Page 27 of The Dead Queen

The kennels.

My heart drops. As we near the entrance, a figure emerges from behind an ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches casting dappled shadows across the ground.

“Daughter.” The king does not look happy to see me. But, then again, does he ever?

“Father.”

We stand off for a moment, both refusing to reveal our thoughts. The sounds of the castle—distant laughter, the clang of practice swords, the rustle of leaves in the breeze—seem muffled, as if the world is holding its breath. I search his face for any sign of what he knows, but he is stoic as ever.

“I thought we could revisit our conversation from last night.” Father says, gesturing for the guards to open the kennel doors. “Pay our friend a visit.”

The moment the heavy doors creak open, the foxhounds sense my father and begin howling. Their voices echo up the stone staircase like a haunting song.

I keep my chin high. “As you wish.” My voice is steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

We descend into the damp darkness, led by orbs of light cast by father’s noble guards. The scent of mold and decay intensifies, mingling with the metallic tang of old blood. Our footsteps echo off the stone walls as Father leads us. He pauses outside the Wolf’s door.

“Shall we see if our friend survived?” he asks, a taunting note in his voice.

I shrug, like I couldn’t care less. “He is no friend of mine.”

The iron keys clang together as he opens the lock and I flinch when the door’s rusty hinges screech open. We all lean in, peering through the cell’s gloomy darkness. Father ignites a ball of light, momentarily blinding us before he sends it into the cell. It pauses in the middle of the room, just above the drying puddle of blood.

I watch with secret pleasure when Father’s eyes widen, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual stony mask. He scans the cell.

The Wolf sits propped up in the corner, grinning like a mischievous boy caught stealing an extra slice of cake. Despite the filth and grime covering him, there’s a defiant spark in his gray eyes.

“Interesting,” Father says, his voice deceptively calm. “And here I was sure you wouldn’t last the night.”

The Wolf shrugs, as if we’re not discussing his brush with death.

My father pauses long enough, a few of the guards shift uneasily. I search for Hunter in the back of the group, but he watches my father, his face unreadable.

The king lifts a hand lazily. “Hold him.”

Two of the copper-armored guards step forward. They grab his arms, wrenching him off the ground. To the Wolf’s credit, he doesn’t look afraid.

To my left, I feel the cool approach of armor as a knight moves closer. I glance up to find Hunter, a worried look on his face.

“Who sent you?” my father asks.

The Wolf just stares him straight in the eyes.

My father looks unperturbed. “Are you an assassin?”

Still, the Wolf says nothing.

My father sighs. “Fine, have it your way.” He curls his finger toward the guards still standing next to me. One man starts forward.

“Wait.” Father holds up a hand. The knight halts mid-step. Father looks at me as he says, “Hunter.”

The man steps back, but Hunter hesitates.

The king raises an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Hunter says. His eyes dart toward mine before he steps forward.

My father gestures with his chin. “Hit him.”