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My wolf positively preened, rolling around in the compliment like she might a dust bath on a hot Daybreak day. “Someone has to do something about that ego,” I said.
That made the king laugh, tossing his head back and even garnering a few looks from the other couples on the dance floor. We danced through another song, and the simplicity, the closeness, was almost addictive. A balm after so much turmoil. And yet, even the balm was a fantasy. I was still a pawn in someone’s game, pulled between what the king wanted, what my father wanted, and whatever this prophecy meant.
As the night wound down, the king led me away from the dance floor. Many of the guests had already left, and the remaining guests were wrapped up in each other dancing to the slow, delicate music, or lounging on the couches with brandy glasses slipping from their fingers and drunken blushes high on their cheeks. The king murmured his good nights in passing as he walked me toward the doors of the dining room with his arm around my waist.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” my father said. He stepped in front of him quickly enough that we both had to stop abruptly. My father bowed slightly, then extended his hand. “If you’d be so kind, I’ll escort my daughter to her chambers.”
“Certainly,” the king said, so low it was nearly a growl. He tightened his hold on my waist briefly before he stepped away. The anger radiating off him was nearly palpable in the air but my father didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled at me, hand still hovering out expectantly.
I nodded and took it delicately. I didn’t even want to feel his clammy palm, least of all spend time alone with him. But the king had given his permission, and it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter. That was how this had worked so far and would continue to work. I was just a tool, handed off to where I was needed. The king couldn’t let my father know he had any suspicions, not yet.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” I said.
The king nodded in acknowledgment. His expression was stern yet neutral, as if it was taking most of his self-control not to lash out at my father. He wasn’t exactly the restrained type.
My father took my wrist with a bit more force than necessary and led me out the door. We walked in tense silence until we reached the corridor outside my quarters. Only then did my father drop his tight hold on me. I drew my hand to my chest, rubbing the red imprint of his grip.
He cast his eyes around for any signs of curious eyes and ears. Finding none, he paced restlessly back and forth across the width of the hall. He pushed one hand through his graying hair. I’d seen him like this before, wrestling with his circling, angry thoughts before he could articulate them to whatever court member had failed him this time. I pressed my back against the cool stone of the hallway as if it would shield me from the onslaught.
“Griffin was an idiot,” he hissed, sharp with anger but quiet enough that we wouldn’t be overheard. “I gave him one task, and he failed me.”
Nausea ripped through me, hot and dizzying, and bile burned in the back of my throat. So my father was behind this all along. It was his scheme—his idea. I pulled my arms closer to my body like I could curl up and hide. I felt like a pup again, helpless and vulnerable under his seething rage.
“But that’s finished,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I never should’ve considered that moron an option at all. Not when I had the smarter of you two already here in Efra.” He grinned, wolfish, and his eyes gleamed clay-red—I’d never seen his wolf so close to the surface before. I shivered, cold fear tightening around my heart. “I know you won’t fail me the way Griffin did, my dear Reyna.”
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly. “What do you want from me?”
“Daybreak will rule Frasia again,” my father growled. “That man—that false king—only sits on the throne because of the violence of his father. If he thinks he can succeed with this farce, he is more of a fool than I ever imagined. When you marry, you will be heir to the throne.”
“And I will be a wolf of Nightfall,” I said. My voice only shook minutely.
“That doesn’t matter,” my father said. From his belt, he pulled a small knife, sheathed in leather, and handed it to me hilt-first. “Take this. You will return the throne to Daybreak. This knife will kill any wolf in one strike, the closer to the heart the better.”
“What?” I asked. I didn’t touch the hilt. “Is this—is this the same poison as the knife Barion give me?”
“Of course,” my father said. “Specially formulated by the Daybreak apothecary.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked. “Why would he give me a poisoned knife?”
“Because he is loyal,” my father said, looking at me like I was stupid. “He is loyal to me, and knows I will take my place as the rightful King of Frasia.”
I was stunned to silence. Even Barion knew about this plot? Barion, who was more like a father to me than the man in front of me was? My heart shattered into impossibly smaller pieces. I hadn’t even considered that Barion might be in on this but it made sense. He was only here as my escort on my father’s orders. I was just a pawn to him, just as I was to everyone else in Daybreak.
I knocked the knife out of his hand, and it went clattering across the hall. “I won’t do it,” I snarled. My wolf raised her hackles, ready to leap forward and bare her teeth. “I won’t rule by violence and assassination.”
“You don’t have a choice,” my father said. “Either you return the throne to Daybreak, or you become the Bloody Queen. Either way, you have blood on your hands.”
“Griffin has already put a blemish on our house!” I straightened up and squared my shoulders, staring my father down. My rage and betrayal burned hot enough to melt my fear. “I will do as I choose, not act as a pawn on your chessboard!”
“I should’ve known you were a coward,” he said, baring his teeth. “A true Daybreak wolf would never behave like this.”
Suddenly fear doused the anger just as quickly as it’d risen up. “What? I am a Lady of Daybreak.”
“You are no daughter of mine.” My father’s eyes flashed clay-red. So unlike my own silver. His teeth elongated, just slightly—I’d never seen his wolf so close to bursting forth. My own wolf snapped her teeth internally, begging to charge forth before his did. “You are not of my bloodline. You are the bastard child your mother carried when she was sent to Daybreak to be my wife. I only raised you after her death because I would not let her indiscretions risk my rule. The augurs all said there would be a Choice, so I raised you in hopes that you would be the key to returning the throne to Daybreak. But I should’ve known no training could beat the Starcrest out of you. You were always going to be a traitor. It’s in your blood.”
I stared, stunned to silence.
He picked up the dagger from where I’d tossed it. For a brief, horrible moment, I thought he would unsheathe it and drive it into my own heart—my frozen, broken, demolished heart.
