ARRAN
The beast curled up before a fire long gone cold. No one brought food. No one disturbed the monster. I forgot who I was, what I was. Brutal Prince. High King. Mate.
The beast wanted control, so I gave it to him.
I knew Veyka would not come, but still my beastly senses pricked at every sound. A rustle of skirts, a whipping wind. None of it came to anything.
There I remained for hours, locked behind a door that would not do much if my beast decided to tear it down.
A door to which only one person had a key.
The beast scented her cool lavender before the pin slid into the lock. By the time the door swung open, the male stood before her.
My mother did not pause until she’d locked the door behind her. Only then did she stop to regard me. Starting with the filthy boots, past the trousers with torn-out knees, up to the ragged tunic and vest. Her gaze lingered on my face—unshaven, gaunt. I did not need a mirror to know how awful I must look.
My mother merely cleared her throat and folded her hands. “Veyka prepares to leave Eilean Gayl.”
My chest began to burn. When I spoke, my voice was hoarse. “Cayltay must be brought to heel. The war camps will need to be readied; who knows how many months they have been loitering without action.”
Two gracefully arched eyebrows lifted. “Your queen has agreed to go to Wolf Bay?”
Ancestors spare me.
“You ask questions you already know the answers to. Why, Mother?”
A slow exhale through her nose. Control—this was the female who had taught me control. The only one in the entire terrestrial kingdom who had dared to approach me, spend time with me, when I was still learning to master my power. “I hope if I ask enough, eventually I will receive a different answer.”
My wolf had torn across the countryside, ripping apart any creature that crossed his path. But still, the power simmered in my veins. I curled my fingers in toward my palms, and two thick vines curled through the open window.
I let them grow. Let my power out in a slow, steady stream. “I know that you have grown fond of Veyka. But we must do what is best for Annwyn.”
My mother watched the advance of the vines with one eye. “Duty above all else.”
They curled around the bookshelves that lined the wall, thick thorns the size of my beast’s fang forming, blocking out the gilded spines. “Yes.”
She said nothing. “Even above yourself.”
Up and up and up the vines climbed toward the flat wooden ceiling. “When necessary.”
My mother walked to the window, nudging it open fully. To prevent it from shattering, probably. Small, controlled actions, always.
She stroked one hand over the vine lovingly. As if it was a child’s cheek she caressed instead of a thorn-covered tendril of death.
“Will you ever stop punishing yourself?” she asked softly.
It was a question she’d asked me before. The answer was on the tip of my tongue. “It is either punish myself or punish them.”
Punish myself for what I had done, the hundreds of terrestrials I had slaughtered in the years it took me to get control of my powers. Force myself to serve a country that had done my own family such harm as penance for the monster that lived inside of me.
It was either that, or tear the world apart for what they had done to my mother.
What it had done to Veyka.
The vines stilled.
What had been done to Veyka? She was a warrior, but a survivor… it would make sense… but I had no memory…No. That is a memory. That feeling of vengeance, a promise not yet fulfilled. To avenge those that had hurt my mate.That was a memory.
My mother turned to face me again, the wall of vines thick behind her, no fear in her eyes even as those thorns swelled in size.
