Calix howled, and my fox’s heart sped up. His paws itched, as if he could not make up his mind. And then he did.
The hedges moved by in a blur—the fountain, Evera, Harlan, the soldiers, all left behind. The grand doors that led from the main halls of the castle were open, and my fox did not hesitate as he ran past the two soldiers standing sentry. A commotion rose from the combined voices of men and women alike to see a wildanimal within the castle, but none stood in his way. All stepped back with faces filled with shock.
Up a flight of stairs and down a long hall, my fox followed Calix’s familiar scent until he came upon the Queen’s chambers. A man standing guard pointed and hollered to those in the room, and another man came to join him. Whatever confrontation had happened was over now, already settled.
Where is Calix?
The men exchanged words as if unsure how to deal with the surprise appearance of a creature of the forest in their midst. Not waiting for an invitation, my fox ran between them and into the large chamber. Lilac curtains blew, dancing on the breeze, the only movement as everyone else fell still. The aftereffects of a struggle cluttered the floor. A bookshelf, its contents strewn, lay half propped against the bedpost. Broken ceramic lay by the window.
“Neirin!”
Calix.
My fox spun until he saw the boy held back by a castle guard. Calix lashed out, but the guard held him firm. Evera appeared in the doorway, her chest heaving. Soldiers barricaded the door, but Harlan spoke up from the hallway. He instructed them to let her pass, warning that she would be restrained if she was not obedient, and to stand by Calix.
“Where is Mother?” Harlan demanded to anyone who might answer him as he passed through the doorway and strode into the room. His eyes lingered on my fox only a moment before scanning the chamber.
“Safe, in her study,” one of the guards said, gesturing to Calix with a tilt of his chin. “We caught this one climbing in through the balcony with a dagger in hand.”
“A dagger?” Harlan’s soft features contorted as he snarled. The weight of rulership did not suit him. It was too muchtoo soon. Father’s death and Astraea’s “illness,” along with my framed accusations, would only have added to his stress.
The guard held out a small blade, its handle intricate, its metal of high quality. “We believe he picked it off one of the guards in the courtyard. It is one of ours.”
Almost identical to mine, which had been taken the night of the festival.
A sickening feeling roiled my fox’s stomach.
“Find out which man was dull-minded enough to let a child lift his weapon,” Harlan commanded, running a hand through his hair, tousling it, his air of composure quickly wearing thin. “I wish to see Mother.”
“What has happened here?” The Queen’s voice came from the hall, and my fox snarled. Her tone betrayed her state, a disjointed combination of unease and formidable anger.
“Mother.” Harlan went to the doorway just as she stepped into view.
When she saw my fox, she halted in place. The thin lines of her brows pulled in, then the corners of her lips turned up, and she laughed. The sound sent a shiver down my fox’s spine. “I told you he would come back for me,” she crooned, grabbing her son’s chin before pushing past him to stand a few paces before my fox. She looked down at him with hatred pinching her features.
The way Harlan firmed his jaw and cast his gaze aside and to the floor—the way he submitted to her—led me to suspect that in her state of withdrawal, she’d become firm-handed with him.
“What did I tell you about giving in to your monster?” the Queen snarled at my fox. The ingrained memories of Astraea’s lessons sent every instinct within both my fox and myself into hyper focus.Submit,they told us. My fox’s eyes focused past the Queen, to where Evera and Calix stood a few steps back. No, we could not submit; we had to protect them. As if my fox had cometo the same conclusion, he turned his attention back to Astraea and pinned his ears, holding his ground.
With a revolted snort, the Queen kicked at my fox’s flank with the tip of her boot, sending him yelping and falling to the floor. His pain was my own, and for a moment he only lay still. The force of the impact had been enough to falter his resolve and left him battling with the horrors of our shared past.
“Mother—” Harlan’s voice perked one of my fox’s ears as he lay on the floor.
The Queen held up her hand, blatantly positioning herself as a higher command than her son in front of his men. “Mother is handling things, Harlan.” Annoyance laced her words like venom. Again, her tone altered, a cool authority prevailing. “Shift back,” she demanded. My fox’s eyes met hers. Cold. Calculating. In her irises I caught the reflection of my fox, and somewhere deep within the fur that held my soul, I shuddered.
Panting, my fox got back to his feet. He swayed first, then bunched his haunches. For a moment, I was unsure if he would cower or lunge, but he held his position, teeth bared. The Queen hiked her dress and moved to kick at him again, and he recoiled, muscle memory anticipating the pain to come. She laughed. “Fucking pathetic.” Shame flooded me.
A flash of movement caught my fox’s attention as Evera stepped from the wall, the sounds of her boots echoing on the floor as she hastily moved to the Queen and shoved her from behind. Evera ground her teeth, as if she were unable to form words sharp enough for her emotions. Within the next heartbeat, two soldiers were at her sides, restraining her.
Bracing herself with a widened stance, the Queen whipped around to her unsuspected assailant. “You …” A moment of quiet, and the Queen’s voice lowered with suspicion. “You’re from the festival.”
“I’m his mate,” Evera spat, her cinnamon waves falling in front of her face.
Those gathered fell silent, the soldiers and guard surely confused by the progression of events, by the Queen’s belittlement of her son, by the way she spoke to an animal as if it were able to comprehend her, by her very state—the madness that she could no longer veil.
Again, the Queen laughed, then she slapped Evera across the face. “You bitch. He’smine.”
He’s mine.Memories of the Queen’s plays at control, of her possessiveness, sent a sickening swirl through my fox’s gut.
