The Wolf Queen

THE DAYS TURN to weeks. What was originally a short trip, turns into a full battle. Snow comes, and goes. The rains fall and the short Laneythian summer fades into harvest times. Without word from either Bowen or William, the Crown Princess Ozera grows increasingly unstable.

Sunlight glints off the window, casting rainbows across the wooden floor. The light also reveals the unslept in bed. Channin is wrapped in a blanket, neatly curled into the window seat. A half empty cup of tea sits on the table nearby. Drawings are scattered across the table, elaborate sketches of daily life around Dragonspire.

“Lady Channin.” Amaryllis startles her awake and she nearly falls to the floor.

“Oh good.” Peytra grins, “You’re up.”

Channin blinks a few times, adjusting to the light. “I was having the most wonderful dream.”

“Who was in it?” her sister taunts.

The blonde stands up and pulls her hair over one shoulder, “No one. I was in a castle in the mountain forest, all alone. Dreading only the day someone found me.”

Amaryllis stifles a laugh and Peytra glares at her.

“Father says the soldiers are due today and we should be at the pier to welcome them.”

Channin glances back into the window. The pink aster has long since died, but even dry it reminds her of the garden.

“Are you even listening to me?” her sister sounds annoyed, “You have to be presentable.”

“I could go as I am and still be greeted the same,” Channin states, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

Peytra sighs and puts her hand on her forehead, “Sometimes, I worry about you.”

“As do I.” Amaryllis starts moving around the room, “The red one?”

“That’s what happens when you have someone like my soldier.” Channin ignores their conversation, “He accepts me as I am.”

Peytra sits on the edge of the bed and picks up a drawing book, she begins to flip through it. “He’s a nobleman, the only thing he cares about is your surname.”

“Don’t forget the babies, Lady Peytra.” Amaryllis helps Channin into a corset.

“He isn’t after the throne.” Channin mumbles.

“Then put him out of your mind.” Amaryllis tightens the corset, almost pulling Channin over, “You’ll be Queen someday, and as such, you’ll need to have a suitable King.”

“Need to?” Channin starts, “Why can’t I rule by myself?”

“Because it’s not how things are.” Peytra says, still flipping through the book, “You’ll at least be able to catch a man with your drawing abilities.”

“Well, she certainly can’t cook.” The lady in waiting finishes the corset off with a bow.

“Or do any of the things a Queen should do.” Peytra giggles, “Is this General Starker?” She holds up a half-finished drawing. It is. The charcoal pencil is the right shade for his hair, but she can’t seem to get the color of his eyes right.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Channin snatches the book back.

Amaryllis holds up the dress, “Lady Channin, please.”

Channin stops her argument and Amaryllis takes her opportunity to throw the dress over her head. She quickly smooths it out and pushes her into a chair.

“Do we have to touch my hair?” Channin asks as Amaryllis begins to comb it.

“I wish not, but yes.” She quickly braids it and rolls it into a bun.

Channin stands and studies herself in the mirror. The dress is deep red with a gold ribbon around the waist. It makes her look pale and small. Peytra steps up next to her. The two are very different. Peytra is two years younger but she doesn’t look it. She’s barely shorter and already a refined lady. She was too small to learn sword fighting with Channin, so she learned to cook and sew.

“You’re pretty,” Peytra says after a minute. Channin looks back at her reflection. She’s pretty in the simple way, like the grass after a spring shower. Peytra is beautiful the way a chandelier or an ornate carving is. If you touch it, it might shatter and be lost.

“You are both beautiful.” Ioanna enters the room, “Peytra, your father is about to go to the stables, he would like you to accompany him.”

Peytra leaves, with one last look at her sister.

“Channin, please come sit.” Ioanna moves to the bed and motions for her to follow. Channin hesitates, but does as told.

Ioanna is closely watching her, Channin begins to feel uncomfortable. She has a sinking feeling that she knows what this is about.

“Is everything alright?”

“Svetozar has chosen a suitor.” The Queen says, “Prince Aaron of Athedor.” She brushes a strand of blonde back and lifts Channin’s chin. “This is good.”

A knock breaks their gaze. Isaac is at the door with a small box, “There’s my favorite student.”

“General Isaac, what a pleasure.” Ioanna smiles.

“I brought you something.” He kneels in front of Channin and pulls a circlet out of the box. It is a thin, solid band. Silver, to contrast her golden hair, with tiny sapphires. Blue and gray, the Ozera colors. He carefully places it around her head, “There. Now you look like the future queen.”

Channin looks down at the floor.

“What is it dear?” Ioanna asks, “You should be happy.”

“I am.” She answers quickly, “But what if we don’t like each other?”

“You’ll grow to.” Isaac smiles, “I promise.”

She continues to look at the ground, so he takes her chin and lifts it. “Hold your head up, princess. Or else the crown will fall.”

Isaac takes Channin’s hand and she stands up. She looks over her shoulder, out the window. The aster stands out against a distant white sail.

“Welcome back to Dragonspire, General Starker.” The ship captain shouts.

“I’ll be glad to be on dry ground.” Runir mumbles, leaning back from the side of the ship.

Raoul laughs, “You’re lucky to be here to be sick.”

The Elf lurches forward and is sick again.

“Raoul, leave him alone.” William warns, “Go get your horse ready.”

The werewolf retreats below deck. Will takes one last look at Laneyth before going after Kaiser.

“Do you think she’ll remember you?” Raoul asks, throwing his saddle on with one hand and holding the side of the stall with the other.

Will picks up Runir’s saddle, “Who?”

“Don’t you play dumb with me boy.” Raoul laughs, “You know who I’m talking about.”

The general shrugs. Runir’s horse is an old gray mare, affectionately called Gray. She is a former plow horse, massive all around. The story he tells is that he won her in an archery bet. She is mellow compared to Kaiser despite being twice his size. She accepts the saddle and bridle without a fight.

Kaiser pricks up his ears when Will approaches.

“You know,” Ian chimes in, “Couldn’t William marry Channin?”

Raoul shrugs, “Could he?”

“If the power follows the last name, whoever Channin marries would be king. Even if they came from nothing.” Will elaborates. “It’s the way Shapeshifters run the countries.”

They hear the captain call for the anchors. Will tosses Raoul Runir’s reins and turns back to his own horse.

Ian waits with him, “You could always mention it to the king.”

“It isn’t my place.” He pulls the saddle tighter, “Castles and diplomacy.”

The vampire laughs, “Then leave it to her.” He grabs his clock and flips it over his shoulders, “You’re a war hero, William Starker.”

He grabs Kaiser’s reins and pulls him towards the ramp, “Killing people doesn’t give you the right to be king.”

After being below deck, the sunlight is blinding. The pier at Dragonspire is already alive. The Ozera flag is everywhere. Then he sees her. Her red dress blowing in the breeze, blonde hair tied up. When she sees him, it takes his breath away. Alloumera stands out among the other Ozera family horses. Channin seems far away.

Kaiser starts down the ramp to the pier first, pulling Will along. Isaac throws an arm around him, shaking him a little. “William, welcome home.”

Will tries to brush him off, but it doesn’t work. The old General clings to him, “Bowen wrote about meeting you last year.”

“We did meet.” Will looks back at the soldiers, Raoul has abandoned Runir and is already drinking. The Elf is somewhere between walking and leaning against his horse. “Only briefly,” he finishes the thought.

“Speaking of, where is Bowen?” Isaac looks around.

“General Starker,” King Svetozar steps down from his horse, “Welcome back.”

“Happy to be back, Your Majesty.”

“I trust you will be joining us for the banquet tonight.”

Will flashes a confused look to Isaac, “I don’t think this deserves a banquet.”

King Svetozar laughs. “The Lady Channin is engaged.” Isaac fills in, “Your Majesty, where is Bowen?”

“The other ship should be arriving shortly.” The king waives Isaac away.

Kaiser pulls towards Alloumera and Will allows himself to be pulled.

Channin glances over, “I’m glad you have returned, General Starker.”

“As am I, Princess Channin.”

As soon as Svetozar’s back is turned, she leans forward, “Do me the honor of attending the banquet tonight.”

He looks up at her, puzzled. Her green eyes plead with him and he agrees. The next ship appears on the horizon. A sinking feeling grabs Will and he knows something isn’t right.

As the men lead their horses off the ship, he knows where the feeling came from. The group of thirty men he met a year ago is down to ten. These ten are dirty and exhausted. One man leads two horses, a sign that one lost his rider.

Isaac searches the small band and takes off towards them.

“I don’t see Bowen.” Channin whispers, “Where is he?”

Isaac meets the team halfway, “Where is Bowen?” He weaves between horses and men. “Where is my son?”

“Will,” She lowers her voice again, “What’s going on? What happened?” She doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“I’m not sure.” He studies the King and notes his lack of concern as Isaac stops searching.

“General Starker?” Channin’s attention is grabbed as an Orc approaches Will, “I was told to report to you should anything happen.”

“Not now.” Will quickly says.

“Channin.” Peytra calls, “It’s time to go.”

She bids goodbye to Will and turns Alloumera to follow the others. She spends the rest of the day silent. She moves from room to room looking for something to occupy her mind. Trying to keep it off Bowen and the other soldiers.

Amaryllis comes to her room at some point to ask if she needs help getting ready for the banquet. Channin politely declines and Amaryllis hurries off to finish whatever she was doing. An hour later, there is a knock at the door.

She flings it open, “I told you I didn’t need- General Starker.”

He looks confused by the outburst but continues anyway, “Isaac asked me to escort you tonight.”

Channin pauses, and nods. “You got dressed up in a hurry.” She says, disappearing from his view.

“At the request of your father.” He forces a smile.

She grabs a dark blue dress. It is simple and plain, as Ioanna would describe. One she can put on by herself. After a quick glance in the mirror she grabs a silver shawl and pulls it over her shoulders. She darts back to Will and realizes they are dressed in similar colors. His formal uniform is dark blue with silver and blue decorations. The colors of Laneyth. His brown hair is still shaggy and would fall cover his gray eyes if he weren’t careful.

He turns his head to look when she reenters the room. His expression shifts, something between awestruck and admiration. “Leaving your hair down?” he asks, swallowing whatever thought he had.

“Does that bother you?”

He shakes his head, “I like it down. It’s longer than I thought.”

She flips it over one shoulder, “Why do you like my hair so much?”

Will thinks about it for a moment and shrugs.

She looks in the mirror one last time and rushes out of the room. At the top of the stairs, she takes Will’s arm and a deep breath.

“Calm, poised, polite.” She tells herself.

“You’ve got to remind yourself how to be a lady?” Will tilts his head slightly.

“It’s something Isaac says to keep me focused.” She answers, “If I can do those three things, I can do anything.”

“Because it defies your vicious nature?” he asks.

“I’m not vicious.” She glares at him, “I’m honest and for some people that’s too much.”

She’s clearly rehearsed that line. The banquet hall is already bustling. Name cards have been placed carefully at each place on the long table. Svetozar and Ioanna are already there, he’s talking to a nobleman Channin doesn’t recognize. Ioanna seats herself and is still smiling at all the guests.

Channin and Will are to Svetozar’s left, across from Ioanna and Peytra. On Peytra’s right is the Orc from the docks, he looks incredibly uncomfortable.

Will pulls the chair out for Channin, prompting a collective look of shock from the Ozera ladies.

“Who is he talking to?” Channin asks to Will, nodding towards Svetozar.

The nobleman is on the shorter side, not quite 6 foot, but close. He has close clipped dark hair, the beginning of a beard, and steel blue eyes.

“The King of Atra.” He watches the two, “It’s to the west of Loskayze.”

“Never been.” Channin adds quietly.

“You wouldn’t like it.” He covers up, “It’s hot and miserable.”

She perks up, “You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?”

He laughs, “I guess it comes with the job.”

She goes back to watching the Kings interaction. “He’s a shapeshifter.” She notes.

“Yes.” Will begins to watch with her, “It’s probably something useless. Like a camel.”

Channin stifles a laugh and looks down smiling.

“What? Did I say something?” His attention comes back to her.

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, General.” She brings her head back up.

“Well, have you ever seen a camel?”

She slowly shakes her head.

“They are hideous creatures.” He points out, “Other than transportation they don’t have much of a purpose.”

“Like a horse?”

“No.” He adds quickly, “Horses have personality. They are noble and honorable. They don’t start pointless wars for their brothers to die in.”

“And camels do?” She laughs again.

He realizes that’s not what he meant, but nods eagerly. “They are truly soulless.”

“And how do you know I’m not a camel-shifter?” She raises an eyebrow, “You might have just greatly insulted me.”

“You aren’t. You’re a wolf.”

She is surprised. It isn’t common knowledge.

“I’ve spent enough time with Shapeshifters to know how to read them.” Will shrugs.

“And if they aren’t Decided?” Channin asks.

“I can usually guess it.”

“Peytra.”

“What about her?”

“What is her animal?”

Will studies Peytra. “With her limp, she’ll probably chose something powerful or fast. A bear or a cat.”

“Pick one. 15 gold pieces. I say wolf.” Channin says, confident.

“It’s not Lady-like to gamble.” Will watches Peytra for a few more seconds, “A bear.”

“I was born Decided, so I never had to wait the way she is.” Channin whispers, “It must be really hard.” Decided is the term used for when a young Shapeshifter comes to the age where their full abilities are formed and their animal comes out.

The King of Atra leaves Svetozar and starts for the door, scanning the room as he goes.

“Waiting for something that might not happen.” Channin continues, pretending to not notice.

He makes eye contact with Will and nearly stops in his tracks. The General turns back to Channin after a second.

“You were born Decided?”

“Yes, why?” She looks around for what distracted him and sees the King of Atra duck from the room.

“It’s just unusual. When someone is born to two shapeshifter parents they typically don’t decide until later.”

She shrugs, “Guess I’m just different.” She goes back to staring at the table.

Svetozar calls the banquet to order and announces Channin’s engagement to Prince Aaron of Athedor, who is not in attendance. Peytra and the Orc make some small talk, but nothing more. Ioanna continues to sit quietly.

Dinner is served, roast venison and vegetables. The guests continue their separate conversations. Channin and Will disappear at the first chance they get. The garden is ready for winter, the leaves gone from the trees and the flower beds covered.

“You’ve been quiet since dinner.” Will asks, opening the door to the stables for her, “Is everything alright?”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just overwhelmed.” She starts down the aisle to Alloumera.

Kaiser whinnies at the other end for Will.

“You’ve had a long day. Do you want to get some rest?”

She shakes her head, Alloumera puts his head over the gate to greet her.

“General Starker.” An excited voice says.

Will and Channin both turn to see the stable boy, Valaen. He’s grown almost a foot taller since William saw him last. His hair is lighter and he is still tanned from the summer months.

“Valaen, how are you?” Channin smiles.

“I’m great, your highness.” He bows.

“Have you been practicing?” she asks, noticing the wooden sword at his side.

“Twice a day. Before morning feeding and after evening meal.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” She steps back.

The small Elf takes his stance and draws the sword.

“You’ll still be balanced if you put your feet closer together.” Will says, “You’re an Elf, balance and speed are your ally.”

Valaen looks surprised and tries it out. “He’s right.”

“The closer you are-“

“The less chance they have to hit you.” The Elf smiles proudly, “So keep moving.”

“Exactly.” He nods, “Let’s see what you can do.” He picks up a rake.

Valaen rushes forward, Will blocks his first attack easily grabbing the sword and taking it from the child.

“Remember, keep a hold of your weapon.” He hands it back.

“Here,” Channin takes the Elf’s hand and moves it on the sword, “If you keep your finger over the guard, you’ll have more control. You’re short, use that.”

Valaen takes a deep breath and launches another attack. He ducks under the rake, using his sword to deflect it. He swings quickly and catches Will’s knee. The General stumbles, trying to keep his feet under him.

“Very good.” Channin praises.

“You’ve still got a little growing before you can ride with us, but keep training and you’ll take over for me someday.” Will ruffles the Elf’s hair and he bounds away, almost running into Isaac.

The general’s face is flushed, he’s been drinking. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

Channin flashes a concerned look at Will, “Here we are.”

“William,” Isaac stumbles forward and catches himself on a stall door, “I need you to go with Channin to Atra.”

“Athedor.” Will corrects.

“What did I say?” Isaac tilts his head, then continues. “I don’t think the King should be trusted. He’s in cahoots with the trolls.”

“What?” Channin tilts her head, “Isaac, what are you talking about?”

“Will, you’ve got to go with her. Don’t let her alone with Aaron.” Isaac mumbles, swaying a bit.

“I won’t.” he says, “You need to go to bed. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Will takes Channin’s hand and walks her back to the garden, “I’ve got to get him some where safe.”

“It’s fine.” Channin smiles, “I know my way from here.”

“C’mon Will.” Isaac rides slowly past them, “Let’s go fight the trolls.” His horse is barely moving at a walk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he turns to chase after Isaac, “Isaac, come back here.”

Channin laughs and slowly makes her way back to her room. It’s warmly lit by a fire in the corner, Peytra is reading a book nearby.

“What are you doing here?” Channin asks, suspicious of her sister.

Peytra closes the book, “I was waiting on you.”

“Here I am.” she says.

“Everyone is worried, Channin.” Peytra says, “I guess I am too.”

The blonde sits across from her sister.

“I saw how you acted at the banquet, you really like General Starker.”

“I think he’s a great leader and someone who should be treated with respect.” Channin answers quickly, “Nothing more.”

“So, he isn’t accompanying you to Athedor?”

She feels a chill run down her spine, despite being so close to the fire. “Yes, he is.” She hesitantly answers.

“Of course.” Peytra rolls her eyes, “You will always be the favorite.”

She stands to leave and Channin notices her limp worsening. It usually gets worse with the cold weather.

“I’m sorry?” she tries to apologize without knowing what she’s apologizing for.

Peytra picks up on that, “You were born Decided, Isaac chose to train you and I end up alone and crippled. How is that fair?”

“It’s not.” Channin turns from the fire to face Peytra.

“No. It isn’t.” The younger sister looks around the room, “And now you’re leaving.” She clearly feels abandoned. “Bowen is gone and now I’m losing you too. Who do I have?”

“It won’t be forever. I’m only going to Athedor for a few days.”

“And then what?”

Channin searches for the answer that won’t hurt her sister’s feelings anymore. By the look on her face though, the damage is done. “I’m not sure.”

Peytra sighs, “Exactly. If you don’t know, then I’m not sure who does.” Peytra limps from the room. Channin tries to call after her but doesn’t know what to say anymore. Her sister is hurt.