Page 48 of The Dead Queen

I’ve never noticed how tall the Wolf was before. Maybe because I’ve mostly seen him sprawled out on the ground, too weak to stand. The night I encountered him, we were both in elaborate costumes, but now we’re just two people facing a monster, unadorned. He’s weak, but under his worn clothes, his muscles are tense, ready to pounce. His dark hair is messy, like that of a man who’s just been properly tumbled. But most noticeable are his eyes. They’re pale gray and cold like the moon.

Tristan smiles. “I, however, was in your room to find information.”

“And did you?” my father asks, his voice low.

Tristan pauses, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Possibly. It’s still difficult to tell.”

“Stop playing games,” Father hisses, his patience waning. “Tell me plainly. What were you looking for?”

Tristan squares off to face us, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “I was looking for the Heir to the North.”

Father actually laughs. He looks to Malen for backup.

“Very amusing, Your Highness,” Malen says, ever the good little bootlicker.

Father turns his attention back to Tristan. “Fables and baby stories? In my chambers? You’d have better luck in that infernal library this one hides in.” Father puts his face close to my ear. I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. It smells of spirits and old cheese.

The Wolf considers this, tilting his head. “Perhaps.”

“The truth.” Father presses the knife further into my neck and I feel the flesh splitting. Slick, hot blood trickles over my collarbone. Ludicrously, I think how fortunate it is that it won’t stain my dress too badly, since I’m already wearing red.

The Wolf stiffens.

I can feel my father’s grin next to my face, like the creep of a spider. A chill runs down my spine. “Ah, there’s more to this than you’ve said.” Father tuts. “And here I thought we were developing a bit of honesty between us.”

The Wolf’s pale moon eyes give nothing away, but he clenches his jaw in barely restrained anger. “For generations, your family has stolen land, food, resources. All to fill your own palace coffers.”

“Typical sympathizer nonsense.” The king laughs it off, like it’s nothing but a rumor in the wind.

The Wolf’s fists clench at his sides. “You’ve killed men, women, and children—even your own people who you call ‘sympathizers’—just to feed your greed.” His eyes dart to mine and I know what he’s secretly telling me.

Grandmother.

The Wolf is saying Grandmother was murdered for being an Annwyn sympathizer. How could that be? I’m heir to the throne. She wouldn’t have undermined me like that. Father, yes. But not me.

The Wolf continues. “Families in Annwyn died—continue to die—of starvation, disease, and the blades of your soldiers.”

My stomach tightens. No. That can’t be true. I’ve healed thousands of soldiers who were attacked by Annwyn warriors and their undead monsters. It was self-defense, not aggression. But then I wonder, why did the camps always move north, into newly reclaimed territories? I’ve never seen a map with border lines on it. I never knew for absolute certainty who’s land we were on. My breath catches in my chest as doubt creeps through me like a shadow.

Is it possible the corpse wolves aren’t on our land at all? That we are on theirs?

Father scoffs. “The queen’s Wolves can just bring the peasants back to life, if they so please.” Like it’s nothing to kill a child. And, to him, maybe it isn’t.

Tristan’s voice lowers to a growl. “We do not reanimate people.”

At the word “we” father’s arms stiffen against me. The Wolf has finally played the card I knew he’d been hiding—the confession that he isn’t dealing with a sympathizer, but an actual Wolf.

Across the room, Commander Malen stills, his hand reaching for the silver and copper sword that’s ever at his side.

Even with the blood soaking into the neckline of my dress, I feel a small thrill of glee. If my father’s terror is the last thing I see on this earth, then it will be a good death.

Father’s voice shakes. “Guards! Guards!”

They’re slow to respond, not fully comprehending what my father and I both know: Tristan isn’t an ordinary man. He is a Wolf among Foxes.

“You want to know why I was really in your chambers that night?” Tristan says, taking a step toward us. “I was looking for a way to end you.”

The knife slices into my throat as Father leaps away from Tristan. Blood spills over my chest in a hot gush, and I fall to my knees. At the sight of the blood, I try not to let panic take over. I can’t heal myself, and I don’t know what to do.