Page 65 of The Dead Queen

I nod, breathless.

He grabs my waist to help me onto the black horse. My legs are still a little shaky from my imprisonment, or maybe it was the thrill of passion. Either way, I’m glad to be astride. Hunter mounts his mare, then leans forward in his saddle to unlock the gate. Slowly, he leads us forward, out of the stables and onto the dark, mist-covered road.

When we’re far enough that pounding hoofbeats won’t wake too many people, we accelerate into a gallop.

“Wait,” I call out when we hit the first crossroad. “We need to go to the cemetery first.”

It will haunt me forever if I never check to see if the Wolf waited for me. After years of unanswered questions, I can’t let this opportunity slide away. I don’t want to grow old always wondering, always regretting.

“We can’t.” Hunter’s eyes are wild as he glances behind us.

I turn to look, too. No sign of pursuit yet. “Please. It’s important.”

Hunter huffs, but pulls his reins toward the northeastern side of the palace grounds. “We’d better hurry.”

When we speed through the gates of the cemetery, the gravestones greet us with shadow and curling mist. I don’t need to see the Wolf to know he’s still here. Something in the air makes my skin prickle with knowing, like a message sent from the old gods.

Hunter and I gallop at full speed until we reach the little pond and my mother’s mausoleum. We stop, listening as the water laps against the stones along the pond’s shore. Wind blows dried leaves across the grass. Then, as silent as the night, the Wolf steps out from behind the mausoleum.

His dark hair hangs over his gray eyes but I can still see the relief in them. Somehow, he’s acquired new, black clothes and cleaned himself up. He seems a little further from death’s door now, even though he has the rumpled look of a dog who swam in a pond. At least the mud and the crusted blood are gone. He looks more like the wolf I spotted at the engagement ball, though this shirt hangs loose.

But he’s alive.

A weight lifts from my chest. “I thought I’d never see you again. Why didn’t you leave?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not without you. A promise is a promise.”

We both look at Hunter, whose face is twisted in confusion. I nod toward the Wolf.

“No,” Hunter says, his lips set in a firm line.

“Oh, yes,” the Wolf replies. He leaps up onto the back of my horse, then wraps his arms around my waist. A thrill travels up my spine at the close contact with someone so dangerous.

“What are we supposed to do with him?” Hunter speaks to me, but his eyes are on the Wolf at my back.

“I promised to get him to the border.”

“Why?”

“He owes me a favor.”

“Then why are you the one risking your neck?”

In the silence that follows his accusation, a breeze blows the nearby willow branches like a whispered warning.

“It’s … complicated,” I say.

Hunter shakes his head. “I only brought provisions for two.”

Tristan leans into the conversation. “I’ll fend for myself.”

Hunter’s eyes are dark with emotion, though I’m not sure what kind. Jealousy? Outrage? He turns to me, his eyes begging me to reconsider.

“Please, Hunter, I need you to trust me.”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he finally grants me a curt nod, then turns his horse back toward the gate.

“Wait.” Tristan’s voice is sharp, like he’s a man used to giving orders.