Page 14 of The Wolf Queen

They growled in response, lunging forward, but I stopped them with an outstretched hand, walking what had once seemed like a long distance to my father’s throne, my boots echoing on the stone floor.

“I have. I left here with the promise I would become Strelae’s next queen.”

“Queen, pah!” A glob of spittle landed on the flagstones, just short of my boots.

“And as Iamqueen, you will show my people due courtesy, open your granaries and your stores and feed them.”

“Strelan scum come across the border all the time,” he said with a cruel smile. “Once the garrison gets word of this, they’ll descend on this place with far more ferocity than your wolves.”

And that’s when my sword found itself in my hand, the tip coming to rest on the sagging skin of his neck.

“Where do you think I got some of the men I brought with me?” I smiled at the confusion in his eyes.

“Gods, I shouldn’t be aroused by this, should I?” Weyland muttered.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Gael hissed. “She is our queen.”

“She is ours,” Dane said, much more mildly, “and I think we can be forgiven for being transfixed by everything she does.”

“Your little lap dogs licking at your toes,” my father simpered. “If all it took to tame the feral Strelans was a strip of a girl, I’d—”

I pricked his skin with the point of my blade, suddenly interested in finding out how deep to cut without slicing anything important. You might wonder why I had not cowed my father like I had his knights, but I had my reasons. I needed him, needed his connections.

“You’ll do nothing without my say so.” My heart sang as I spoke those words, a familiar red burn flaring hot in my heart. I saw him and Linnea, whipping me bloody, but I held the whip handle now. “I can have you strapped to a chair in your chambers and still have you fulfil your purpose; make sure you are left alone by everyone here, just fed enough gruel to keep you alive until the job is done. Or I can beat you bloody.” A thin trickle of blood slid down his neck, staining his snow-white shirt. “You can still do what I need you to do with broken bones and bruises a-plenty. Just as you intended for me.”

The point of my sword twisted on its own accord, opening a wound, though not over his artery. Blood streamed free, but in a slow drip, not a spurt. Then I jerked my weapon back, sheathing it still stained.

“You will write a letter to the king, seeking permission to visit the capital. You will travel with us once my men are rested and fed, and you will gain us access to the king’s court.”

“And then what, hmm?” He looked me up and down. “Whatever witchery you’ve been dabbling in, it won’t get you far there. The place is protected by thousands of the king’s knights. How will you sway all of them?”

I wasn’t sure. My nose was still crusted inside with blood and I felt tired, so very tired. Once my defences were down, it all came rushing in. The ache of my womb, the rapid pulse of my heart beating rabbit-fast and this… that I would dare do something no other woman of my upbringing would. I saw in my father’s expression that he caught wind of that doubt, smiling wider at the sight of it, wanting to fan its flames.

But I was about to douse them completely.

“Bring my father pen and ink,” I told one of the serving maids who had not retreated too far, hovering just inside the doorway to curiously watch this encounter. “And his writing desk. We have a letter to compose.”

The woman bobbed a curtsey, scurrying off to do just that. I turned to the others.

“You can go to the kitchens, alert Cook to the fact she will need to feed several hundred people tonight and that supplies are needed for many more. Let everyone here know that the keep is secured and any attempt to go in or out will be met with the harshest of penalties. We mean you no harm, if you do not seek to inflict any on us.”

“Do you think that will work?” Axe asked me, under his breath.

“Most people want to live, to continue as they were and it matters not who is in control, if they are no more cruel than what came before,” I answered him quietly as the first serving woman returned, setting the desk and quill and ink before Father.

“So what do you wish me to write, Daughter?” My father’s voice was unctuous, dripping with scorn.

“Your Majesty,” I corrected his mode of address to me, something I would never do with my own people, but who knew Granian psychology better than me? It was either their boot on your neck or vice versa and there was nothing in between. “How long do you think a sizable contingent would take to travel to the capital?”

“Several weeks, if your horses were fleet,” he replied, eyes narrowing.

“Are your horses fleet, Father? You lost Nordred, so I cannot speak to the quality of your stable any longer.”

He lost that canny look then, snatching the quill from the ink pot, an act somehow ruined by the way he was forced to grasp it. His hands were curled around like claws, the quill wedged between them.

“So you’ll want me to inform His Majesty that my party will be in the capital within the fortnight then, I assume?”

I smiled then.

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