Page 62 of The Wolf Queen

“To keep the peace, to build a stronger, better Grania.”

“One that absorbs the territory to the north, as our forebears always planned?” The prince smiled slowly, his perpetually sulky look turning into something insufferably smug.

“You want that?” I stepped closer, and there were mutterings from around the table from these Granian noblemen who seemed to struggle to know where to look. At the blood on my skin? The armour I wore, the sword at my hip, as their eyes covetously caressed the softly glowing crystal on the pommel? Or at me, to outline the womanly shape of my body in the way men do when they think they have the right. “And what do you think you’ll be taking, milords? A land rich with iron ore?” I saw some eyes flash brighter at that. “Some poorly educated, misguided Strelans to serve their superior Granian masters?”

“Darcy…” Bryson growled, but I was not his bitch. I was born Granian, so I knew how their minds worked. Obvious and overt displays of power—because that’s what this castle was, from the paintings on the wall, the thick carpets and the excessive amount of gilt surfaces—always went over best with them. So I whipped out my sword, plunging the tip into the carpet before anyone could respond, letting the crystal come to life and glow bright, right before I summoned my wolf.

She was accustomed to playing second fiddle to me, my human side far too dominant to allow her forth, and so all she got to do was take a look at these idiots. My hair turned to fur, my eyes burned bright blue as my nose became a muzzle and my lips peeled back to reveal fangs.

Some of these men would be cultists. My father had been wont to complain loud and long about the fascination some of his peers had with the religion, so my actions here were calculated.

“You’ve the choice between two wolves,” I told them, my voice now coarse and guttural, speaking to those hidden cultists more than anyone. “The one that seeks to defend its pack, that wants a world where we all get to return to our homes and our families at the end of this.” They all fell silent, staring, wide-eyed, unable to look away. They knew, academically, about wargen, but I was willing to bet none of them had ever seen one before. “Or the one where you become the thing you despise.”

I swallowed hard, then returned to my human form.

“Prince Callum—es, that Prince Callum—has returned and he brings with him his Reavers. I don’t know how, but he managed to turn Strelans, Granians, and people from beyond the mountains into creatures like the wargs you despise, but far worse.”

I leant forward to rest a hand on the gleaming tabletop beside Bryce, then flexed my fingers, and watched as his brother swallowed when he saw that I was digging claws, not fingernails, into the polished wooden surface.

“Reavers are not enemies to be met on the battlefield. Reavers aren’t an indigenous people to be displaced to suit your ambitions. Reavers are exactly the kind of mindless creatures Granians have always despised. They are creatures that don’t care for rank, for nationality, for age or gender. They just kill and destroy. That’s all they do. And Callum has set himself up as king of the north to ensure they drive out all others—Strelan and Granian—on his behalf.”

The image of the woman that had approached me at the camp on the border, just before we crossed over, flashed into my mind again. That bundle in her arms, her dead child staring blindly at the sky was burned into my memory. I wondered how many more mothers would suffer the same fate as I looked around the table, willing the rich and powerful here to just fucking listen for once.

“He won’t stop when he reaches the borders between our two countries. He won’t stop for mail-clad knights or Granian kings. He won’t stop until he’s made to, until he’s driven back and back again, right back to his grave where he belongs.”

I smiled slightly, seeing the men around the table stiffen, their pride pricked.

“You think Strelans are animals and that, whatever this new force is, you can use him and his Reavers to rout us out, like a terrier might rats. But you don’t understand. Yes, he wants Strelae back under his control, but…”

“He wants to kill every single one of the descendants of the people that stole his country,” Dane added, coming to stand beside me.

For a moment there was only silence, the men there obviously fighting to understand, to process what was said. Then, just when I thought we’d built a platform where we might be able to work out a way forward, together, Prince Tristan piped up.

“If this Darcy beat back these… Reavers,” he said, his lip curling. “And declared herself queen before all of the court, then there’s only one thing for it.” His eyes met mine and they fairly crackled with challenge. “You must meet this Callum head on and save your people. Cut the head off the snake, so to speak.” Tristan’s focus shifted to his brother. “As your first act as king, you must endorse this plan of action, surely?”

The stone on the pommel of my sword glowed brighter then, as I gripped it tight.

“Is this what it takes?”

“Darcy—” Dane started to say, but I couldn’t turn away from this, no matter what he had to say.

“If I lead a contingent to try and attack Callum directly—”

“Darcy, no,” Weyland interjected. “Darcy—!”

“If I do, will some of your number come with me?” I stared each man in the eye one by one, settling in the end on Tristan. “Will you come and see for yourself the challenge we all face? The might of the Granian army was enough to defeat Callum before.” I clung to that hope like a child would, knowing it was a flimsy thing, but unable to stop myself. “Perhaps it can again.”

“I will fight beside you, Darcy,” Bryson said, his voice softening. “You know I will.”

“A brave choice, brother,” Tristan said smoothly. “But one I support. You—”

“As will any man who wishes to ensure the safety of the country we love.” Tristan’s face fell as Bryson cut him off. “Do we cower here in the palace like mice in their hole, knowing that the cats swarm outside, or do we fight like men?”

That started the council chattering again, the noise a combination of masculine excitement and fear. But Tristan? He was studiously silent, his gaze skirting around the whole room, then focusing on his brother with a steady scowl.

Chapter35

“We shouldn’t have shared that information with the blasted Granians,” Weyland said as he donned his armour.

---