Page 47 of A Queen and Her Knight

“First of all, he wasn’t mad at me,” Taro argued, even though the wolf had seemed plenty mad at him, or atsomething, frowning and scowling and turning in another direction when Taro would pass by. “And secondly, I haven’t done anything to warrant such suspicion.”

“His hair is green,” Mishi countered. “Green. He’s a werewolf, not an elf or a fairy. How did you manage that?”

Taro’s tail flipped in excitement but outwardly he barely smiled.

Green did not suit Baby Wolf. At least, not green hair. It did match his plaid flannel shirt, however.

Which was much too hot for a sunny day like this. Every other being on campus but shy, beloved Mishi was practically naked, and yet Baby Wolf was buttoned up and sweating, his white skin flushed with heat.

He’d shaved his head but his wolfy hair was already growing back in, the top of his nice bristly buzzcut a forest green. He had a snub nose and a stubborn jaw, and spoke French as well as English, and Taro absolutely did not care about him.

If only he would look up.

But no, Baby Wolf’s attention stayed firmly on his phone.

“Why would he sit near me and do nothing?” Taro turned back to Mishi with a pout.

“Maybe he didn’t even see you over here,” she pointed out, reasonable and a bit exasperated. “I know you like teasing people, but don’t you think this is ridiculous?”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Taro turned to Baby Wolf again, his tail a bright, agitated flicker that Mishi, as a troll, likely couldn’t see. Taro didn’t know if weres could see it; he’d never thought to ask.

But the wolf glanced over to him, easily, calmly, like someone without newly green hair, like a werewolf who didn’t growl and invite a fight or whatever it was weres did when provoked beyond all reason. His eyes were no longer warm as brandy but yellow, pure okami.

This wolf, Taro again had the thought,was starving.

The hair at the back of his neck stood up. Electricity filled the air, sparked close to Taro’s heart where he could keep it safe.

He put a hand to his chest and felt his lips part. Then the wolf looked away.

“He has a name, you know,” Mishi told him in the cautious voice she sometimes used when Flor was at his most heated and outraged.

Taro couldn’t see why she would do that with him, although his tail was snapping back and forth.

“I don’t care what his name is,” Taro informed her—calmly, because he was not like darling temperamental Flor. Not one bit. Not even when Mishi made that supremely doubtful noise again.

The End

A Queen and Her Knight

First posted in 2016

Set several years after the events ofThe Firebird and Other Stories,A Dandelion for Tulip/Sweet ClematisandForget-Me-Not

Summary: Rennet, a reluctant guest at a fundraising event, wanders out into the garden and discovers a princess. Because of course he does. Gen.

Rennet had no idea what to say, so, at first, he didn’t say anything. It was rare for him to be at a loss for words, even if what he said wasn’t always what heshouldsay, but he thought maybe that was a sign of his age. Maybe he finally old enough to be forgetting things now.

Or it could have been because of the marvelous creature in front of him.

It’s not that Rennet had sight like a fairy or a seer. He wasn’t an elf either, always pointed in the right direction. But he’d hidden himself away at another “Private Fundraiser” rather than deal with any more broken champagne glasses–of course he had, because certain rich people loved Rennet, but most of them had no idea what to say to him, and then John would smirk at him every time they stuttered over their words, so, so incredibly hot even with his remaining hair gone gray that Rennet couldn’t be near him without accidents happening.

Rennet had grabbed a bottle of Veuve, popped the cork, and slipped out into the backyard of the house where a rich being and his husband had generously offered to host the event.

Then, because he was Rennet, instead of winding up alone on a patio or among some flowers, he was in the corner of the yard staring at the familiar shining glow of a firebird.

He’d thought it was an artificial light, that perhaps there was a fountain or something amid all the shrubs and vines in the dark corner. But it was real and alive. The light was the living presence in front of him.

A child, no more than five, possibly no more than four, if firebirds aged like humans. She had long, dark hair, and dark eyes, which were currently sparkling with a layer of eyeshadow that Rennet was going to guess she had applied herself. Like her lips, which were painted vividly purple, and had smeared at the corner and all over her teeth.

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