Page 72 of Not Another Happily Ever After

Ah.

Merrek.

I sit up, cradling what feels like a small lump on the side of my head as my eyes adjust to the bright light from the crackling fire.

“My lady? You’re up?” Rhidland stops short of the tall grass, carrying more tinder for the fire, his gaze narrowing on the twins. “I reckon we ought to thank these hollow-heads for that.”

Merrek shrinks away from the old man’s glare, lips tucked in and eyes wide, as if to watch for a potential strike.

I’d laugh if my head didn’t hurt so much. The pounding ache is enough to make my stomach churn.Oh, Gally. How I miss you so.

Wait.

Missing.

Someone’s missing.

My hand falls away as I search for the rest of our party. Frog is gone.Frog?—

The memory of sharp claws digging into the meat of his arms hits me like a ton of bricks.

My chest grows tighter with every shallow breath. I fear I’m close to spending my lungs dry when a soft hand gently grips my shoulder, reeling me in.

“He’ll be alright, Princess.”

Myrrdin’s voice is level. Calm and sure. Everything I am not.

“We must help him!” I beg, readying my still-weak legs to stand. “Please! There’s a lupin in the woods! It’s hurting him! It’s?—”

“His second in command,” Rhidland sighs, dropping the tinder on the small patch of earth they cleared for the fire before taking a seat across from me. “Found that out when I asked to remain in your stead.”

“That’s not possible.” I shake my head. “His second hand is…”

Gone.

The grass is flattened where Wolfe lay, but all that remains in his place are the tattered remains of his trousers and tunic. The scraps of a well-kept secret.

“He’s alupin?”

Myrrdin nods, giving my stiffened shoulder a gentle squeeze before tending to the waning flames.

“But, how? I mean…I know how.But…”

I trip and tumble over my words, grasping for a logical explanation that would give reason as to why one of my father’s four knights is a werewolf, but I can fathom none.

“People born with the gene are supposed to live relatively unaffected lives,” I recount what little I’ve read on the matter, cursing myself for not spotting the signs sooner. The amber eyes. His short temper. His unwavering loyalty to those he loves most. They’re all there. But even still, there’s one box he doesn’t check.

I shake my head, puzzling over the anomaly. “Even with the gene, in order to turn, he would have had to take the life of an innocent. To take the life of?—”

“A child.” Myrrdin’s voice is low, but the truth of his words is loud enough to leave a ringing in my ears and send a shiver to my toes.

“He didn’t,” I say, already knowing the answer, but fearing it all the same.

“Not on purpose.”

Merrek takes a seat next to me, offering me a slice of bread. When he forces it into my hand, I decline.

“It was a long time ago. He was just a kid,” he starts, biting into his own piece. “His father owned a bakery, and every Wednesday a girl about his age would come by with a basket, asking for bread.” He swallows, eyeing the crumbs that have fallen into his lap. “Her name was Red.”