“You’ve changed.” Sir Rey grows sober, but before I can question him further on that thought, we arrive back into the main cave. All the Shifters stand at the sight of us, the same emotions present as before. But some look at me with gratitude. Guess they enjoyed the rest as much as I did.

“Thank you all for coming. I would be an unwilling participant in the games for dragon fodder, or worse, had you all not risked your lives for mine. That won’t be forgotten.”

The older men and women give me grave nods, some with a hint of respect, but most still seem to question my worthiness of my blood. Such is the way of wolves. I’ll need to prove myself before they grant me any further respect. A few around my age bow but with hesitation. The younger bow with the exaggerated exuberance of youthful hope, and a few of the girls give me looks I can’t decipher. I meet their eyes one by one, making sure they know how serious I am. But then my heart about stops. Those eyes.

She has an uncanny resemblance to Bridget. The young girl who fought with all her heart and gave her life so that her sister might live another day. Same long black hair. Same strong and determined eyes. Same clenched jawline. Same long lashes and button nose. My heart gives a long and painful beat. She could be her twin, just a little older version.

I shake myself from my inspection with a cough. Sir Rey tries to smother a grin. I glare at the old coot.

He turns to address the rest at my gesture. “Pack up. I want to be miles away from here in by nightfall.”

Judging by the dimming light on the horizon I can barely see from the mouth of the cave, we’re too late for that.

They break apart and one of the younger men with brown hair, Mouse, if I remember correctly, who is still a clean-chinned mere boy, bows to me. “Your... Your horse is ready, Your Highness.” He almost shakes as I turn my full gaze on him. He has eyes that are almost golden in the light and a freckled face paling from my attention.

I smile to try to help him relax, but it doesn’t seem to do anything but make his eyes go wide. Does he think I’m going to eat him? Probably. I feel guilty for how I treated him earlier. “Please, just call me Roland. Lead on.”

He bows again, almost scraping the dirt floor. “Of course, your h—Roland.” Poor kid.

He leads me to a swaybacked mare of indeterminable temperament. She sends a full, heated glare my way, pining both ears flat against her head and chomping at the bit. I almost spin around and run back to the cave. The only thing that keeps me going forward is the thought of a certain dragon and how each day she is going to become more and more cranky. She’s scarier than any stubborn old mule.

I would rather run as a wolf… but the thought of the many miles between me and that dragon makes me grab the reins of this ornery mare.

When she tries to bite me, I bring her head around and make her spin in a tight circle. I do the same on the opposite side. With her feet moving, she has surprisingly little chance to think about biting.

Then I make her back up. I give a pointed growl when she pins her ears at me and tries to snap my fingers off... again. Her ear flicks at my growl, then she backs up a step. I scratch behind her ear, happy at the slight progress. She stops glaring at me, flicking both ears up to look at me with more curiosity than her previous prickly, sour temperament. She chews on the bit, thinking.

I scratch her ear again, then back her up once more. She moves smoother this time, giving into the pressure I am putting on the bit. I bring her in another quick circle. She moves without a fight.

Then for the true challenge. I put pressure on the soft place where her neck meets the curve of her cheek. Then I step into her, willing her to step over and yield her forequarters. She steps with surprising ease, going four steps one after the other, crossing her front legs easier than I thought possible and with more speed, as if someone took the time to train her and it’s coming back. I stop her, then do the same on the other side. Always do the same thing on both sides is drilled into my brain from my early days of learning horses.

I always took pride in being able to earn the respect and then the trust of the surliest of stallions. A part of me misses those carefree days at the castle.

I praise the surly mare before me, pushing those thoughts aside as I let her know just how happy I am with her performance. She pricks her ears and leans into me for another rub. I chuckle and comply.

“Seems you haven’t forgotten your way around a horse.” Sir Rey’s voice brings me back to the present.

I look around to see I’ve gained an audience. All thirty or so shifters are ringed around, watching with curiosity.

I nod to Sir Rey in acknowledgement of his praise. Then I take off the saddle and check both her back and the saddle pad to be sure there are no burs there. She’s sweaty beneath, but otherwise well taken care of. I place the saddle back on and cinch her up.

“Whoever has been taking care of her has been doing a good job.” The young boy who brought me to her blushes and scuffs a toe in the dirt. “What’s her name?”

“Ilena.”

I look at him askance. “The name of the Emperor’s wife?”

He gives me a sly smile with a mischievous air. “I swear she is half ass, and just as prickly.”

I can’t help it. The image is too much and I burst out laughing. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.” I clasp him on the shoulder, then hop up on the mare. “Alrighty then Ilena. Don’t buck me off, you little donkey.” She snorts against my foot and stomps her hoof before settling and accepting me on her back.

“Shift!” Sir Rey commands. All Shifters disappear into the woods, coming back a few moments later with backpacks in the hollow of their shoulder blades.

The mare shifts beneath me and side steps with a snort, but doesn’t bolt like I expected. “Easy girl,” I whisper as I stroke her neck. She settles.

A small bark from Sir Rey’s red and brown wolf and I give the mare a gentle squeeze with my legs. She takes off in a jarring, ground eating trot.

The wolves lope around me, some giving me looks of good natured teasing as I have to find my rhythm with the old mare. I wince as my backside jars just a bit too hard. It’s been a long while since I’ve rode. My legs, and other places, are going to kill me for it later.

We follow mostly back wood trails over hills and past a few small villages. We stay well out of sight the few times we pass a town or farmhouse, knowing that it would be extremely odd to find a man and horse alive within a pack of deadly wolves. Much less traveling with said wolves.

Once we find a decent clearing butted against a large cliff to protect our backs, I do everything I can to help set up camp. Once I make two tents fall due to exhaustion, I’m relegated to pot stirring duty.

Why'd you do that if you want their respect as you deserve as thier Alpha? Cynic questions, for once entirely genuine.

I grunt as I stare into the soup. Sometimes fear is needed. Most time it prevents trust if presented in the wrong way.

Would it not be better to be feared than to be trusted?

Respect is both and is neither. Resect is my ultimate goal, and if I showed them my true self... they could never accept what I've become.

I think you'd be surprised, he whispers back.

I'm left to ruminate on that as he goes to the back of my mind, and somehow I think he's going there to sleep. I have a strange creature living inside me like a parasite, and he gets to sleep before I do.

If I'm a parasite, you're an amoeba.

I have no idea what that is.

Exactly.

I shake my head, a small smile on my lips.

I’m mindlessly stirring the pot as I travel my memories. It’s as I’m watching the tall girl with black as night hair when thoughts of Bridget stir, and I wince.

She looks up to meet my eyes in that moment, and I quickly smooth my face and look away. I didn’t realize I was staring.

Her soft footfalls invade the natural silence that is around the fire. I try to ignore her. Not exactly my finest moment.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is both soft and jarring.

I look up and see her deep brown eyes watching me with concern. She moves like a lethal predator. Her eyes seem to take in all of me, leaving me bare and aching. Her eyes overshadow with concern the longer I take to respond. I’m left looking like a dunce.

I quickly shake my head.

Her brows furrow as a puzzled frown pulls her lips down. “You’re not ok?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. And trying to shake off memories.”

“I would say being the captive of the jingoist would be quite the ride.”

I give a dry chuckle. “You could say that.” I pat the log beside me, despite how every inch of me is screaming to send her away before I do something else idiotic. “You can join me in the exciting task of pot stirring if you like.” I almost wince. If I could snatch back the words from the air, I most assuredly would.

But to my delight, she gives an amused snort. “I would be honored, Your esteemed Pot Stirrerness”

I smile, taken with the irony of her words.

She watches me for a few moments in awkward silence. I try to think of something further to say, but my exhausted brain is not having it.

“Does it hurt?” She gestures to my neck.

I touch the cloth wrapped around my neck from where the collar was. “It hurts, yes, but not so bad now. It's healing.”

“What did it feel like to not be able to turn into a wolf? Is it frightful?”

I look into the pot, and smell it burning so I put the spoon back in to stir. “It is a bit, yes. Should I have needed to fight, tooth and claw is still my main go to, so in a fight…”

“You would be without your best defense.”

I give her a grim smile. “Yes. And offense, should I need to protect.” My mind once again wonders to the small girl I wasn’t able to protect who looks so much like this young woman sitting beside me.

“Why do you stare at me so?”

I grin at her, trying to keep the painful memories from showing on my face. “Forward, aren’t we?”

She shrugs. “Mainly curious.”

I would be too, if I was being stared at by a strange, estranged Crown Prince. “You remind me of someone who I was unable to protect.”

She’s silent for a moment, just watching me. “Was she special to you?” she asks gently.

I look out into the woods, a tingling suspicious behind my eyes as I again see her lifeless body, her pale face contrasting sharply with the raven black hair. “Not in that way, no. But she was a fighter. Strong to the point of recklessness.” A small, bittersweet grin arrests my face. “She was a younger sister I never got the chance to know.”

Her eyes widen. “And then you see me—“

I nod at the unspoken question. “And it’s like seeing a ghost.”

“I didn’t know… I’ll leave…” She gets up, but I grab her hand.

“Stay.” That sounds too much like a command. “Please,” I add as an afterthought. “I would prefer conversation to memories at the moment.”

“Doesn’t sound like the memories are too appealing if this conversation is any better.”

I fake a shudder—in my current state, not hard at all—and give wide, appealing eyes. “Please?”

She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. But then she laughs. “Alright.”