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Farmers straighten beside their displays. The king steps down from the platform and begins making his way among the pumpkins. He examines each one carefully, inspecting them with icy blue eyes.
He taps a few with his knuckles and asks farmers questions about their growing methods. The crowd follows him from display to display, whispering and laughing.
Micah leans closer to me. “Do you think he actually knows anything about pumpkins?”
I snort. “No chance. This is all about power to him.”
Micah gives me a tired smile before his expression turns serious.
When he releases my hand, my stomach knots.
It’s time.
Micah steps away from me and walks toward the center of the square. He hops onto a wooden crate, puffing out his chest like he’s trying to make himself larger.
“Everyone!”
His voice carries across the crowd. The chatter dies down, heads turning toward him. The king slowly looks in his direction, his icy gaze settling on him like a dialed‑in target.
“Dr. Wolfhart,” he says coldly. “Have you come here to cause more trouble?”
A few nervous murmurs ripple through the crowd.
Micah swallows, but he doesn’t back down. “I think there’s something the people of Thistle Grove deserve to know.”
The king’s jaw tightens. “And what, exactly, is that?”
Micah reaches for my backpack and slips it from my shoulders. Taking a deep breath, his hand disappears inside. Maple lets out a soft chirp as he pulls her free.
Gasps erupt throughout the square. Several people stumble backward, clutching their chests in fear.
Maple blinks at the sudden commotion, her tiny claws curling around Micah’s arm.
The king’s face turns crimson. “You still have that creature?” His voice booms across the crowd. “I ordered you to get rid of it!”
Micah holds Maple securely against his chest. “She has a name.”
“I don’t care what you’ve named it!” the king snaps. “You are endangering everyone!”
Maple presses herself closer to Micah, her orange eyes blinking.
The king points toward her. “Guards! Arrest Dr. Wolfhart!”
The crowd erupts into frantic whispers.
“And slay that horrid beast,” the king adds, lips curled into a snarl.
My blood runs cold.
The guards begin advancing, their metal boots clinking against the stone as they unsheathe their swords.
Every instinct in me screams to protect Micah.
I step in front of him, putting my body between him and the approaching guards. I plant my feet firmly on the ground, shoulders squared, arms spread wide enough to shield him from view.
I’ve spent my entire life being told that my size makes me dangerous. That my strength makes me a threat. For the first time, I’m grateful for both.
I cross my arms over my chest and meet the guards’ eyes. “You’ll have to get through me first.”
