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Rumbly laughter echoes in my head. My eyes fly open, and I dash hair out of my eyes. Pushing up on my knees, I peer over the bed and come face-to-face with a grinning Aren. His emerald eyes are full of mirth, and he gives me a very feline smile.
Good morrow, mate.
Climbing back on the bed, I narrow my eyes at him. “I didn’t know you could talk to me. Why haven’t you spoken before?”
We couldn’t until you and Cassian mated. I thought maybe you heard me that morning, but when you didn’t answer, I worried you couldn’t hear me.
Reaching out, I stroke his nose, and his tongue dashes out to lick my fingers. “When did you shift?”
Cassian was so exhausted, I decided to shift so he could sleep. And—His head tilts down. I’m not sure if manticores can look embarrassed, but Aren pulls it off.
“And?”
I wanted to cuddle with my mate.
It’s not easy to hug an eight-foot-tall lion, but I manage it. “You can have cuddles whenever you like. Thank you for protecting me while I slept.” His chest rumbles with a deafening purr, loud enough to wake the dead.
After Cassian shifts back and we’re both dressed, he slings back the tent opening. Merlin sits by the fire, a pot of porridge bubbling merrily away over the fire. Bowls of mixed berries and nuts accompany the porridge, and we make quick work of our meal.
Once we saddle the horses, and the tents have disappeared, Merlin purses his lips and looks us over with a disparaging look. “This won’t do.” He thumps his staff on the ground and our clothing transforms.
Cassian spins around, glancing over his new attire. Tan hose covers his legs and dark brown boots laced up to just under his knees adorn his feet. A sleeveless navy doublet etched with gold cording sits atop a white tunic, coming to rest mid-thigh. Leather bands crisscross his chest, strapping his axes to his back. He’s the perfect cross between a prince and a huntsman.
Glancing down at my clothing, I see Merlin has dressed us similarly. I wear matching hose and boots and the same doublet, but mine carries the family crest embroidered onto it. It has fancy cap sleeves with red material peeking through strategic slashes in the fabric. My tunic has a touch of femininity in its billowy sleeves and lace cuffs, and my quiver and bow rest on my back.
The horses, too, have had a makeover. Fire Heart wears an engraved silver chamfron and peytral—armor for his face and chest—and a navy caparison—a cloth that lies over his back—embroidered in silver peonies. The leather reins have been replaced with silver ones, made up of circular coins bearing my family’s coat of arms. Zohar is dressed similarly, but her chamfron and peytral are black and the facial armor has a metal unicorn’s horn attached to it.
“One more thing,” Merlin states, walking toward me. He circles his hand in the air, and a small silver crown appears. It’s dainty and delicate, nothing like the crown the queen wears. “This will do until you claim the rightful one.”
Bowing my head, I allow him to place it on me. When I straighten my shoulders, a sense of peace and rightness comes over me. Destiny has come knocking, and it’s time I answered.
Severalhourslater,wecome to a sudden stop at the edge of Monarch Glen. Twenty-four dwarfs block the first road we’ve come to. Despite their small stature, they give off a menacing air. Their bronze skin stretches tightly over packed muscle and deep lines carve their foreheads and around their eyes. Each has a magnificent beard—some short, others nearly touching their feet, and all in a range of colors. They stand with crossed arms and outspread legs, preventing us from reaching the road.
Their heads snap to me as one, their eyes widening. “Your Highness,” they intone, sinking to one knee and pressing a fist to their heart.
I flap my hand helplessly, unused to this sort of attention. “Please rise,” I beg. They do, and the one at the forefront steps forward.
“I am Randrith Blackfoot, Your Highness. The Valkyries informed us of your return. We wish to join you on your journey.”
My gaze roams over the men, my chest tight with emotion. The corner of my mouth lifts, and I incline my head. “We would be honored to have you accompany us, but only if you do so freely. I cannot ask any of you to risk your life for my crown.”
Randrith once more thumps his fist over his heart. “We fought once with your grandparents, and we will fight again with you. The evil queen must be vanquished and our country returned to us.” The other dwarfs cheer, raising their arms in the air.
“I thank you for your loyalty and welcome you.”
Merlin glances over at me. He travels not by horse, but by magic, hovering over the ground. “And so it begins,” he tells me with a twinkle in his eye. He raises his staff, and six heraldic flags appear, carried by invisible standard-bearers. I blink. Surely, I have seen everything by now.
Clicking my tongue, I rein Zohar left, turning our little army toward the capital and Adarvan Palace. A flock of ravens screams above us, and a victorious smile breaks out across my face.
We’re coming for you, Morana.
Two Months Later
Myheartcriesoutin despair at the devastation. No amount of Merlin’s magic pictures or my people’s recountings could prepare me for it. The dry brown grass crunches under the horses’ feet, not a single green plant in sight. Zohar and Fire Heart blow harshly out of their nostrils at the inedible plant life.
Orchards, once filled with our delicious apples, now lay barren, the trees petrified. Fields are nothing more than blackened wastelands, plows left abandoned mid-till. We’ve passed more than one abandoned village and have had to redirect around piles of dead bodies. Even the sky seems ready to give up; the once sapphire blue is now a pale imitation of itself, and the sun barely produces any warmth.
Our numbers have grown, but not by many. We are roughly fifty strong now, mostly farmers and peasants armed with pitchforks or whatever other weapons they had to hand. Most sentient citizens have chosen to flee instead, and I cannot blame them. They are starving, terrified, and will not risk their families on an eighteen-year-old princess with no magic. I do not fault them for this, indeed, I wish them well. Merlin gifts a basket full of food and water to each person that chooses not to join us and blesses them on their journey. It is my fervent hope that one day they may all return, their country restored to its former glory.
