Page 18 of The Fox Heir

“And his entire army,” I mumble. I start feeling my way around the crate of practice swords, toward what I hope is an exit from the yard. All I run into is a damnable sand-filled bag swinging from a rope. I hit it with both of my fists. It barely swings from the assault. I lean my head against it, smelling the cool canvas and the damp sand inside. “This is a mistake.”

“No,” the Dead Queen says simply. “It is destiny.”

I scoff. “Destiny? Destiny is nothing more than a story told around the campfire to keep spirits high on the eve of battle.”

“And what would you call this?”

“An experiment in torture?” I offer.

The Dead Queen says nothing, but I sense a sigh behind her silence.

In a split second, the darkness disappears, leaving me more disoriented than I was in pitch blackness. Sunlight reflects off the snow, blinding me. My legs wobble, and my head spins with vertigo from the sudden change.

Across the training yard, the Dead Queen watches. Unfazed and unruffled by the exercise, while I’m left squinting and exhausted.

“You need to work on your endurance,” she says.

“Noted.” I lean forward, bracing my hands on my knees as I let my heartrate return to normal.

“Stamina can only be earned through practice and constant vigilance.”

“Got it.”

“You will begin physical training.” She turns to walk away, then calls over her shoulder. “With Tristan.”

A protest rises in me, but before I can voice it, someone else cuts in.

“No.”

The queen pauses mid-step.

“No?”

Tristan steps out from the castle walls where he’s been watching my embarrassing display. His face is grave, and his arms are folded at his chest. “No.”

The queen turns to him, her head tilted at a curious angle. “You would dare disobey a direct order from your queen?”

“I would if I suspected it was a mistake.”

“Mistake.” Her voice is even, thin.

He nods. “You can trust me to always tell you the truth, my queen. Even if it hurts to hear.”

She pauses, considering. The stillness of her body reminds me she’s dead. Her chest doesn’t rise with breath, her feet don’t shift for balance, and her fingers stay unnervingly still. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t blink beneath her veil.

“Regardless of your concerns, I insist.” She waves a hand, slow and dismissive, as if wafting his words away like smoke.

The corners of Tristan’s mouth turn down in distaste.

“This is too important a mission to fail,” she says. “We have only one weapon against the Fox King.” Her head nods in my direction. “And she is weak.”

Heat rises up my neck. “I’m a weapon now, am I?”

“And what else should you be?” The Dead Queen asks this as if she’s merely curious. This irritates me further.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “A living, breathing human being?”

She scoffs at the reminder that I’m not one of her undead legions. “You are more than that, Granddaughter. Or, you could be more if you only embraced your birthright. A weapon has power.”