“Oh, I wasn’t expecting that!" Astrid came over to stand on the other side of Amanda's bed. “C chose it the other way around.”
Frey returned with the quilt before I could remind her that her brother, C, and I had nothing in common.
The good news was that “The C King” had mostly accepted my counter-proposal. The bad news was that he refused to let Frey and Astrid help me get Amanda the help she needed without him.
“Considering how protective male wolves can be, this is the best you could hope for, given that you’re his —”
“Nothing,” I insisted before Astrid could finish that sentence. “I’m his nothing. I don’t belong to him in any way, shape, or form.”
But I agreed to C’s one condition, nonetheless.
Astrid had gone over all the consequences of a she-wolf not completing her heat cycle with me before she left to present my counter to the kings. It started with permanent brain damage and ended with multiple organ failure, followed by an excruciatingly painful and confused death — thanks to the aforementioned brain damage.
With that list of outcomes rattling through my head, what else could I choose?
“What does C stand for anyway?” I asked Astrid as she, Frey, and I prepared to move the sleeping Amanda from the room.
Astrid blinked at me, confused. But Frey said, “I think she’s asking after your brother.”
“Oh!” Astrid chuckled as we all lifted Amanda onto the heavy quilt Frey had brought back. “His name isn’t the letter C. It’s Sea, like the ocean.”
“As in the King of all the Sea that touches the Emerald Isle,” Frey declared in a dramatic tone before breaking off with a laugh. “And Wild is King of the Wild — or Nature — or the Land. Whatever you wish to call it. We Irish Wolves are never afraid to add another title. But long story short, we call all the kings by their realms.”
“So, both of Wild and ah…Seawere named from birth after their realms?" I frowned as I covered Amanda's nakedness with the original blanket I had wrapped her in when I brought her up to the room. "They don’t have normal names like you and Astrid.”
“Oh, they have proper Irish names,” Astrid assured me. “That’s only what we call them.”
“And, what are those names?” I carefully asked when neither Irish she-wolf volunteered them.
Astrid shook her head. “No idea."
I squinted. “You don’t know your own brothers’ names?”
“Only their parents know," Frey answered. "By tradition, it’s kept a secret from everyone until they mate.”
I held up a hand. “Wait, are you trying to tell me that no one is allowed to know their real name until they officially mate?”
“S’pose you could call it a Ritualized Superstition,” Frey shrugged. “In any case, I wouldn’t bother introducing yourself to any of the Irish Wolves. None of us are going to call you by your proper name until you’re seeded and wed.”
Oh, was that why both Sea and Wild called me by other names while never asking for my real one?I began to wonder — before the full implication of what they were saying about my future role in their kingdom set in.
“Wait, but I'm n…” I began to protest.
“You’re Sea’sNothing. Sure, sure.” Astrid cut me off with a disbelieving chuckle.
Meanwhile, Frey moved to the foot of the bed and asked, “Do me a favor, will you, my Nothing Queen? Grab that flap closest to you so we can get this she-wolf her cure. Figure I can handle this foot end if you and Astrid each take a corner at the head.”
Okay, I didn't like that Astrid and Frey were just assuming I would be the next queen of Ireland or the sea or whatever title they wanted to call it. But getting Amanda the help she needed beforeshe woke up in another heat cycle was more important than disabusing them of that notion.
We all concentrated on carrying Amanda out of the room I had chosen for her — had that only been thirty-six hours ago? It felt like thirty-six years as we ferried Amanda down the stairs on her makeshift quilt cot.
“Oh my wolf, it’s Amanda!” Orpah cried out from below. “They’ve got Amanda!”
She and the other she-wolves abandoned their breakfast and ran over to gather around us as soon as we descended the stairs, with Astrid and me each holding a front flap and Frey holding both of the quilt-cot’s back flaps.
“Is she going to be all right?” Leah demanded.
“Where are you taking her?” Fiona, the Scottish baker's daughter I put in charge of the kitchen, asked. “Should I fetch her something to eat before you go?”
