Page 52 of Devoured

Tenamit Xol is both the largest werewolf palace and the largest werewolf city in the world. With thousands of residents, and tens of thousands more thriving just outside Petén, the North American Wolf Queen’s greatest allies reside here, in Guatemala.

Without Balam and, more specifically, Guatemala, on our side, Cora will lose support from Central America, Mexico, and potentially even Canada. The country’s reach is nearly as expansive as its resources.

There is no choice here. We need to maintain relations with Guatemala if we’re going to survive.

Balam knows this, of course. It’s not hard to guess why I’ve brought an entire bus of werewolves all the way from St. Augustine just to dine with her. However, that doesn’t mean she’s making it easy on me.

Rather than bring us inside her royal suite, she leads us up the sharply carved steps of a limestone building and into a third-floor room that stretches alongside a slender pool of midnight-green water. Her courtiers swim, lounge in chaises, or sip goblets of spiced rum beside roaring stone braziers. Embers flicker in vibrant shades of crimson and tangerine, matching the intricately painted ceiling overhead. Balam hobbles toward a circular table, pulling out a blue textile chair with her cane before sitting.

“Go on,” she demands, waving her stick of pyrite wildly in the air as that howler monkey settles on the table and begins to snack on a husk of corn. “Sit, sit. I don’t have all evening.”

I glance at the table. At the five remaining chairs. At the mass of American werewolves behind me. Jasper counts silently, pointing a finger at each of us, as if he can’t wrap his head around the numbers. His brows furrow as Evie perches on the edge of a chair beside Balam. I choose the seat on Balam’s left.

Three chairs and twenty werewolves remain.

Jasper explodes forward as though his life depends on it, claiming one for himself while the rest of my pack begins to brawl over the last two. I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare at the painted ceiling. The howler monkey throws a kernel of corn at my cheek.

“Quite the sophisticated wolf pack you’re traveling with.” Balam’s lips twitch with a smile when Opal, an Omega, punches Jett, a Beta, right on the nose. Unfortunately for Opal, a Delta named Sapphire snatches the chair out from under her. Unfortunately for Sapphire, Opal drives her fist into Sapphire’s skull. “I would have arranged for a bookie if I’d known there would be fights on which to bet.”

“A real shame,” I mutter.

Evie glares at me across the table but says nothing. Probably for the best. Her encouragement isn’t needed here; I know how embarrassing these werewolves are. I’m the one who had to remind them to leave their shoes on during our flight, to not flash their fangs at unsuspecting tourists. Still, I am the prince, and I cannot admit the full breadth of my disdain.

Balam’s courtiers snicker at our chaos, and gods—I want to hit something. I snarl. “Sit down.”

Perhaps it’s my tone, or perhaps it’s because Opal has already knocked a handful on their asses, but the werewolves jolt to attention. I raise my brows, and they scurry into position around the room.

If the worst happens here, I need them ready.

I need them to stop acting like goddamned children.

“There is blood on my floor,” Balam says plainly.

I snap my fingers. “Jasper, clean it.”

“Me? But Opal—”

I turn my burgundy glare on his face. “Jasper,” I growl. “Clean it.”

“Y-yes, Prince Sinclair. Right away.” He leaps up from his chair, racing out of the building without a single clue as to where he’s going. The monkey howls—or maybe it laughs. I wouldn’t blame it.

“Not the brightest, are they?” Balam reaches forward to pet her monkey, who smiles under her preening touch.

“They’re new,” I say, and, because it feels worse to remain silent, I add, “but they’re very loyal and stronger than you can imagine. My mother has been training them herself.”

Balam raises a hand in the air, and one of her courtiers bursts forth to pass her a goblet of spiced rum. Balam sips it coolly before allowing her monkey to do the same. Evie’s nose scrunches in a revolted frown. “And is that an important quality to Cora Severi?” Balam asks. “Loyalty?”

I force myself to remain composed. “Yes. It is. Cora is growing her new court to epic proportions, the likes of which have never been seen. She is seeking to create a united world. Loyalty will be valued above all else.”

“Interesting.” Balam licks her lips. “You see, from what I remember, your alleged mother took a human lover against the laws of her own court. When exposed, she slaughtered everyone in attendance of the betrayal. Then she was chased out by her sister and left to die.”

Acid churns hot in my stomach. “She didn’t slaughter everyone—”

“She slaughtered my nephew, Sinclair. He was teaching the nobility’s children astrology before their Ascension Rite. He was at Castle Severi when Cora was dragged into the throne room. He was there when she began to gore everyone. He died.” Balam doesn’t tear up. She doesn’t even frown. She merely stares at me expectantly, as though I’ll have any sort of answer to this. As though I’ll be able to explain away such a tragedy.

But that’s the problem—I can’t explain away any tragedy right now. I can only pray the tragedies will lead to hope, like a brutal winter melting into a flourishing spring. “I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue. Her monkey shakes its head. “Are you sorry for Asia? What about for North America? Europe? Their nobility was slaughtered at your hand only recently. Are you sorry for their losses, Sinclair?”