The Wolf Prince Read online

  One of the soldiers raised his bow and fitted it with an arrow.

  “No,” the captain barked an order. “Stand down.”

  Instead, the soldier pulled back the bow. Ruben didn’t think—he launched himself at the man, connecting in time to send the arrow harmlessly into the sky.

  The hawk screeched. Huge wings flapping, it launched itself up, the force of its flight knocking Willow off her horse onto her back on the forest floor. She writhed in pain, the breath knocked out of her.

  Cursing, Ruben pushed himself off of the stunned soldier, shoving the man away and leaving him for his commander to deal with. He rushed to Willow’s side and helped her to her feet. At first she hunched over, heaving as she struggled to draw her breath. Gradually, she straightened, her cough subsiding. She wiped at her streaming eyes and sniffed.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, brushing the leaves and pine needles from her hair.

  Eyes huge and face far too pale, she nodded.

  Chad made a rude sound and sauntered over, Tatiana still clinging to him like a leech.

  “What the shades was that?” he asked, glancing up at the stars as though he expected an attack from above. “That bird acted like your personal hawk. Is that your form of magic?”

  Tatiana laughed. “My sister has no magic,” she said, her mocking tone cutting. “Not even enough to call a wild bird.”

  Chad narrowed his gaze, looking from one sister to the other. “Is that true?” he asked, his tone demanding.

  Willow just smiled sadly and turned away. When she began moving forward again, the entire armed escort snapped to attention. Then, as if she’d given a verbal command, they fell into place, surrounding the three Brights and Ruben on their way to the castle.

  Whatever secrets the hawk had divulged to Willow, apparently she now felt compelled to continue on to the dark castle. Despite the fact that he had no hope of finding the killer here—the suspect was Bright, after all—Ruben knew he had to keep her safe.

  The closer they got to the castle, the grimmer it appeared. If King Puck and Queen Millicent’s palace had been over-the-top glitz, this castle could be considered the polar opposite. Where everything had sparkled and shone at the home of the Bright, here the absence of light was what made the place notable. The grim stone appeared to devour anything bright or shiny. What little light there was seemed to sink into its inky blackness.

  At the thought, Ruben glanced at Willow and her sister, hoping that didn’t apply to Sidhe, as well. Surely, the palace wouldn’t devour them.

  They rode to a stop and at a signal, the entire regiment of guards dismounted. They motioned to Ruben and his party to do the same.

  Slowly, they all followed suit. As soon as everyone’s feet were on the ground, black-clad groomsmen appeared and led their horses away.

  Meanwhile, their armed escorts continued to look straight ahead, unblinking. Ruben began to wonder if some sort of magic compelled or hypnotized them.

  No sooner had he finished the thought when the massive obsidian doors swung open. Inside, a yawning hole of blackness. Of course.

  “Don’t you people use any kind of light?” Ruben asked, directing his question at the captain of the guard. Predictably, the soldier didn’t answer. In fact, each and every one of them continued to stand at stiff attention, though their faces had regained some color and motion. They waited as though they expected someone to exit the castle and inspect their ranks. Which meant, no doubt, that someone would.

  A sense of expectation hung in the air, nearly visible.

  Willow gripped his arm. He saw she had the same rapt expectation on her lovely face. A quick glance showed everyone, from the soldiers to Eric and Chad, had the exact same look.

  A moment later, he saw why. A tall man, hair as black as the night sky, strode out of the mouth of the castle. Dressed all in black, the only spot of color was the blood red lining of his long cloak.

  At the sight of him, Ruben’s wolf growled. Their soldier escort immediately dropped to their knees. Only Willow, Ruben, Chad and Tatiana remained standing.

  Ruben braced himself for a fight. A quick glance at Chad showed the Bright man had also adopted battle stance.

  Willow stood frozen, in obvious shock. Her sister however, was not so bold. After one quick look at the dark man, Tatiana dropped to the ground in a dead faint.

  Though brave Willow trembled violently, she held her ground. As the Shadow king approached, she held her head high, like a queen about to receive a supplicant.

  Ruben admired her courage even as he feared for her safety. He tried to go to her, shocked when he found himself unable to move. When he glanced over at Chad and Eric, he noticed they both struggled futilely beside him. Whatever magical spell had gripped him had touched them, as well.

  He did not care. He would not give in. This was Willow, and he would not abandon her when she needed him most. With a huge shudder, he pushed through, feeling the very atmosphere tear as he broke free.

  Before the dark king reached her, Ruben stepped in front, placing himself squarely between Willow and danger.

  To his shock and disbelief, Willow pushed her way around him, so that she once again stood, alone and unprotected, to wait for their enemy’s approach.

  “He is not our enemy,” Willow said, again as though she’d read his mind. Her beautiful dark eyes glinted—with unshed tears?

  Ruben looked more closely at the Shadow king. Something about him seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until he compared his features with Willow’s that he realized what he saw. Similarity. Willow had the same chin, the same skin tone and the same almond-shaped eyes.

  Howling hounds. Was this man Willow’s birth father? He hadn’t expected it to be this soon or this easy. Stepping back, he decided to wait and see.

  * * *

  Willow stared at the man who had sent the hawk to find her and who, also according to the hawk, had sired her. She waited for a jolt of recognition. But when she met the tall man’s caramel-colored eyes, so like her own, she felt...nothing. No immediate sense of kinship, no feeling that fate had somehow worked a miracle by bringing them together. Not even the lurking sense of completeness that she’d half hoped would finally click into place.

  The king glanced once at the others, then his cryptic gaze settled finally on her.

  “Welcome to NorthWard,” the tall man said, his aristocratic features showing no hint that he knew who she was. “It’s been many long years since a Bright has graced our shores.”

  Shores? For the first time she realized they must be near an ocean. As she was about to speak, Eric and Tatiana snapped out of their trance. They jostled each other while rushing forward, vying to claim recognition as the head of their respective families.

  They both began speaking at once, their words tumbling over each other in a jumble. The dark king waited one heartbeat, two, then raised his hand and silenced them as effectively as if they’d been gagged.

  “Someone will show you to your rooms,” he told the others. Once again he looked at Willow and this time, he held out his arm for her to take. “Walk with me,” he said.

  Hesitating briefly, she placed her hand on his arm and went with him.

  As they walked, he talked. He spoke of nothing of consequence; rather he described his gardens to her in such lush and lavish detail she could almost smell the blooms. She got a sense he was testing her, sounding her out as though a short conversation would give him an insight into her soul.

  She played along, nodding and smiling politely, though she volunteered nothing about herself. They strolled down long, empty hallways, eerily similar to those in her home except for the stark lack of color. After his garden, he spoke of pets and land and horses. Finally, he got around to telling her about his family.

  He and his queen had three children, two boys and a girl. The eldest and heir had recently married and his wife was expecting a child in a few months. Willow caught her breath at the thought that she might have half brothers and
a half sister, but until this man broached the subject, she wouldn’t even allow herself to consider the possibility.

  Finally, he stopped in front of a door. It was, like all the others, constructed from a single piece of black obsidian.

  “This is your room,” he said, smiling slightly. “I’ll leave you here to rest and freshen up. Someone will come and get you for a more formal audience, at which time you may meet the rest of my family, if you like.”

  Taking a deep breath, she wished she had the courage to finally ask if they were her family, too.

  Instead, she smiled back and thanked him, then entered the room she’d been given, letting the door close softly behind her.

  Alone, she realized her hands were shaking. She didn’t know what to think. Was this man, this king, her father, as the hawk had claimed? If so, why did he not acknowledge who they were to each other? Was he testing her for some reason?

  Finally she turned and studied her room. The bed, despite the unrelenting black of the fluffy comforter, looked soft and warm. Too tired to think straight, she crawled between the sheets and let the welcome oblivion of sleep claim her.

  * * *

  Ruben was too keyed up to sleep, so he decided to explore the castle. He hadn’t been given strict instructions to remain in his room or anything. He found a flowing cloak with a hood and settled it around his shoulders. Since Willow had once told him that the Brights would not welcome him in their land, he could only imagine how the Shadows would feel.

  The empty hallways had an eerie feel to them, enhanced by the monochromatic coloring. No stranger to palace life, he kept expecting to encounter someone, anyone. A harried servant, a bored socialite, the requisite drunk uncle. Instead, his footsteps echoed off the granite walls, reinforcing his solitude.

  With each turn, the endless expanse of hallway stretched out before him, dark walls studded by black doors. Finally, he came to a landing with a massive, two-sided staircase. He could either go up or down.

  He chose down. And as he took the steps two at a time, gradually the hum of voices came to him, letting them know there was a part of this castle still full of life.

  When he reached another landing, he realized the sounds came from still another level down. The curve of the massive staircase made it impossible to see below, so he continued on. Once he stepped onto the next landing, he saw a crush of people gathered around a set of double doors at the end of yet another infernally long hallway. He hurried to join them, not certain what they were doing, but curious nonetheless.

  Though several cast him curious glances, no one questioned him as he took his place in the line of people pressing through the doors. The tide of bodies carried him inside, disgorging him as everyone headed in their own direction.

  He glanced around and realized he was in the throne room. He thought of the one at home, remembering how he’d compared it to the SouthWard room. Then, he’d believed that difference to be great, but the difference between Teslinko and SouthWard was nothing compared to this.

  The Shadows’ throne room, like everything else in the palace, was dark, very nearly sinister, whereas the Brights’ had been over-the-top, glittering, gaudily, bright. The sharp contrast between the two throne rooms was as remarkable as the difference in the castle itself. Lit solely by giant iron candelabras, the black marble floors gleamed, reflecting back the candlelight which gave the room a gloomy, surreal appearance.

  Trying to blend in with the others would be an exercise in futility, especially since he wore trousers of a soft fawn color and his shirt was a pale blue. The entire court wore dark colors—deep maroon, navy, purple and the ever-present black.

  Despite their proclivity to drabness, by contrast the people appeared happy, wearing bright smiles and joyous expressions as they chatted with their neighbors. No one seemed to take notice of him, standing alone and feeling out of place on the edge of several large groups of people.

  There was no dais; rather the enormous black obsidian throne sat beside an immense fireplace where only embers smoldered.

  The king, dressed all in black, waited regally for his subjects to approach. Briefly, Ruben wondered why his queen didn’t hold court with him, then as King Drem began to shimmer right in front of his gaze, he forgot about the question. The king faded and reappeared, solid one moment and ethereal the next. He and the chair appeared to merge, becoming one. Only when he flashed his white smile did people begin to move.

  Again, there appeared to be no orderly process. As far as Ruben could tell, if one wished to speak to the king, he or she took their place in line and waited patiently for their chance.

  Since he had absolutely nothing to lose, Ruben got in line and mentally prepared to appeal to the king.

  When he reached the front of the line, he stepped forward. Taking his cue from the men who’d gone before him, he dropped to one knee in a gesture of respect.

  “Welcome again, Prince Ruben of Teslinko,” King Drem boomed. “What can I help you with on this glorious day?”

  “I need to get back to the land of the Brights,” Ruben said, the urgency in his tone making it no less respectful.

  “Are you certain?” King Drem regarded him curiously. “What do you seek there that cannot be found here?”

  Ruben hoped the tight set of his jaw didn’t betray the fact that the Shadow king acted as though he might have to stay here forever. He had to tread carefully, so he drew himself up and looked the other man in the eye. “I hunt a murderer, a killer who crossed from that land to mine and brutally slay one of my servants.”

  King Drem’s dark brows rose in surprise. “A murderer? Among our people? We are not killers, whether Shadow or Bright. That does not seem possible.”

  “I assure you that it is.”

  “And you’re certain.”

  “Very certain. My servant is dead. And I saw the man cross the veil. A magical artifact is also missing.”

  At his words, the king’s expression grew pensive. “And the one you seek—is he Bright or Shadow?”

  “Bright. The man had golden hair and purple eyes. He was tall, broad shouldered and athletic.”

  “Like the SouthWard princes?” the Shadow ruler asked, glancing at them.

  Eric and Chad, who stood with a group of admiring women, were oblivious.

  “Yes,” Ruben answered. “Like them. Though something is off with the younger brother.”

  The king frowned, studying them. “He uses some sort of magical glamour, dulling his appearance.”

  “Dulling it? Would that change his appearance very much?” Enough to ensure that Ruben would not recognize him? Suspicion and anger burned in his chest.

  “It’s possible.” King Drem shrugged. “Did you think to ask him why?”

  “Willow told me. I think it was his peculiar way of courting her.”

  “Courting? He wishes to marry her?”

  “Her parents arranged the match.”

  “Millicent and that...” Anger flashed across his aristocratic features. “They’ve arranged for my...for their daughter to marry a man of the East?”

  “My mother has little use for me,” Willow put in, startling Ruben, who hadn’t been aware she’d arrived.

  Coincidence? Or had she been summoned? He turned to look at her, crossing his arms to keep from reaching out to her as she took a step closer to the throne.

  “I think my existence reminds her of things she’d rather forget,” Willow continued. She took a deep breath and raised her chin in that cute way she had, letting Ruben know she was about to do something that, for her, was very brave.

  “I need to know something, your Highness,” she said, her voice barely quivering. “When you sent word to my room that you wanted to see me, I came willingly, because I must ask you a question.”

  The king nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Quickly glancing around at the packed room, she frowned. “Perhaps we should speak in private?”

  “I don’t see the need.” He smiled, making Ruben w
onder if he already knew what Willow meant to ask.

  “I have no secrets from my people,” the king said. “Please. Ask your question.”

  “Very well.” She took a deep breath. “I would like to know if you are my birth father.”

  Chapter 16

  Abruptly the room went utterly silent. Whispers died down, everyone making no secret of their rapt attention. Willow kept her gaze fixed on the king and told herself that she didn’t care. These were not her people. Not yet, at least.

  Back straight, heart in her throat, she faced down the man who, for whatever reason, had not only failed to acknowledge her parentage, but had done his best to pretend as if she’d never been born.

  It shouldn’t have hurt so badly.

  He bent his head, his expression pensive. Again, he didn’t appear to be ready to give her a direct answer. That was all right. She’d waited her entire life. She could wait a few more minutes. But no more than that.

  “I loved your mother once. Twice,” King Drem mused, his tone pensive. “And I believed she loved me. We made plans to wed, but right before our wedding, she told me she would be marrying King Puck instead. She wasn’t royalty then and to her it was a heady thing, to be made queen of her own people.”

  Shocked, Willow took pains to conceal it. This was news to her. She’d always believed her mother had come from minor royalty. But then, since Millicent was extremely tight-lipped, Willow hadn’t actually known anything of her mother’s history, nor she suspected, did Tatiana. Her mother had always been very secretive of her past. Now Willow understood why.

  For a moment, an old pain flashed across King Drem’s autocratic features. “I loved her,” he repeated, his low voice breaking. He looked away, obviously gathering his composure. Out of respect, Willow glanced down at her feet, waiting until he spoke again.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “She had a choice,” he continued. “True love and ruling over my people or...her own people. She chose to remain among the Brights.”