Page 18 of The Dead Queen

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.