Page 61 of The Wolf Queen

“What in the gods’names was all of that?” the rather effete noble from the throne room asked Bryson, just before he stared at me. The portal had closed and every Reaver was gone, the crystals in the cavern dulling now.

“Witchcraft is what it is,” the bluff man rumbled. “The crown prince has been ensorcelled! Guards, take this woman—”

“Are you really that stupid?” Bryson’s voice was like a snake, coiled and ready to strike. “Are you so incapable of correctly determining what is going on? That was Prince Callum, the one of history.”

“No.” The nobles were so definite, so confident in their chorus of denial. “The man would have to be… No, that’s preposterous.”

“And those are Reavers,” Bryson said. “We intercepted an attack on the border and stopped them going any further, but they’ll attack again. They’ll attack anywhere, everywhere, not stopping until they’ve enslaved or destroyed everyone. There is no Grania, no Strelae, not in their minds. They see the entirety of these lands as one country, and they intend to conquer every part of it. Callum has returned to right what he sees as a wrong and he has the means to ensure that what he wants to happen will come to pass, unless we mount a defence against it.”

Chapter34

We had survived. My children were whole, my mates and friends uninjured. I should have been celebrating, but I couldn’t seem to drag my eyes from Del’s neck and those red marks the Reaver had left. They were still there, despite the fact Gael had healed our son. I wanted to settle the children, make sure they had something to eat and help them process what had just happened. But as my grandfather ushered us into his suite at the palace, we found that the new king had yet more bad news for us.

“We have to front the Royal Council,” he told me.

“You think to give her orders?” Stepping in between the two of us, Gael looked like he was only just holding on to his control as he glared at Bryson. “You think she’s yours, for you to bid her to do as you tell her?”

“No.” I pulled Del close, holding him before me, my hands gripping his shoulders. “No, I—”

“You announced yourself queen of all of Strelae and Grania.” I could hear the incredulity, betrayal, even, in Bryson’s voice. “Then, in the bowels of Aramathia, you countered an attack from a supposedly long-dead prince.”

He moved forward, side-stepping Gael, to speak more directly to me.

“People are going to have questions, Darcy, and if you aren’t there to answer them, others will propose interpretations of the events that will not paint you in a very flattering light. My father…”

“Fuck your father!” Weyland growled. “Mine always said yours was never to be trusted. Invading and taking over the rest of Strelae…”

But I didn’t hear the rest of my mate’s rant. Bryson was searching my face, and I could see him turning a question around in his mind; one he wanted to ask, but couldn’t quite bring himself to. Yet.

Did I kill the king?

The truth was that I couldn’t honestly answer that question. I didn’t understand what had happened—it wasn’t something I’d experienced before. But Bryson’s unquestioning acceptance that I should submit to pressure from external forces; the way he was pushing the point that I do what was ‘right’ rather than what I wanted? That was behaviour I knew too well, that I had been subjected to from a young age. I pressed my lips into a thin line as I met the king’s gaze and considered my response.

“And what do you propose I say to this council?” I asked, finally.

We didn’t get time to clean up. There was only just enough time to check that the Maidens would be happy to keep the children safe, before we went marching up the hall en masse. As dukes, both my father and my grandfather had recognised places at the table of the Royal Council of Grania. But I didn’t represent either of them, and I wondered how much outrage and downright ridicule my presence in the council chambers was going to cause. As it was, I could hear the shouting from halfway down the corridor. But when we swept in, they all sat up and took notice, none moreso than the new crown prince.

Bryson’s brother looked so much like him. He had the same sharp facial structure, the same tousle of curly brown hair. But his eyes were a flat brown, rather than Bryson’s gold, and the expression in them became flatter, harder, as he stood staring at me.

“Aramathia was attacked by wargen scum?”

He had jumped to his feet the minute we entered the room, a number of others following his lead, making it clear there was a faction at play. I noted similar looks of disgust on the faces of the prince’s friends as they ran their eyes over me and my men.

“This is what our father talked about, brother,” the prince said, turning his attention from me to Bryson. “This is why we must attack. To drive out those filthy beasts.”

My group made our own alliances clear, with my grandfather and my men coming to stand at Bryson’s back.

“Those ‘filthy beasts’ just saved your city from Reaver attack,” Dane drawled, widening his stance and drawing his arms across his chest.

“Wargen haven’t walked the halls of the palace for centuries,” the prince spat. “And now five of you appear. My father dies and this feral girl declares herself our queen? You would be hard pressed to convince us that any of this was a coincidence.”

“So I won’t try.” Bryson took the chair at the head of the table, gesturing as he did for everyone else to sit. My grandfather took his designated chair, though my men and I remained as we were. There were no chairs for us here. “We returned with great haste once word reached us of Father’s state. He was on his deathbed, that’s what we were told…” He pulled in a breath, then another, going quite pale for a moment before visibly steeling himself. “So his death is hardly a surprise. I wish it wasn’t.”

Real emotion vibrated in his voice and I watched his hands grip the arms of his chair before he forced himself to release them.

“But he is gone, no doubt feasting with the gods themselves right now.” A small murmur of appreciation went around the table, though it died off quickly. Bryson performed a little gesture, one I’d seen people make every Sunday at church, and I had to clench my fists to stop the muscle memory kicking in, so that my own hand wouldn’t do the same. “Our father, the king, was a great man.” The persona of the man speaking now wasn’t ‘Rake’, or even Bryson, but the new Granian king. “One whose vision and foresight saw Grania through a period of unprecedented peace and prosperity. As king, I pledge to continue that legacy.”

But there was no mention of the new vision, the one the king had dumped on the court, just before his death.

---