Page 159 of Blood of the Fairest

38

Wulf

Although years of hunting have taught me patience, it is not easy to wait until nightfall.

Yet when Aurefeld's barracks are finally rife with the sounds of snoring knights, and the star-filled tapestry of night at last drapes over Eidengrau, I move silently through the shadows toward the servants' entrance the crown prince used to sneak me out earlier.

Instead of stepping through the door, I remain close to the exterior wall of the castle. I make my way toward the wing assigned to the Isenmerian visitors.

Before I reach that wing, I pause in the shadows, listening to two Aurefeldan guards stationed nearby. Their chatter is quiet as they stand guard just around the last turn I must make.

"…cannot believe they invited every maiden in Aurefeld, even the commoners," one of them is saying. "How desperate must they be to see him take a wife, when the heir is still unwed?"

The other guard grunts, "I doubt they truly care if he marries, so long as he stops roaming the far reaches of this kingdom long enough to take an interest in someone. The king's proud enough of the lad, but the queen is beside herself. They say she's a whopping romantic—she's the daughter of the Faerie of Love's bishop over in Turnstadt, after all. At this rate, I bet she would send offerings of thanks to all Thirteen Faeries no matter who the spare prince takes a shine to."

I peer around the corner. The guards stand in their gold-and-white livery a stone's throw from me. One cleans his teeth with a frayed hazel twig, while the other uses a thin knife to whittle a comb.

"Well, that scamp is bound to find someone at such a grand festival," the first guard muses, tossing the hazel twig before speaking in an excited hush. "Tom, you've been here longer than me. Is it true they sometimes allow a magical display at the masquerade?"

Silently, I approach the inattentive guards.

"Indeed, they do," the whittler replies, blowing wood scrapings off the incomplete comb. "I've heard that to make this festival special, they've rounded up a piper who⁠—"

Before he can finish, I raise my hands. The runes upon my arms alight, sending them both to sleep.

I catch both of them before they can make too much noise and lower them gingerly to the ground.

Though I myself wield no magic, using such permanent magical gifts would be enough to have me sent to the gallows in Aurefeld if I'm discovered.

But I care not for their ridiculous fears of magic. I only care about protecting Verena, as I have pledged to do—and because it has been far too many hours since I last laid eyes upon my beautiful vantaði.

Taking the thin knife from the unconscious whittler, I move on soundlessly, slipping through the servants' entrance of the Isenmerian wing.

Verena's door is, of course, locked when I reach it.

But I took special note of its type of lock earlier when I scouted her room before she went to meet with the royals and sent me to the barracks. Initially, I only noted the lock out of irritation, recognizing it as the sort that can be picked with a thin knife.

Now, I slide the whittler's tool into the lock. Working swiftly, I grit my teeth when the shackle of the lock releases with an audible click.

I pray to Eldrunia that did not wake her. I never want to frighten Verena again—and I have seen the pure dread on her face when she believes her safety has been compromised.

Heart pounding, I gently ease the heavy gold-painted door open until I can peer into the guest room set aside for the queen.

It is spacious, ornate, and filled with gilded things just like the rest of Aurefeld Castle. This kingdom's greed for fleeting finery is strange to me—but by far, the most precious thing in the dim guest room is Verena sleeping fitfully in the large bed.

She has left a candle flickering softly at the bedside. It casts a warm glow upon her furrowed brow, her hair in a long braid.

I shut the door silently behind me, taking another step forward.

"Took you long enough," Eris murmurs.

He watches from a gilded full-length mirror in the corner of the room as I move closer to the bed.

In the quiet of the room, Verena grumbles unintelligibly. A small whimper escapes her lips before she rolls over. The sheets are tangled around her nightgown, evidence of her unhappy rest.

Gingerly, I adjust the blankets to better cover her, though there is hardly any nighttime chill in this temperate kingdom.

"She nearly fed on someone else, earlier."