Page 89 of With Fangs and Claws (The Wolf Queen 1)

“Princess?” I baulked at the label but then got to my feet, following Weyland over where the kids were wrapped up in Weyland’s bedroll. I sat down on the cold grass beside them and smiled at the way Del held Jan tight to his chest. “I hear you want a story?”

“Tell us one with swords and stuff,” Del insisted, seeming to have found his voice now.

“No, one with princesses!” Jan argued.

“Well, how about one with a princess that wields a sword better than the strongest warrior?” Weyland suggested, winking at me.

I sighed then, forcing myself to smile at him, then the children.

“Well, once upon a time—”

“Stories always start like that,” Del complained.

“They do, but they won’t get much further than that if you’re not quiet,” I said with a wink and the two of them snuggled down at that. “Once upon a time, there was a princess born in a country not her own.” I had no idea how to tell a bloody story, having no younger siblings and never having cared for children before. “She thought she belonged to Grania.” Del wrinkled his nose at that. “But really she was meant to be a citizen of Strelae.” That seemed to settle him. “She grew up in the presence of a fearsome wizard and from him she learned how to fight with swords.”

“Wouldn’t a weapons master teach her how to use a sword?” Del asked.

“Girls don’t have swords!” Jan said with a frown.

“I do,” I said, tapping the hilts of mine.

“So does the wizard teach her how to use magical swords?” Del suggested.

“Why, yes, he does.”

Weyland grinned at that, but schooled his face to seriousness when Del looked up.

“He taught her to fight so well, no man or woman could stand against her…”

Stories were always a combination of life lesson and wish fulfilment, or at least the ones I’d bothered to read. They helped you dream of the future while dealing with the present. So I created this mythical princess with her magic swords, built this perfect shining figure in the children’s minds, because right now, that’s what they needed. But as I spoke of her adventures, of her beating off terrible foes and righting wrongs across Strelae, I realised something for myself.

My dreams had been filled with visions of wolves and ravens with gold skulls, though in this moment, I could see none of that. What I was doing, telling the story, was like casting a spell, creating a circle of light for us to warm our hands on, to help drive back the worst of the shadows. And my spell? It involved four princes, who strode at the princess’ side, who helped her to beat back the evil that visited Strelae.

By the time I finished the story, the children were snoring lightly, and I felt curiously hollow and empty, like everything I had to give had gone into those words.

“C’mon,” Weyland said, holding out a hand for me. “We’ll need to share your bedroll, but I think we’re going to need to sleep over here. I don’t want the children waking without us.”

I just nodded, falling onto the soft surface, then wriggling over to make room for Weyland under the covers.

Sleeping with the men was sometimes a fraught thing and sometimes way too stimulating, but right now I just felt a reassuring pulse of warmth from Weyland as he tucked me in under his chin.

“That story will come true, you know,” he told me, spinning his own tale to help me to sleep. “But it won’t be a princess that saves the land, it’ll be a queen.”

That last word tugged at me, trying to draw my attention, but I was too far gone to pay it heed. The day and its traumas hit me like a ton of bricks, shoving me into unconsciousness. But whatever Weyland had said, it did the trick, because this time when I dreamed of the wolves, I saw a golden figure standing on the cliff, staring down at them. And behind her? There was an army that outstripped the wolves twenty to one. She raised her sword and, as one, they charged.

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