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“No, Alpha,” someone lied.
“You’re whispering about something,” I insisted. “What’s going on?”
“It’s gossip, Alpha, rumors,” Harman interjected, and I turned my attention to him directly.
“I’m all ears,” I replied. “Surely it’s more interesting than the same five talking points we’ve rehashed for the past year on the agenda. What rumors?”
“Those nomad warlocks,” one minister blurted out. “They’re closer to South Havenmire now.”
I remembered the group. They had been investigated when the arsons had broken out, the top list of suspects for the crimes.
“Haven’t they all been vetted by now? I thought they were determined harmless.”
This statement I directed at my Royal Guards, who nodded affirmatively. “Yes, Alpha.”
“Then leave them in peace and let them roam,” I grumbled. “Just because they’re nomads and warlocks, doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”
Someone coughed, and the next words chilled my blood to ice chips.
“Your father was seen amongst them.”
The room fell so quiet, I could hear the shallow, ragged breath of every minister and guard individually.
“What did you say?” I spat, whipping my head back toward the group. “My father?” A din broke out as my head whipped toward my adviser, who waned under my scathing glare. “What is this nonsense now?”
“It’s not confirmed, Alpha!” Harman whimpered, casting the ministers a scathing look. “But there have been several reports of a fae who resembles your father amongst those warlocks.”
My head swimming, I sank into my throne, trying to make sense of it.
“That’s impossible,” I sputtered. “My father…”
Instantly, I was consumed with a memory of the fire in Maren’s building, the sight of my father’s face in the billiard room appearing out of nowhere.
I hadn’t been hallucinating. It hadn’t been a result of smoke inhalation. Someone else had seen King Lucius!
I couldn’t finish my own sentence. “It can’t be him. Hasn’t anyone investigated this? Why am I only hearing about this now?!”
“They were just whispers at first, Alpha,” one of the ministers volunteered as I again turned back to the Royal Guards, incensed and conflicted by the news. “But there have been so many unconnected sightings now?—”
My spinning head refused to settle. This was not the first time that someone had claimed to have “spotted” my father over the years, but of course, they had only been cases of mistaken identity. But several reports? That couldn’t be ignored.
“Assemble a team immediately!” I barked at the guards, jumping out of my throne and shaking off the heavy, weighted feeling that was hanging over me. I couldn’t afford to sink down now. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Today.”
“What about our meeting?” Harman whined.
I scoffed and ignored him, striding down from the podium to head out the way I’d come. They could have their endless arguments without me. I needed to know if there was any truth to these rumors.
The caravanof warlocks was a pitiful sight. Rusted silver campers and tents sat on the outskirts of South Havenmire around makeshift firepits. They were a suffering bunch, seeking out an existence and accustomed to being harassed; it seemed apparent in the way they greeted us when we arrived.
They barely acknowledged the flock of Royal Guards who ascended upon them. It was already evident to me that they had been approached many times by my personal army and were nonplussed by the latest arrival—even with me among them.
No one bowed or looked vaguely impressed, even when they recognized me. Some continued to cook on their open fires, ignoring blatant questions by my guards.
“Who is your leader here?” I demanded, stepping forward when I realized my head guard was going nowhere quickly. No one responded, and I waved for my guards to draw closer.
“The king has asked you a question,” my head guard growled.
“We’ve told you before,” one small, spritely warlock barked back, despite his elder placing a hand on his shoulder. “We have no leader. We’re free beings, living off the land as a community.”
