Page 41 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

“Boy!” He whickered when he saw me, shoving his muzzle into my chest, then snuffling around for a treat. “No apples yet,” I said with a grin, laughing at the way he pushed insistently at me and then I paused.

“Been awhile since you smiled?” Pep asked as my fingers went to my face. It felt weird, like the muscles there weren’t my own and were moving of their own accord. “Worry not, that will change.”

I nodded, liking the sound of that, and as I turned back to my horse, stroking my hand down his nose, I knew exactly what would help.

“Is there a saddle and tack I can borrow?”

“There is…” I frowned slightly, turning at the hesitancy in her voice. She looked me up and down and then grinned. “Problem is, princess, you’re gonna get a nasty surprise when you go jouncing around on horseback with no jerkin.” She tugged at the snug, sleeveless leather garment she wore over her shirt, the front laced to make it conform to her shape. “I’d lend you one of mine, but you’re…”

She made an exaggerated gesture, indicating larger breasts than those on her frame. Something I just snorted at until I looked down. I pulled my shirt away, glaring down at my breasts, examining as if they were someone else’s. Had they gotten bigger?

“Let’s go down to the markets,” she said. “Buy you something that will fit and some changes of clothes too. You came with nothing, right?”

I blinked then, feeling like there were gaps in my memory. I’d been at the keep and then I was transplanted here. But how?

“Yes,” I replied finally. “I came with nothing.”

“Well, the princes gave me a big bag of gold for just this purpose. They wanted me to buy some clothes for you, but I know what we’re like.” She smiled at me, then tilted her head, indicating for me to follow her out of the stables. “We want to dress ourselves according to our own preferences and there’d be no point me making decisions for you.”

I paused for a second, listening to her describe what to me was an alien state of being. My boy’s clothes were the only garments I’d ever chosen for myself, and I’d been forced to keep them hidden in the back of my wardrobe. Everything else had been Father’s, Linnea’s or the seamstress’s choice.

“Yes,” I replied belatedly, hustling to catch up, “I’d like to choose my own clothes. And my name’s Darcy.”

She grinned up at me at the confirmation that she was right.

“Well, step this way, Darcy. The market awaits.”

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