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The king didn’t look upset like the council did, though. He looked curious. Like he was beginning to put together a puzzle. I didn’t like being subjected to that gaze—it made me feel like he could see right through me. Right to my soul, to my wolf, who so desperately wanted to be seen by him.
“Lady Reyna of Daybreak.” Lady Oleta folded gnarled hands together in her lap, and the room went silent when she spoke in a hushed, scratchy voice. “Is it true that in the arena, you drew the king’s blood?”
I blinked. Why was she asking about the sparring session? And why did she need me to confirm it? “Um, yes,” I said. “But it was barely a scratch, barely a drop of blood. I hadn’t intended to scratch the king at all.”
“And your mother is of the Stardust pack?” Lady Oleta asked.
“Yes.” I didn’t understand the order of these questions at all. It was like a mental sparring session, where Lady Oleta had a sword, and I had a big stick, and my boots stuck in molasses. My wolf was beginning to demand more and more of my attention. She knew I was failing here, and she thought her way would be better. And she was beginning to get tired of me ignoring her.
“I look like my mother,” I said, “but my father raised me. My mother is no longer with us.”
“You see?” Lord Nylander murmured aside to Lady Marin. “She is a wolf of Starcrest. The prophecy stands.”
“Not fully,” Lady Marin said. “Until we know for sure.”
Prophecy? My head spun. Why did the council care about that? Barion had mentioned it—but with my head pounding I couldn’t remember what he had said. The thought slipped away like a leaf on a stream, focused as I was on not vomiting up my guts in front of the council.
“Hm,” Lady Oleta said. “And your father, did he ever speak of your mother’s lineage?”
“He didn’t speak about her at all,” I said. My wolf howled internally. “I think—I think he avoids me because I remind him of her.” I closed my eyes. Why did I say that?
The council nodded, then again began to speak among themselves, too low for me to hear. Not that I could focus on their voices at all, even if I’d wanted to.
My head pounded, my heart raced, sweat beaded on my forehead. My senses began to heighten: smell first, as the smell of booze and sweat began to permeate my senses. Not just sweat—the king’s sweat. The way he’d smelled in the arena. I could smell it now, and my nostrils flared.
The duchess looked at the king, and he nodded once. Curt and quick. Under the careful gazes of the council, I felt like I was about to be walked to the gallows.
“Majority wins,” Lady Marin said in a cold voice. “Lady Reyna progresses to the final round.”
The final round—the last two contestants in the Choice.
The king’s eyes gleamed gold as he watched me. Like there wasn’t anyone else in the room.
That’s when it happened.
My wolf surged to the surface. I was weakened from whatever had happened, exhausted from the trial, and desperate to know what in the gods’ names the council was talking about. I couldn’t hold her back anymore. I clapped my hands over my mouth as my canines elongated, and my vision sharpened; from the king’s expression, I knew my eyes had flashed silver.
No, no, no, I begged her internally, though I already knew it was a lost cause. Not now. Not like this.
The king stood up.
I leaped from my chair and rushed for the door. As soon as I pushed it open, my wolf sprang free.
14
I barreled out of the small side room and into the crowded ballroom, my paws skidding on the polished stone. It wasn’t the presence of a wolf that shocked the crowd, but the speed with which I skittered out. The guards in their wolf forms watched me curiously yet they made no movement. Adora gasped, her hands covering her mouth.
My wolf was small and sleek, with a thick, double-layered pure white coat and silver eyes. It made running in Daybreak uncomfortable, but here in the chill of Efra, it was almost pleasant. I shook out my coat and then barreled toward the door, weaving around interested guests and ignoring Fina’s and Adora’s voices behind me. I had to get out of here. Away from all of this. Away from the council, away from the ball, away from the king.
I needed fresh air. I needed to clear my head. Most of all, I needed to run. Whatever had been in that drink would be burned out of my system once I got my paws in the dirt. I clattered out of the ballroom, down the hall, and out of the back doors of the manor.
I ran without thinking. In my wolf form, I knew where the woods were. All I had to do was run. I tore through the city and into the tree line, until my paws dug into the soft earth and the roots. The air was crisp and cold in my sensitive nose, bringing with it intoxicating scents of the trees, the wildlife, and the wolves of Nightfall.
As I ran through the woods, the questions turned over and over in my mind. Why had the council been asking me so many questions about my mother? My mother had nothing to do with the Choice. I’d never met her. She hung over my life like a specter—the woman I resembled, and the reason my father resented me. And now the council wanted to know about her, too?
It was never about just me. I should never have been so naive as to think the choice would be a place I would be appreciated for who I was. It was all about the pack. About my lineage, whatever that meant. Not about me.
But at least right now, in my wolf form, I could be myself. I could pretend nothing mattered except the dirt under my paws and the cold breeze rustling through my coat.
