Page 13 of The Shifter's Queen

“How will we know?” he remembered asking.

“You will know. You will hear their voices and you will know.”

In their youthful confidence, all three had dismissed the old shifter's tale as nothing more than a silly story. They were deep in the passage, reading aloud, when Oliver suddenly crumpled to the floor. The world had shifted on its axis when Oliver's transformation unfolded, leaving shock and astonishment in its wake. His body twisted and contorted under the power of the magic, morphing and changing him before their very eyes.

Oliver, terrified by what was happening to him, had tried to escape the library. It had taken Or’Ang and Polar hours to capture and help their friend back into his two-legged form. Oliver was destined to be the first guardian, entrusted with the responsibility of safeguarding their ancient secrets. Over the past centuries, they had carefully selected others to help guard their secrets.

He looked up when an owl swooped out of the darkness and landed next to him. The guard hopped closer; his keen eyesight fixed on the woods. A second owl sat on the body of a fox shifter.

“There is a tent set up for her ladyship and the Count. There are ten guards stationed around the campsite. There were six, now five, guards patrolling the perimeter. Two guards are next to Lady Elizabeth. There are another two by the tent,” the guard relayed.

“Take them out,” Or’Ang ordered.

“Yes, sire.”

The king rose and calmly walked toward the camp. His eyes glittered with barely contained fury as he threaded his way through the woods toward the firelight. He watched with dispassionate eyes as the two guards standing next to Elizabeth vanished as if they had never been there. Her head rose, her eyes dazed but defiant. They widened when she saw him. She struggled to sit up. The guards had tied her hands and feet together, making it impossible for her to straighten.

He strode forward and knelt in front of her. His thumb caressed the bruise on her cheek. Sliding the blade of his sword against the rope, he sliced the rough twine before he dropped his sword to the ground next to him so he could remove her gag.

“Oh, my beautiful fairy queen,” he murmured.

“Or’Ang.”

The raw emotion in her voice was palpable, his name on her lips a testament to her pain. She clumsily wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, her body trembling against his as if she were clinging to a lifeline. He picked up his sword and wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a feather. She buried her face against his neck, her body shaking.

“Father… they-they?—”

She shook her head as grief overwhelmed her.

“Shut that?—”

Fiona’s angry words died on her lips as she emerged from the tent. Her eyes flickered across the king, then settled on him embracing Elizabeth. Her lips curled into a sneer as her face contorted.

“You would choose a human over a shifter?” she growled.

“Yes.”

Fiona's fury erupted in a piercing shriek, and she stepped toward them. Her father, emerging from the tent, quickly pulled her close, his arm circling her waist, saving her from a reckless attack and certain death. Lord Beasley held his daughter, enduring her wrath as she struggled to break free. He cast a desperate glance at Or’Ang, hoping for a sign of mercy. There was none

“Please, take the human and leave. We want no more trouble.”

The older fox shifter’s words were laced with truth, and Or’Ang could not only hear it but feel its truth resonating through the other fox's thoughts. Lord Beasley understood the grim reality of their situation: they were defeated, and unless they took immediate action, they would soon be joining their fallen guards. He sheathed his sword with a soft click, a gesture that made the silence in the camp even more palpable as his men entered. Then he turned and tenderly lifted Elizabeth off her feet.

He cradled her gently, her small frame pressing against his chest, as he strode away from the camp, the sound of Fiona’s screams reverberating through the trees. Gently lifting Elizabeth, he placed her on the horse, careful not to jostle her, before mounting behind her. With a sharp order, two of the guards shifted, taking on a human form to guide the other horses, while the remaining guards watched from their nearby perches. Beo released a long howl that echoed through the trees. The sound sent a chilling warning to anyone who might dare to cross their path.

Or’Ang held Elizabeth close, his body a warm shield against the icy ocean winds that whipped at them. She drifted off to sleep against his chest, the sound of his steady breathing and the warmth of his cape lulling her into a peaceful slumber. The silence of the night was broken only by the rhythmic thud of hooves as they rode. They passed through the human village just before dawn, the faint scent of wood smoke hanging low in the air. A half-hour later, they reached the imposing castle gates and rode through, the heavy stone walls closing behind them.

The sharp clatter of his stallion's hooves against the worn cobblestones echoed through the street, drawing her attention, and she lifted her head. A stable lad emerged, his face creased with concern as he steadied the snorting beast under the rider, who dismounted with a weary sigh. Or’Ang stretched out his arms, feeling the cool air brush against his skin. Elizabeth wearily slid into his embrace, landing gently on the cold cobblestones. He quickly shed his heavy, dark cape, its rough wool warm against his hands, and wrapped it around her shoulders, warding off the biting cold.

Elizabeth sagged against him, her body heavy with exhaustion and grief as he put his arm around her. He bent to pick her up, but she placed her hand on his arm, her touch light yet firm, and shook her head. His hand moved slowly across her cheek, his touch light yet firm, and then his eyes flicked down to her bare feet, a silent demand hanging in the air. Her tears traced paths down her cheeks, catching the early morning light as she looked in the same direction as he was.

“I lost them when?—”

Her voice choked with emotion, a sob escaping her lips, and she couldn't continue her sentence. He ignored her feeble protest, a small sound lost in the grandeur of the courtyard, and scooped her up, carrying her across the stone expanse and into the imposing shadow of the castle. Anna, the Stewardess of the Castle, took one look at them and called out a round of orders.

“Shelley, a hot bath for her lady. Cook, we’ll need a hot meal. Rebecca, clothing for her lady,” Anna ordered in a clipped tone.

Or’Ang, his face reflecting his gratitude, shot Anna a nod and strode up the winding steps to the upper level. He entered his chambers to find an army of lady's maids in waiting, their hushed whispers and the rustle of their silk gowns was a cacophony of anticipation. The fire crackled merrily, filling the room with warmth, and the scent of woodsmoke mingled with the steam rising from the hot water already being prepared in the bathing suite next to his bedroom.

---