Page 14 of The Fox Heir

“No.” My voice is hard and brittle as obsidian. “You are not my grandmother. You’re masquerading in what’s left of her body.”

The Dead Queen shrugs. “Maybe so. Still, I had a connection with them in life. Thus, I have a connection with them in death.”

Nausea rises in my gut. Moths were sacred to me because Grandmother loved them so much. Now … my eyes drift back up toward the fluttering rafters.

The queen’s voice is clipped now. “Regardless of how you feel about me, I didn’t request an audience with you to discuss the moths.”

I drag my eyes away from the moving ceiling. From the other side of the room, Tristan studies me as if waiting to see how I’ll react.

“Your power,” the queen says. “You must learn to reclaim it.”

Instantly, I’m wary. “Why is that any of your business?”

“Because someday, you may need to wield it in defense of your kingdom, not just to save your own skin.”

I bristle at the implication that I’m selfish, even as a voice in the back of my mind tells me it’s true. I square off with the Dead Queen of Annwyn, my gaze challenging. She’s not my queen after all, only my host until spring. Until I can leave this cursed place and kill the Fox King. Then, I will come back and end her.

“And why would you care about the people in Llwyn?” I challenge.

She tilts her head to the side, like a curious predator. “Because I am going to help you take the throne from the Fox King.”

It’s an odd thing, realizing people believe in you when you hardly believe in yourself. It’s especially strange coming from your mortal enemy.

There are many reasons I’ve never desired the Fox Throne, regardless of my royal bloodline. Sure, I have exceptional power to heal and cast light. Or at least, I used to. That’s the only thing I can thank my father for. But it’s more than that. When you grow up hearing what a disappointment you are, again and again, you start to believe it’s true. I never loved Llwyn because it never loved me back.

But I’ve come to understand something. My father may wear the crown, but he is not Llwyn. Not even close. Llwyn is the grieving families who mourn loved ones lost in an unending war. It’s the rebels who gather in secret, daring to speak against the throne. It’s the people who despise the Fox King as much as I do.

And I left them behind.

Just like I did to Hunter on that bloody battlefield two weeks ago. I left my home for an undead woman in a tower filled with moths.

“Red.”

I look up from the warm bowl of soup in my hands. I’d finally found the great hall with its long wooden tables and delicious smells emanating from the adjoined kitchen.

Across from me, Tristan slides onto a bench. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he watches me. The dim lantern light casts shadows across his face, making him look older, but no less striking. I wish it did.

A wave of anger rises in me at the sight of him, but I squash it down. My spoon scrapes the bowl as I turn my focus back to the long-awaited meal in front of me. Last night’s cold cellar rations did nothing to fill the emptiness left in my belly after weeks on the road.

“What do you want, Wolf?”

His lips press into a thin line at the title. He must’ve grown used to me calling him by his real name while we traveled. But that was before.

“I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

I stare at him over the spoon hovering in front of my mouth.

“It’s a lot. I know.” His eyes flicker behind me. No doubt he’s looking for eavesdroppers, but there’s no one here but the nervous serving maid hovering near the kitchen. She fiddles with the hem of her apron, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here, near the despised Fox Heir. I can’t blame her. I’m not the best company.

I shove the spoon into my mouth and resume eating.

Tristan watches me, calculating. I ignore his stone-gray eyes. The serving maid tiptoes by, bringing another plate of food. She sets it in front of Tristan, and her gaze flickers up to his face. Only now do I realize that one of her eyes is clouded white, blind.

“Thank you, Elisandra.” He nods to her.

I look up, shocked. This Wolf, one of the Dead Queen’s most trusted advisors, knows the name of a serving maid.

Elisandra’s face flushes, and she curtsies before scurrying away.