Page 111 of Song of Her Siren

In that moment, even with swollen eyes and a tear-streaked face, Angeline was the most beautiful female Cenric had ever seen. If he couldn’t have her, no stallion would. It would be a shame to waste such beauty, but she would have to die, alongside her mother.

A loud neigh sounded behind the onlookers, and they parted like a chasm in the earth as Frida limped toward them, a spear in hand.

Cenric pushed Angeline in front of him as a shield. “You care so much about protecting your daughter?” Unsheathing his sword, he pointed it toward the doors. “Then protect her outside Itarian. You are both banished.”

Chest heaving, Frida raised her spear. “You can’t do that!”

“Can’t I?” He snatched a shield from the nearest stallion, raising it in front of him, should Frida prove to have good aim. “It is a king’s right to breed with any tribal mares he so chooses.”

“Angeline isn’t a mare.” A youthful voice echoed from the throng of onlookers. “She’s a filly. It’s a mother’s right to protect her offspring.”

The crowd parted, revealing Gunnar, Cenric’s youngest half-brother. Barely old enough to be considered a stallion, the youth had been a constant source of aggravation. Cenric had been waiting for the right moment to kill his half-brother and eliminate the potential threat to his rule. He inwardly smiled, for now was the perfect time.

“You are banished with them.” He dismissively waved his brother away, as if he was shooing a fly. “Anyone else?”

“You do not behave like a king.” Shoulders pulled back, Gunnar clomped up to him with a sneer. “Our father would be ashamed of your behavior.”

“Really? What are you going to do about it?” Cenric towered over his little brother, whose face was still as soft as a peach, his scrawny arms barely able to lift a spear.

Gunnar stepped back, his cheeks flushing. “I-I challenge your rule.”

Cenric tossed back his head with a laugh. “Do you, colt?”

“I-I do.” Gunnar raised a sword that was half the weight of Cenric’s, the kind of weapon the colts used for practice.

Cenric could easily end his brother now, thrust a spear through his chest and get it over with, but as a wolf’s cry sounded outside, followed by a chorus of howls, he thought of a better way to end his brother’s life.

“You need a quorum from the tribe to issue a challenge.” Cenric glared at the scared faces surrounding him. “Does he have the votes?”

Several whinnies rose up from the crowd as they stepped back as one. They were either cowards or smart enough to know what Cenric would do to them.

“No?” He threw out his arms, a wide grin stretching his face. “I will not battle you, Gunnar, which means you get to live for the moment.” He let out a deep belly laugh. “Though, I doubt the hungry shifters outside our walls will let you see the dawn.”

Chest bowed out, Gunnar faced the crowd. “Cowards, all of you, for letting him get away with this.”

Cenric aimed his sword at Gunnar and the mother and child. “Leave before you meet the same death as your former king.”

* * *

Frida

FRIDA’S NOSTRILS FLAREDas she nervously neighed and paced in front of the centaur stronghold’s fortress made of thick Periculian pines, tall and thick enough to stop a giant. They had no way of getting back inside. She trampled the dry grass beneath her while racking her brain, trying to devise her next course of action. They could run to the satyrs in Dunhull, though she didn’t know how to find it ever since the white witch had hidden their village. The only other option would be Cyrene, more than a day’s run away through darkened woods.

She froze, clutching her spear when a wolf’s howl rent the air. She’d never heard of shifters eating centaurs before, but these wolves were hungry. Her gaze darted to the full moon, veiled behind thin, passing clouds. ’Twas a perfect night for hunting. How had this happened? One moment, she and the other mares were warming their bones beside the hearth. The next, she and her foal had been cast out by their cruel king, and none of her friends and family had tried to stop him. The only brave stallion among the tribe had been Gunnar, who was barely past his foal years. Now Frida would be responsible for two youths in a dangerous forest.

Gunnar paced in front of them like a caged lion, kicking up dirt while cursing his brother and waving his sword around. Frida knew there was no talking to the young stallion, and she feared she and Angeline might not be able to rely on him.

To make matters worse, Frida’s face throbbed so hard, she struggled to think clearly. Damn that Cenric. She should’ve thrust her spear through his chest, but she never thought he would go through with the banishment. She’d been a good and loyal mare, always letting him mount her when he got the urge, even though she’d secretly despised him. What had that gotten her? To be treated so cruelly, discarded as trash. She cursed her king and all her cowardly race.

“Mother.” Angeline pressed up against her with a whinny. “I’m scared.”

Another howl cut through the thick air, sending a chill sweeping across her bones. She didn’t speak wolf, but this howl sounded urgent. Something was amiss.

“I know, child.” She nervously backed up with a trembling neigh. “Come. We can’t stay here.”

Her daughter wrung her hands while following after her. “What do we do?”

Frida swallowed back a knot of panic as they climbed on top of the closest ridge, staring down at the darkened forest. “We ride until we reach Cyrene. We’ll find shelter there.” She was relieved Gunnar followed, though he said not a word as he mumbled beneath his breath. Hopefully, they could rely on him, for they would need his sword, should the shifters attack.

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