“Your antlers are an obvious indicator of your animal form.” His hand moves to my hair, gently stroking the white strands, the buzzing returning, humming pleasantly in my belly. “And you know that hair color is another good sign of what your form will look like.”
“That’s the problem,” I grumble. “I’ve never seen a white deer.”
Asmo’s fingers snake to the back of my head, gripping the roots and tugging. That buzzing in my belly turns into something feral, my annoyance now long forgotten, replaced with something else entirely. His dark eyes bore into mine. “Have you forgotten who you are? The First Deer Queen’s granddaughter? Direct descendant of Wrena? Why would you think just because you haven’t seen something, that means it can’t happen? The Mother created you. Why do you keep forgetting that?”
Because I grew up thinking I was weak and nobody. Because I’ve never believed in myself. Because sometimes my skin crawls and I can’t turn it off unless I harm myself. Because there’s something wrong with me.
“It just feels…” I look to the ceiling as I search for the right word. Wrong. Impossible. Insane. “I’m just me.”
He tugs on the roots of my hair again, forcing my gaze back to his. “You were created by the Mother to save our kingdom. To be the light that protects all of us from the darkness. This is what you were born to do. You can do it. So, I need you to start believing that you can.”
“But what if I can’t?” What if I can’t ward off the darkness that is Marik and Cora? What if I’m not enough? The thought is a whisper, one that I can’t stop from escaping. One I normally tamp down and hold onto, shielding it from the rest of the world.
He brings my hand to his lips, presses them against my inner wrist. To the space where his fang pricked the vein that thrums below. Where our blood mixed when we became one. “You can. And you will. And it’s that simple.”
I want to fight back. I want to tell him there’s so much more to it than that. But maybe he has a point. If I don’t start believing in myself, who will? Maybe that’s where I need to start. With myself.
I rise and press my lips to his, soft against mine. “Thank you,” I whisper against him. “For telling me I’m enough.”
“You’re more. In fact, if you were the only thing I saved in this wretched kingdom, I’d be fine with that. Now,” he says, arm tightening around my waist, “Shift.”
He releases me, and it takes me all of one second to wish I was back in his arms, which are now crossed. He gives me a pointed glare. Fine. I begin to pace the room again, thinking about what the hell a white deer even looks like, when the training room doors crash open.
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Highnesses, but a scout just returned with some urgent news,” Basil says from the doorway.
A young male, snow-white hair matching my own, stands next to Basil. His clothes are rumpled and his hair is greasy. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in days. Based on his large front teeth and oversized ears, I’m assuming a rabbit hybrid. His gaze flits nervously between Asmo and me.
Asmo shifts in front of me. “What is it?” The question is a command, the Prince of Darkness on full display.
I step around him and offer the rabbit hybrid a warm smile. “What’s your name?”
“Ewan, Your Highness,” he says nervously. “I just got back from the High Castle and came straight here.”
“What’s going on, Ewan?”
He looks to Asmo once, then back to me. “It appears they are preparing for a ball, Your Highness. I found castle staff running about with decorations and such. Some also made comments in passing about a ball.”
“Who’s they?” Asmo demands.
Ewan grips his hands together tightly. “The—The false king, sir.”
Marik and Cora are throwing a ball? Why?
“Do you know when?” I ask.
Ewan nods eagerly. “Yes’m. I overheard two guards complaining about their women being too busy with the preparations. Said ‘Onlythree days to set up for a ball. She’s mad,’” he says with an exaggerated deep voice.
“Do you know why?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry.”
I wave the apology away. “While you were there, did you see a red-haired female with antlers?” I ask, dampening the hope in my voice.
He hesitates. “Y-yes, Your Highness…”
His response puts me on guard. I steel myself but ask, “And? Is she okay?”
“She is alive, Your Highness. But she seems very…sad.”
