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THE WOLF

Cerise eventually fell asleep in my arms. I held her for hours, ignoring my aching limbs and growling stomach. I was desperate to keep touching her to convince myself she was alive.

When Stover came to check on me, I had him send for Dulsa. She gave Cerise a tonic to help her sleep and provide her body with nutrients to quicken the healing process, since she wouldn’t be able to eat while resting.

It was nearly Noontide when I forced myself to bathe and dress. I wanted to stay with Cerise, but I couldn’t miss my trial.

A flutter of unease quivered in my stomach, but it seemed feeble compared to the bone-crushing terror I’d felt when Cerise almost ruptured.

Losing my crown felt like nothing at all so long as she was alive and healthy.

Even so, I knew Cerise would want me to fight my hardest to win the case. Before leaving my chambers, I grabbed Hans’s book and the notes tucked inside.

I would fight—for her.

Stover escorted me to the council room, quiet and solemn at my side. When I reached the doors, he touched my shoulder, giving me a grim smile.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice soft, “you have my full support and loyalty, my king.” He inclined his head deeply to me.

I grasped his arm, giving him a tight smile. “Thank you, Stover.”

With a deep breath, I pushed open the council room doors. A dozen figures were seated in a semi-circle, surrounding a lone chair in the center of the room. Reid stood next to the chair, arms behind his back as he glared at the Council of Elders. I glanced over each of the nobles and chiefs, ignoring the smugness on Gorem’s face and the untethered loathing on Ramathos’s. Chief Korvus gave me an encouraging nod, and Chief Cartier sniffed and averted his gaze. The eight nobles were the highest ranking lords and ladies on the Isle. I didn’t know them very well, but judging by their sneers and looks of disdain, they weren’t too fond of me.

I sank into the chair next to Reid, back straight and chin lifted as I waited for the trial to begin.

“Alaric Navier,” came Gorem’s booming voice. “You are being charged with reckless behaviors unfitting of a king. You will have fifteen minutes to present your case before the council, and then your fate will be determined.” He waved a hand toward me. “You may speak.”

I bit back a snarl at the mockery in his tone. He seemed to enjoy ordering me around. Gods’ breath, how had I never noticed his hateful persona until now?

I cleared my throat and began, “Lords and ladies, chiefs of Kenibore, I plead with you to show mercy. I understand how abhorrent my behavior seems. But I present to you today proof that I was attending to urgent matters of the kingdom.” I lifted the book in the air.

Gorem’s face paled, and his mouth fell open.

“This book holds the research of Hans Marlowe,” I said. “It was discovered in Chief Gorem’s manor.”

The nobles whispered among each other, some casting accusing glances toward Gorem, whose jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowing on me.

“The research of our portal engineer was believed to be lost, but Chief Gorem has had access to it without informing anyone,” Reid added. “I myself uncovered that Chief Gorem is a direct descendant of Hans Marlowe. In fact, Chief Gorem is the great-grandson of Chief Quintos… which makes our high chief over five hundred years old. I can show you the lineage charts, if you wish.”

The murmurs grew louder, and the nobles cast Gorem looks of outrage and confusion.

“Enough of this,” Gorem seethed. “I am not the one on trial here. What does any of this have to do with Alaric and the witch?”

“The witch in question is named Cerise,” I said sharply. “And she is not merely a witch, but also a Wolven Mage.”

Gorem’s face went completely slack. Then, he huffed a nervous laugh. “That’s impossible. Don’t lie to us, Alaric.”

“She is a Wolven Mage, and I can prove it. Dulsa the healer has just finished tending to her, since she almost ruptured. Send someone to question the healer and she will confirm this.”

“Ruptured?” repeated Chief Cartier. “Good gods. How did she survive?”

“Cerise and I are Soulbound,” I said, my voice loud and firm. “Only through our connection was I able to stop the rupture.” My insides knotted at the reminder that I’d almost lost her. I took a deep breath, smoothing my sweaty palms on my trousers.

“Soulbound?” Ramathos boomed a laugh of derision. “More lies.”

“You can also confirm this with Dulsa,” I said, glaring at him.

“He has likely paid off the healer to vouch for him!” Ramathos said, waving his hand toward me, his expression scornful.