*Ella*
The twisting sensation in my stomach is at a peak as my boots crunch over glass, then something… crackly in a thick, nauseating way that leaves me totally unsettled. I pull my foot back and look down then let out a sigh of relief. Not a bone. Not someone’s mangled arm. Just someone's old cloak, I think.
I look over my shoulder at the fog rising from the river that separates Rifthold from the Roguelands. We crossed the river this morning by boat, and it had been a perilous, rocky ride, to say the least.
The way my legs tremble as I carefully pick my way through scattered debris has nothing to do with the treacherous journey across the river, however.
Ryatt is standing a few paces in front of me talking to Westfall in low tones, Granger at their side. The early morning fog is beginning to lift, showing the devastation of the once great, but evil, lair of Kane and his forces.
I truly destroyed everything. I really did. Rifthold is nothing but toppled buildings coated in ash, and at its center, roughly a mile away, begins the wide circle where nothing is left. It’s where the fortress once stood, and it’s all but gone.
How the hell did Petra get Kane’s Iron throne back to the Roguelands? That question has been on my mind since we reached Twin Rivers, which was only a half day’s walk from the village of Reighnier. I’ll never know. I’m okay with that. I’ve come to understand there are other forces at work that I’m better off being ignorant of, at least for now.
One thing I can’t ignore is the thick bandage wrapped around my thigh and the sticky, gritty salve Ryatt coated my scar with this morning. When we reached Twin Rivers yesterday, we had a night’s worth of rest while Ryatt sent six scouts out into Rifthold. He’s changed my bandage twice so far, and each time the white linen has been stained with a dark, almost black kind of blood that doesn’t seem like my own.
It’s very odd. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the strange medicine Westfall brought back with him from Veiled Valley.
On top of the salve, I’ve been bedecked in moonstones. Not any kind of moonstone I’ve ever seen, either. They’re nearly black in color and depthless, and when the moonstone necklace was placed on my neck for the first time, the color seemed to bleed into me, like my body absorbed its power.
All of this is meant to keep the curse at bay and maybe suck a little of it out. I have no idea how it works. Westfall murmured that it’s dark magic, a kind of magic no longer taught and rarely practiced in Eastonia anymore.
The moonstone bracelets on my wrists jingle as I edge closer to Ryatt. If this all goes to shit, I could masquerade as a gypsy, perhaps. I could read palms and tea leaves and sell fortunes. I certainly look the part.
I roll my eyes at the thought. Despite how ridiculous I feel decked out in moonstones, and the fact that Ryatt, Westfall, and Granger are constantly watching my every move, I do feel better. I can’t deny that maybe, just maybe, this strange magic is working as intended.
It’ll buy me some time, at least.
I reach Ryatt just as two large wolves break through the fog and trot in our direction. In a gentle flash of light, the leather armor wrapped around their dark coats transforms into armor and clothing made to fit the men that they are. The transformed warriors, now in their human forms, walk steadily to Ryatt.
They briefly bow, then one of them says, “You’re clear until the Tansian Desert, Your Highness. The rest of the scouts have spread out to pass on the decrees.”
“Good,” Ryatt says, rolling up the map he was just poring over with Granger and Westfall.
The decrees, of course. Decrees that state to every pack in these enemy territories that Ryatt is the Alpha King of Eastonia.
During the time when Ryatt was acting as a double agent, shortly before the war with my own realm, Kane had announced that Ryatt was his heir to appease the Alphas of Eastonia who weren’t keen on fighting in another war. While Kane had no intention of ever giving up his throne, publicly calling Ryatt his heir is now working in our favor.
“Several packs have already bent the knee to your rule,” the second scout says. “But there’s talk of unrest in Tansian, Your Highness.”
I eye the scouts through the lifting fog. Blinding sunlight illuminates the destruction all around us, but no one seems to care. All I’m thinking of is the map in Ryatt’s castle in Veiled Valley. Tansian is a huge territory. It’s a desert, mostly. But a mountain range borders it at the furthest reaches of Eastonia… the Alabaster Mountains. The same mountains where the only witch capable of helping me is rumored to reside.
We have to go through Tansian to reach her.
“What kind of unrest?” Commander Westfall steps forward.
“An Alpha has declared himself Alpha King,” the scout says.
“Let me guess,” Ryatt drawls. “Alpha Jaxon of the Southern Wastes?”
The way he says this stranger's name is odd to me. There’s a hint of amusement, and when I look at Granger, I notice the look he and Ryatt share.
I narrow my eyes at them. “Who is this Jaxon guy? Do you know him personally?”
Ryatt looks down at me with a shrug. “Once upon a time, we might have been friends.”
“That’s a very loose way to describe it,” Granger says with a growl. “What are his numbers? His forces?”
“We’ve heard he’s absorbed seven packs. That’s roughly five thousand people by our estimates.”
“Well, that’s nothing,” I pipe up, and five sets of eyes meet mine. “Compared to what, the hundred thousand or so under Ryatt’s rule in the Roguelands?”
“It doesn’t matter how big his pack is. It’s what he plans to do with it,” Ryatt says with heat pouring through the words.
I purse my lips and tuck my fingers into the pockets of my cloak. Ryatt looks me over, and I glare at him, mouthing, “I’m fine.”
Satisfied, he turns to the rest of the men and starts rattling off commands.
The scouts will join their closest comrades, wherever the hell they are. Westfall and a small force of warriors will be traveling on foot, asking around about the witch we’re trying to find, while me, Ryatt, and Granger are going straight to Tansian….
“We’re going to have to jump,” Ryatt says, straightening his leathers. He looks conflicted as he eyes me.
Granger, too, looks me up and down. “It’s risky,” he says to Ryatt.
“So is a full week of travel on foot through enemy territory, regardless if we shift.”
Jump. He means using his powers to spirit us across what sounds like hundreds of miles.
“I’m feeling better, really. I think my body can handle it.” I cross my arms under my breasts. “It would probably be easier on me than repeated shifting.”
Westfall tucks his hands in the pockets of his jackets and looks down at me appraisingly. I know Ryatt went to Veiled Valley. Something happened between them there, but neither of them has said a word about it. “She should have enough of the medicine to last for weeks if the jump is too hard on her.”
Ryatt nods. I frown. I hate how they’ve talking about me like I’m not here, but I understand their concerns. I’m concerned too.
A little nudge deep in my belly brings me back to a happier place. Ryatt’s eyes are on mine as I smile and run my hands down over the swell of my belly. “She’s kicking.”
Ryatt’s answering smile brings a rush of warmth to my heart.
Granger, on the other hand, looks slightly forlorn. He won’t return to Veiled Valley. I have my suspicions about why. I’m too far away to be able to connect with Amanda over the mind-link, but I assume she’s been in contact with her mate during his travels recently. My guess is that Amanda told him he’s not allowed to return without me.
So, let’s get on with this then.
I take Ryatt’s hand then Granger’s.
Westfall snaps his fingers at the scouts, and they walk away without a passing glance in our directions.
“I’ve never seen a desert before,” I say. Ryatt gives me his cocky smile before the world spins then goes black.
* * *
The first thing I feel is dry heat. The second thing I feel is the sun burning my retinas from behind my eyelids. I blink, shielding my face with my hand as sands rushes out around my feet. A ripple of dark power skitters through the sand away from us at a high rate of speed.
Ryatt lets go of my hand and immediately starts undoing his knife belt. I notice Granger on my other side doing the same.
“We have five minutes until they reach us at the most, Ryatt,” Granger says hurriedly as he starts to undress.
I feel a tug around my waist and look down to see Ryatt’s hands deftly fastening his belt around my lower belly, which is a struggle. “What are you doing?” I ask, but Ryatt shakes his head and looks over the top of my head at the rippling ribbon of magic now stretching out miles away from us across sand dunes.
“Listen to me, Princess,” he rasps, tightening the belt. “Granger and I are going to shift. I’m going to give you my sword–”
“Wait a minute–”
“Listen,” he urges. “Alpha Jaxon won’t touch you. None of his men will.”
“Why?”
“Granger, are you ready?”
Granger pulls his shirt over his head and nods, but his chest heaves with a ragged breath.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Ryatt unsheathes his sword. Its onyx blade catches the sunlight. “It’s time to be the Queen of Eastonia, Ella.”
“Ryatt–”
He presses the sword into my hand, and within a second, shifts into his massive black wolf. His magic ripples through his coat as he turns from me, rushing toward Granger and the edge of the dune where we landed.
That’s when I notice the cloud of sand moving in our direction. I grip the sword and edge toward my mate and his Beta, and then I spot the hundred or so wolves sprinting over dunes in our direction.
Shit. What am I supposed to do in this situation?
Ryatt is going to pay for this, one way or another.
They reach us in a startlingly quick amount of time. Golden sand billows around them as they come to a stop just below us. I straighten my shoulders as a single wolf, nearly the same color of the sand around him, walks through the crowd of wolves. They part to allow him to come forward.
This must be Alpha Jaxon.
He looks up at me. I turn my face to steel, letting a hint of my powers flare behind my eyes despite the dull ache it causes in my bones.
What would a queen say when face to face with someone threatening her crown?
“Hi, there.”
Ryatt bristles beside me.
Alpha Jaxon cocks his head to the side.
I clear my throat. I can feel sand in my teeth as I tilt my chin toward the sky and say, with all the firmness I can muster, “My name is Ella, and I have heard rumors that you believe you’re the King of this territory.”
I swear a flutter of wolfish laughter echoes around me, but I hold steady, swallowing hard.
Alpha Jaxon shifts back to his human form, and like I saw when Ryatt’s scouts did the same in Rifthold, he’s suddenly covered by sand colored armor, although his chest and upper arms are bare to the elements.
He’s a handsome man. Rugged, burly, and blond. Younger than I imagined.
His cornflower blue eyes narrow on mine with a look of pure amusement as I say, “I am the Queen of Eastonia. Who the fuck are you?”