her. I’ll never know why I lost the person I love most in this world.
I can’t help myself; I kick the cabinet in frustration. Then I scrape my hands over the desk, scattering papers everywhere in my fury. The sharp edge of a document cuts into my palm, but I barely notice the sting. The papers float to the ground, pale ghosts caught in a breeze from the open window.
It takes me far, far too long to realize the papers I’m digging through chaotically are in no particular order for a reason. They’re mixed and wrinkled. My father is meticulous in everything. He would never leave his papers in such disarray.
Another cold breeze blows past me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The window.
I whirl around, taking stock of my surroundings, but there’s no one here. My eyes scan every dark corner. The room is quiet.
“I know you’re here,” I say.
Nothing.
Is it possible the other intruder already left? Could I be so lucky?
No, I could not.
A figure dressed in black steps out from behind a bookshelf near the fireplace, a lazy smile plastered across his handsome face. Even without the wolf mask, I know it’s the man from the ballroom. The stranger.
“I’m impressed, Red,” he says, his deep voice calmer than it has any right to be given the situation. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying your party?”
I step toward him, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he must hear it. I hold up my fists like I know the first thing about brawling.
“What are you doing in my father’s chambers?”
He chuckles lowly. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I take a long moment to get a better look at this wolf in sheep’s clothing.
His black suit is cut trim, showing off his tall, muscled frame.
This is a man who is used to fighting. I’d never be able to outrun him, especially in this infernal dress.
His eyes are curiously pale. Gray, I think.
They stand in sharp contrast to his dark, windswept hair.
My power is useless in self-defense. My family’s abilities are inherently good—heal the sick, ease their pain, and light the world. It doesn’t cause harm, not even against a threat. I’ve never been so vulnerable. The realization settles like a weight in my stomach.
He watches curiously as I fumble with my skirts.
I keep one eye on him in case of an attack, my gaze darting between his face and his hands.
With trembling fingers, I pull out Grandmother’s knife from where I keep it strapped to my thigh.
I immediately feel stronger, more confident with the silver handle in my fist. This I know how to use.
He smirks. “Well, that was … unexpected.”
“Who sent you?” I demand, holding the silver blade out. “Was it my father? Why are you following me?”
He raises a dark eyebrow. “I was here first. One might say you are the one following me.”
“Who are you?” I demand.
He studies me. The slight smirk at the corner of his mouth is infuriating.
I scowl. “It seems only fair since you obviously know who I am.”
“Everyone knows who you are, Red. That’s hardly of consequence.”
“Stop calling me ‘Red.’”
He gives my gown a clear once over. “How about ‘Little Fox’? That’s what my people call you, you know. The heir that the Fox King wants to rid himself of.” He runs a hand over the stone foxes on the fireplace mantel, calm and unbothered.
Anger flares up inside of me, hot and fierce. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He cocks his head, a predatory gleam in his pale eyes. “No?”
I am so, so tired of people assuming they know me. Assuming they know my wishes, my dreams, my desires. Assuming that a pretty marriage to a pretty boy will solve all of my petty problems. Assuming that I will grow up and forget the trauma of losing the person I loved most in this world.
No one knows me. Not really.
He takes a few slow steps toward me. “I know that you have secrets. That you’re not pleased to be dancing with your charming groom-to-be.”
“Lucky guess.” My voice wavers, betraying my unease.
He smiles, welcoming the challenge. “I know that you’d rather read histories than fairy tales, even though your life looks like one.”
My breath catches in my throat, but I say nothing. Did he watch me in the library? The thought sends a chill down my spine.
When he’s only a few feet away from me, I shift, keeping my back to the hidden exit in case I need to run.
“I know that you had a very special bond with someone who was taken away too soon.”
I just glare at him.
“I know that she’s the one who gave you that pretty knife.”
My limbs grow cold.
We stare at each other for a long moment, but he breaks first. His eyes flicker toward the window, assessing if he could make it there in time.
It’s all the opening I need. I run toward the window and slam it closed, then hold up my knife again. “What do you know of my grandmother?”
His expression changes, softens slightly. “Nothing I can say.”
I rush toward him, pointing my knife at his chest. He doesn’t even flinch, like he’s unafraid of a little girl with a little knife. What he doesn’t know is that I have a lifetime’s worth of anger inside of me. And that is far more dangerous than the blade.
“Tell me,” I growl. It’s a threat, and he knows it.
“Don’t push me,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to use this.”
I’m not sure what he means until I notice something. His hands. They’re held up for what I thought was self-defense. I was wrong.
A dark mist swirls around his palms.
I take several hurried steps back, my eyes wide. I’ve never seen shadow power before, but there’s no mistaking it. Where my power appears as a golden light, his is dark. Threatening.
“You want to kill me?” I ask.
“No.”
“Hurt me?”
“I don’t want to.”
Fury ignites inside of me. This man is a Wolf, one of the Dead Queen’s most powerful knights.
The Wolves of Annwyn lead enemy fighters at the border.
They’re nobles who wield the most lethal shadow power.
They kill for the thrill of it. My mind spins with memories of the mangled bodies brought back from the borderlands.
The corpse wolves in the forest. The centuries-long war with no end in sight. My grandmother’s death.
I hate this man.
I rush at him, my knife slashing at his pretty face. He narrowly avoids me, his eyes widening in momentary surprise. I lunge for him again, but this time, he’s prepared. He grabs me from behind, wrenching the knife out of my hands.
“You’re one of them,” I hiss. “One of the Dead Queen’s Wolves.” The mask he wore at the ball lies on the floor near the window. How did I not suspect? Our enemy was hiding in plain sight.
“Yes.”
“Your people killed my grandmother!” Hot tears of anger sting my eyes.
“Yes,” he says again, less forcefully.
He releases me and I spin around. The Wolf stares at me with a curious expression on his face. It’s almost like he’s sorry. But his regret means nothing to me. We face each other at a standoff for several long moments. Me, in front of the window. Him, alight by the fire.
“Tell me,” I plead. This stranger knows more about my grandmother’s death than I do. I’m at his mercy. And it sickens me.
He swallows, hard. “I can’t.”
That’s when father’s doors spill open. A guard shoots a crossbow right into the gray-eyed man’s chest. His blood splatters across my face. I stare wide-eyed as he falls to the ground.