Page 6 of Wicked Prince of Carnage
“He can barely speak at the moment,” Caston said, pursing his lips.
“All of you leave except for my son,” King Valco moaned, his eyelids fluttering.
Winter stepped inside the room and motioned the other men out. “We don’t have all day,” he snarled when they shuffled their feet.
After the last noble left, Winter shut the door with the heel of his boot and folded his arms across his chest as he studied his father. King Valco was well-built for his age, his hair still dark with a few streaks of gray, his skin smooth, but right now he looked older than his forty-seven years. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, lines creased his brow, and bloodied bandages wrapped around his wounds. His pale skin appeared waxy as the light from the window highlighted his features. If his father had died and done them all a favor, Winter would inherit Bloodstorm. No one would ever call him weak.
Winter cocked his head. “You look like shit, Father.”
His eyes flashed with pain, and his words came out garbled, “You should’ve been here instead of turning your back on your duties.”
Winter snorted. “Well, I was busy.” He raised his brows and tilted his head as if considering the damage hidden beneath the bandages. “That stomach wound will take weeks, if not longer, to heal. What lie will we tell?”
Valco sucked in a deep breath to speak, but only an agonized groan left his throat. He coughed and grasped his chest before finally getting a sentence out. “You’ll rule in my stead until I’m well again. Prove yourself.”
“Will I?” Winter drawled.
“Youwillrule this pack while I’m recovering, and do it well. If you—” The king closed his eyes, his breaths ragged. Winter stepped toward his father, itching to tear open his wounds wider.
Someone rapped on the door, drawing him from his thoughts. “Your Majesty, I’ve collected the herbs you require.”
The healer.Better yet, perhaps Winter could slip wolfsbane into one of the concoctions… Make it look like an accident…
For now, Winter would spread the news that his father was hurt.Weak.He smirked. His father wanted him to rule? To make sure the hunters didn’t attack the pack? Fine. He was perfectly capable of that.Morethan capable, in fact. The court already feared their prince.
“How did it go?” Micah asked when Winter reached the top of the stairs.
“Perfectly.” Winter grinned. And if his father lived, he would make him regret it.
CHAPTER THREE
STERLING
Sterling slowly stood from her crouched position and stepped out from behind a rotting, gnarled tree. Her scarlet hood covered her short brown hair and hid the scar that slashed down her forehead to her cheek. The reminder of what happened during the attack at her grandmother’s house was her most identifying feature. The scar on her chest and the teeth marks on her ankle were always hidden. If she knew where to find a sorcerer or sorceress in Bloodstorm, then she could’ve asked for a tonic to alter her appearance. Not that she had anything worth bartering.
Wind coasted by, and the ends of the cloak billowed around Sterling. She held her breath, waiting for the shifter to slink out through two narrow trunks. This wolf wasn’t one of the prince’s close circle, though he still worshipped him. Winter was his god and that alone made himdangerous.
The bushes rustled, but not in front of her as she’d expected. Sterling whirled to the side, grasping her bow firmly, confidently. A large gray and brown wolf prowled forward, his razor-sharp teeth bared just before he leapt toward her. She nocked an arrow and let it fly in one smooth motion. It whirred with the wind, then struck perfectly through the shifter’s neck. However, he didn’t fall.
Gripping her weapon, she dodged out of the way as the wolf swiped a claw at her. She released another two arrows until the wolf slumped to the dirt, twitching, and then, finally, went still.
A minor moment passed and the wolf’s fur reeled back into the shifter’s body, the man’s limbs stretching, his face contorting. The man was perhaps forty years of age, his form bare, and clumps of white streaked his chestnut hair. Bright crimson seeped out from his wounds, pooling around him.
Sterling knelt beside the shifter and ripped the arrows from his flesh. Even though he wasn’t one of the wolves who’d killed her grandmother, he might as well have been. “Fuck you,” she growled between gritted teeth before spitting on his expressionless face. He didn’t deserve a final prayer to the gods.
A collection of howls echoed in the distance,too many, and Sterling’s heart pounded—she needed to leave the forest. Over the past eight years since losing her mother and grandmother, she’d spent each day perfecting her skills with her bow. Even so, she was only one person and her arrows weren’t limitless. She wouldn’t make it out of the forest today if she went against an entire pack. It was something she was unwilling to risk—not when her brother still depended on her. She was already playing with fire by murdering wolf shifter after wolf shifter.
Tearing the cloak from her body, Sterling stuffed the thin fabric into her leather satchel and darted out from the forest. She wasn’t the only wolf hunter around, but she was the most well-known. The Bloodstorm Court called her Red Riding Hood, and for the hefty reward the prince was offering, she would easily be handed over to the wicked royal. Butalive—since that was what he wanted. How long she would stay that way once he received her was a good question. One she hoped to never answer.
Sterling kept her bow close and hurried down the gravel path toward her home. Carrying a bow wouldn’t be suspicious, but having one while near a dead wolf would be. Once she came to the edge of the small village, she threw the door open to her meager home and hid the bow along with her cloak beneath the bed before leaving for the meat shop.
The first three years of Cyan’s life had been a struggle, but after that, Sterling started selling meat to clients, then came the vegetables and herbs her brother helped grow. When the local butcher passed away and his daughter didn’t want to runthe shop, Sterling purchased it for less than what it was worth. Thankfully, the gamble was starting to pay off a fraction.
As she approached the shop with its cracked windows, chipped paint, and dilapidated roof, she realized she didn’t believe she would ever have enough coin to repair it. But perhaps she could at least paint the building soon.
She opened the door, and the bell clanged. The scents of raw meat and herbs permeated the small space.
Cyan sat alone at the one wooden table, shaping a sheet of paper into a little boy. Five other folded flowers lingered in front of him. He was always making unique paper crafts. In the past year he’d grown so much. With his copper skin and dark hair, he favored his unknown father, but his green eyes and smile were identical to their mother’s.
