Page 105 of The Fox Heir

It’s no more than a comment, but I feel the implication within it. While we were distracted, Nalina was here with the queen, preparing for the worst.

“I’ll ready the villagers,” Nalina says. “Everyone who is able to fight will.”

The Dead Queen turns back toward the window. “I’ll call the wolves.”

Corpse wolves, she means. I’ve seen them in battle before, and I never wish to see them again.

“How long?” I ask.

Nalina squints out toward the mountains. “Three days, if we’re lucky.”

The midday sun streams into the tower, highlighting the moths above us. Their wings flutter like flower petals caught in a storm. White, orange, blue, green.

“That’s not all,” Tristan cuts in.

From the tone of his voice, I know what’s coming. He’s going to tell them he believes Hunter to be the Heir to the North, as impossible as that seems to me. I’ve known Hunter my entire life. Wouldn’t I have suspected if the shy boy who loved adventure novels was a secret king?

Nalina gives him a sharp glance, then eyes Hunter and me with suspicion.

The Dead Queen doesn’t respond, only waits. Her skeletal hand reaches up to grasp the silver moth necklace, like she used to do when she needed comfort in life. For a moment, my heart stills. Is it possible there’s still some small remnant of my grandmother in her?

Tristan’s voice is firm. “He knows.”

The phrasing makes me blink rapidly. Next to me, Hunter stiffens.

“How?” Nalina asks.

“He can see them. The fae. I had to tell him.”

The queen whirls away from the window. “That was not your place, Wolf!”

Tristan doesn’t shrink away. He doesn’t even flinch. “We came straight to you.”

“Wait,” Hunter interrupts. “You knew? You all knew?”

My heart thrums painfully in my chest. “I didn’t. I swear.” I reach out a hand to touch his elbow, but he shakes me off.

Tristan barely blinks at Hunter’s rising anger. “It was best to keep you in the dark.”

Hunter shakes his head violently. “No. It’s not true. You’re mistaken. I can’t be royal. I barely even have power.” He stammers. “I can hardly make my own light in the dark.”

“That’s because you’re not from Llwyn,” the Dead Queen says evenly.

My mouth falls open. This is nonsense. “Hunter and I grew up together in Caerwen Palace. Of course he’s from Llwyn!”

Hunter steps forward. “My father was from a noble house!”

“And your mother?”

“She …” Hunter’s words fade away.

I know what he must be thinking. No one knew her well. And she died before she could tell him her story. Hunter was another motherless child, like me.

Hunter’s face has gone pale. “My father said she was a poor village girl he met near the borderlands. He found her while collecting taxes for the King.”

Tristan’s expression is grave. “It appears that she was more than she seemed.”

The queen speaks. “Like many refugees from Annwyn, your mother, Rhiannon, kept her heritage a secret. Llwyn villagers aren’t picky about who shows up to help with the harvests.” She steps toward Hunter. “You forget that I knew Rhiannon. Quite well, in fact.”