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Where Gawayn had been, a huge white wolf stood.
A wolf I’d seen in my dreams. That had haunted my footsteps, ran at my side as I battled the demons and darkness inside of me.
Too large. Impossibly huge, twice the size of the animal it emulated, at least. Curved fangs that dripped blood onto the ground. It’s massive head, too big for its body, the sort of feral nightmare that kept children awake at night. Claws too long, a tail too thick and powerful. Out of proportion, awful and terrifying.
Arran Earthborn.
At his side, a dark lioness, her deep brown fur turned nearly black with blood. But from the graceful, steady rise and fall of her chest, I knew it was not hers.
And on the floor between them, face mangled almost beyond recognition, were the remains of Gawayn’s body.
76
VEYKA
Someone rounded up the royal councilors. Arran didn’t leave my side, so it must have been Gwen and Lyrena. I doubted Arran would willingly leave my side anytime for the next decade or so. I didn’t have the wherewithal to think about what that meant for my future, not yet. I had one thing on my mind.
“Who did this?”
Silence.
They each sat at their spots at that hideous, long stone table, their representative gemstones sunk into the stone itself. The gems gleamed in the early morning light that spilled through the carved archways.
For once, my royal council was silent.
I was having none of it.
I stalked to the table, to the throne at its head that Arthur’s death had left unoccupied. I’d never been able to sit in it. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to now. I kicked it over, my foot on the arm sending the awful, bejeweled thing careening sideways across the tiled floor with a horrific crash.
“My people are dead! My friends are dead!” I screamed, more unhinged than I’d ever become with Arthur’s death. I didn’t have the time or ability to dissect that, either. I slammed my hands down on the table, on either side of the amorite embedded there at my seat. The seat I refused to take.
“Who did this?” I asked again, with deadly calm.
Still, no one said a word.
Their plan had failed. They’d wagered on Gawayn finishing me off, had snuck traitors into the palace using the same methods as they had months before, to facilitate Arthur’s murder. But I was still breathing.
I looked at them each in turn. Esa, the supposed leader of my council, her fingers trembling. Noros, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, maybe the only one who realized the extent of my wrath. Teo was dead, cut down in the battle. I guess that exonerated him. Roksana and Elora sat side by side, mother and daughter. The latter’s fingertips were coated in frost, her impressive ice magic still not depleted. At her side, Roksana looked on with those wise eyes, sympathy and pain as she met my gaze steadily.
But none of them spoke, neither to confess nor to throw one of their peers upon my mercy.
I turned to where my friends stood against the wall—what remained of them. Arran, Gwen, Lyrena, Parys, Cyara. I couldn’t meet Cyara’s eyes. I didn’t know how she stood there at all, straight-backed even as her chin trembled.
I still wore nothing more than Arran’s shirt, long enough that it covered my ass and not much more, especially with my sword belt fastened around my waist. But I’d never felt more like a queen.
Arran’s words flashed in my mind.
This is what it means to be a queen.
Yes, I understood now. And I fucking hated it.
“We go, now. We cannot wait for tonight,” I said to them, the ones who would follow me into another battle, with blood still drying on their hands from this last one.
“Veyka,” Arran said, the only one who would dare to challenge me.
“It is either that, or I kill them all right now.” A visible tremor went through the remaining members of the council.
Arran closed his mouth, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The closest thing to agreement I would get.
