Jutta and Albrecht sweltered in the workshop. She gave Albrecht a pair of metal wings the size of his hand. This was the lightest set they’d made, a curved filigree of steel so thin it sang when he swished it through the air. He tested its hinge, an ingenious thing triggered by pressure, powered by small gears. In a gust of wind, it would give just so. The creature wearing it would fly. That, at least, was the plan.

“This is good work,” he said.

Jutta shrugged. She was looking tired to him, tired and older than ever. “I still feel that attaching it with a leather harness would be less risky.”

“Then it is no different than a piece of clothing or a boot. It’s not an achievement.”

Jutta’s insistence on this point irritated him. He wished he didn’t need her help, but without her, he couldn’t work nearly as fast or as well. His not-finger was strong, but clumsy. He would continue to improve it. But for now, it was an obstacle.

He strode to a large cloth-covered cage in the corner. He whipped the cover away, and the small creature inside turned its head. In anticipation of a bite to eat, it extended a pair of wings and flapped them. And then it stood on its four rat feet and walked to the edge of the cage. It was still healing where the wings had been stitched into its flesh—a pair of crooked red-black seams.

“What do you think? Should we test this one?”

Jutta peered into the cage. “It is promising that the wings are remaining in place. But perhaps we wait until the creature is fully mended.”

Albrecht unlatched the cage and removed the rat. Such revolting things. So low to the ground. So nothing to look at. To be a rat would be the worst imaginable fate. He had done this one a kindness. If his device worked, this rat would no longer be lord of the greasy crevice. It would rule the sky.

He saw no reason to give the rat more time to heal. He took it from his cage, opened the window, and flung it into the late autumn air. It arched into the golden sky, spreading its legs and tail. This was its instinct, and that motion was enough to open the wings. It caught an updraft, and the rat soared out and over the courtyard.

For a moment anyway.

The foolish thing scrabbled its limbs and then the wings separated from its body and both plummeted to the stones below. The wings bounced. The rat did not.

“Well, that’s that,” Albrecht said.

“I’m sorry,” Jutta said.

“Sorry? Why on earth?”

“I’m sorry that the wings failed.”

“Hardly. They were a smashing success.” He thumped her on the back. “Come. I feel like celebrating.”

Albrecht stored his hunting gear in the room next to his workshop. He eyed Jutta and handed her leather armor, a pair of knives, and his old sword.

“What is this for?”

“For you to wear.” She sometimes needed a great deal of instruction.

“But … why would I need this? When you said you felt like celebrating, I thought you had a stein or two of ale in mind.”

“Don’t tell me you’re saying nay.”

“Nay? I wouldn’t—”

He cackled. “Always the horse. Nay.”

Jutta blinked slowly, and Albrecht could tell his little joke vexed her. She was so sensitive. “Ah, yes, Your Majesty. I’m not putting my foot down on the armor and weapons. I am afraid, well, I don’t understand what you mean them for. I was … curious.”

“There’s going to be a wedding,” he said.

“You’re still soaring right past me,” Jutta said.

“I have decided that the kingdom is in need of a celebration and there is none so grand as a wedding.”

“I don’t doubt you, and yet—”

“And yet?” Jutta was trying his patience.

“And yet why are we dressed as if for a hunt?”

She really was so slow of wit. It was a good thing she was loyal, or he’d have to stuff and mount her. “We are dressed as if for a hunt because we are going on a hunt,” he said slowly. “You and I are hunting for my bride.”

Her neck stiffened and her head gave a little tremble, as though her horse aspect was about to emerge. But she kept herself intact. She dressed and hung the weapons around her, and he did the same. He went to the cabinet where he stored his fingers and thought about which would best serve. The poison finger. To catch a bride meant he’d have to be in close range, and what would be more useful than something that could inject enough poison to paralyze a bear in half a minute?

“Be prepared to spend the night in the woods,” he said.

Jutta nodded. Albrecht supposed it would be no hardship for someone with an animal aspect to sleep anywhere. He didn’t even mind that she’d be out of her cage. There was nothing she could do to him as a horse. After getting provisions from the kitchen, they stopped by the stables so he could get his mount.

“You’re fine on foot, I take it.”

Jutta nodded again. “These boots are as good as hooves. I’ll keep up.”

He was sure that was true. Jutta was getting older, but she remained powerful. She hadn’t gone soft the way so many women do, not that he minded a bit of softness in women. But her work at the forge had hardened her hands and muscles and turned her skin into something like a hide. Even in her human form, she seemed half animal.

He wondered, looking at her, what that felt like. He’d never envied her this aspect—he’d hate to be prey. But he wanted to be able to shift. He hungered for it. His own experiments with flight had already taken so much effort, and he had not achieved the success he craved. But that would come. He was certain.

A groom saddled the mount. Albrecht swung a leg over his stallion’s back, and then they were off at a trot, he in the lead and Jutta running lightly behind. He knew where he’d find Greta, or thereabouts, in the little cottage he’d seen her enter. He hadn’t checked his trap since. There hadn’t been time, and if he’d caught anything in the interim, it didn’t matter, whether it was animal or human. He supposed it might be considered a waste, but a king had to be above such considerations.

His plan had crystallized slowly. He’d been drawn to Greta since the moment he laid eyes on her. There was her hair, as light as his. Her face, pale and symmetrical, like a well-made vessel. She’d been young, yes, but so was he, and he knew the purpose of attraction. It was to inspire procreation, something a man could not yet do on his own.

As the years passed, his desire increased. He loved watching her at work, her hair always in a neat braid down the center of her back. He knew she wanted him too. He could see it in the way her hand tightened around the knife handle whenever he entered. The way her cheeks pinkened as she looked up at him and then down again at whatever poor animal she was reducing to parts. Would she have stayed if she’d known she could have him? If she could be queen?

He had to admit he’d originally not thought of putting a crown on her head. The attraction was more urgent than that, and his interest in the benefit to her was less. But in the time that he’d been on the throne, he’d realized it was the perfect plan. There was the satisfaction it would give him. There was the joy it would give a kingdom starved for such things. And it would carry on a tradition started by his father, one in which a woman of common blood was elevated to royalty. His people would love him for this even more than they already did. She would be grateful and would repent abandoning him.

There was the chance, of course, that she’d bear a were. Her brother was one, his sister too. But he’d know what to do if and when the time came. He’d find a way to use it to his advantage.

Once he and Jutta had entered the forest, Albrecht slowed. The music would cover much of the noise he was making, but he didn’t want anyone to know he was coming. He stopped and dismounted. Daylight was waning. Just threads, really, dropping through the partly bare tree branches. They’d move right before dawn.