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“Mina.” Wolf’s voice is rough. He looks rough. Leaning on a pile of pillows, he looks wan and tired, dark crescents under his eyes, his mouth cracked. His cheekbones jut out sharply as if he’s lost weight overnight. The sun is rolling toward the west once more and although he’s been awake for a while and has sampled the broth sent up by the cooks, he has barely breathed a word.
Until now.
“I’m here.” Refusing to show him how rattled I am after a day and a night by his side, fearing he’d breathe his last at any moment, mopping sweat from his brow and his chest, watching him battling nightmares and possible death, unable to help, I pull the covers up and lean against the bed, gazing at him. “How are you feeling?”
He gazes back at me. His green eyes are bloodshot, his hair a silver tangle around his face. “Remind me,” he rasps, his brow creased, “not to take poison on purpose again.”
If I start laughing now, I might never stop. So, I nod and lift a hand to rub at my traitorous, smiling mouth. “You worried us,” I admit. “Worried me.”
His gaze lightens a fraction, his frown eases. “You stayed by my side.”
“You asked for me.”
“True.” He looks away, then down at the covers heaped over him. “I would have. Must have.”
“You don’t remember?” When he flinches, I feel bad. “The poison was already working by then. I doubt you’d remember anything from that point after. But...”
He nods. “You want to know if it worked.”
“We all do.” Mathes approaches the bed and Wolf jerks as if he hadn’t noticed him, or the seneschal who stays back, watching us. “Did it work? Do you remember it all now?”
“I remember... more.”
“How to lift the curse, defeat the Empress, who sent you on exile?” Mathes insists.
Slowly Wolf shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “All that is still hidden to me.”
A frustrated sound escapes me. I sink on the mattress, put my hands over my eyes, the panic of the past day and night catching up with me. “All this, almost slipping into death, for a few more useless memories?”
“Any memory is precious,” he whispers, “a part of who I was and who I am now. And certain memories are worth the brush with death, too.”
“Such as?” I lift my head, feeling mutinous. Maybe he doesn’t recall how he tossed and turned, moaning, his breath stopping and starting again, how he would bend over the side of the bed and throw up black poison, how his skin had turned gray, how I feared he’d give up his last breath at any moment—
“Such as the memory of my parents,” he says, leaning his head back, closing his eyes. “Childhood moments. My older brother, Elaen, who died during a hunt while I was little. I remember when they died. When I was crowned the fucking king of the realm.”
Gods. I want to hug him, speak words of comfort in his ear, tell him how sorry I am. But he’s not done.
“I also remembered the true nature of the curse,” he says, his frown deepening.
“Tell us,” Mathes says, coming to stand by the bed.
Wolf takes his time to reply. Then he says, “The curse is on me, the curse of my family. A snow wolf. I carry the cold with me. Where I am, there is winter. When I am in my kingdom, there is ice. That is why they exiled me.”
“A snow wolf?” Fragments from my dream haunt me—the white wolves running after me, yipping and growling. “What do you mean by that?”
“I am the snow wolf,” he mutters. “Eventually I will either turn into the wolf or into ice.”
Mathes is saying something about probabilities and legends and Wolf’s memory not being up to snuff—but all I can see is wicked claws, long canines, hair turned to shaggy fur as Wolf had fought the horned lion on the plain.
Focus, I tell myself.
“Wolf or ice,” I interrupt Mathes’ tirade. “And which one will it be?”
“That is the riddle, isn’t it?” Wolf lifts his lashes, staring right at me.
“You remembered the riddle, too?” This time it’s the seneschal asking.
“Find the Firebird and set it free, her three weapons”—he lifts his arm, glances down at the words inked there—“will aid thee. According to the truth in its eyes, you turn into the wolf, or you turn to ice. Pay attention to the tale in its world and ours.”
“That’s... as cryptic as they come,” I whisper. “But if I am the—”
“No, Mina,” he snaps, scrambling out of the covers, reaching for me. His face pales to snow, his eyes close and he slumps against me just as I catch him.
“What in the world are you doing?” I cry, my voice shaking as I push him back. “You’ve barely survived the poison. You need to rest. Wolf. Wolf!”
He groans softly, eyes rolling under his lids as he slumps back against the pillows. “Mina...”
I’m so shaken, it doesn’t strike me until later that he stopped me from telling everyone that my name means Firebird.
Why would it matter? Surely, I’m not the firebird of the riddle, not the firebird of the legend. But if he is the wolf... if he can turn into one, could I turn into the Firebird he’s seeking?
***
“Is everyone gone?” he asks sometime later.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I’m pretty good at staying quiet while hunting for my prey,” he says, opening a green eye.
“That so? I thought you were a mercenary? Don’t you yell and stomp as you head into battle?”
“Pft. I told you that I’m a Fae of many talents.”
“Yeah.”
“Some of which you have sampled yourself right in this room, as I recall, in that copper bathtub—”
“Wolf—”
“—an experience I wish to repeat, for your benefit.” He winks and pushes himself up to sit, groaning softly.
“My benefit, huh?” It’s not easy, not to go to him, fuss over him. I keep my eye on him, though, in case he topples sideways. “You got nothing from the experience?”
“Princess...” He grins at me. “If I had the strength to tumble you on this bed right now, we wouldn’t be talking.”
I roll my eyes. “So sure of yourself. So certain I’d let you.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Even sitting there like that, pale and tired, bowed over, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen or dreamed of. I want to deny him but I can’t even do that.
Sighing, I smile at him and finally give in and sit beside him, putting my arms around him. “No more poison, please. I can’t stand seeing you in pain anymore.”
“Agreed. I’ve had enough poison.” He puts an arm around me, kisses the top of my head. “Damn, even now I want you, but sadly Little Wolf isn’t up to it.”
“Little Wolf? You’ve named your cock?”
“It is an independent cock, never obeying my commands. If it could, I bet it would want a crown of its own.”
I snicker against his bare chest. “King Cock?” He smells delicious, like Wolf, slightly salty and sweet with the freshness of the woods, with a bitter hint from the poison.
“A majestic cock, I’d say,” he says airily, but there is laughter in his voice, too. He sobers up. “Did I really scare you when I took the poison?”
“Yes, you did.” I slap his chest lightly. “Don’t do it again.”
“I don’t plan on doing it again,” he says quietly. “I scared myself a little, too. I thought I would die.”
“That’s not funny, Wolf.”
“No,” he agrees, “it isn’t. I’m not sure I’d do anything like it again, but I’m glad I did.”
“Are you? Why?”
“I had forgotten so much. What the sages told me. What the Empress demanded. What choices I had to make. It has all come back to me.”
“Wolf—”
“I needed to find the firebird to end the curse, and I have found you, whether led to you by chance or fate. If you are the firebird, then I should be close to solving the riddle. When the Empress cast the curse on me, she spoke of a mate and red hair, and here you are. It has to be you.”
I drew back to frown at him. “But you said you didn’t remember anything about the curse and the Empress.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “My mind was muddled.”
“Is that so?” I stare at his sparkling eyes. “I thought you trusted Mathes.”
“As far as I can throw him.” He grins impishly at me. “Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
“And how far is that?”
“You have no idea how heavy that bastard is.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly clever, you mean.”
“I thought you Fae couldn’t lie.”
“The common fairfolk cannot. Kings get a special dispensation.”
“Through your gods?”
“Through magic. Is it the same thing?”
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about the gods and magic.”
“I wouldn’t, either.” At my incredulous look, he shrugs. “I use magic but it doesn’t mean I understand it any better than you understand the way you breathe and walk.”
That makes sense in a strange way. Another thought hits me and I blink. “What about the seneschal?”
“What about him?”
“Do you trust him?”
“Well, I think his heart is in the right place.” He thumps his fist over his right pec. I forget sometimes what we are taught since we are children, that Faerie is a reversed world, that the Fae have their heart on the right side, that their world is upside down. “But if memory serves, the seneschal had a hand in it.”
“A hand in what?”
Wolf clucks his tongue. “In sending me away.”
“What? No way...”
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing, isn’t that what they say? Let me tell you an expression of ours in return: beware of a sheep living in wolf country.”
***
Sil. The Seneschal. Involved in sending Wolf away, exiled in the human world. My instincts were wrong after all. I chose a traitor to attend to my king.
What did Wolf mean then when he said that Sil’s heart was in the right place? Could it be that it’s a different expression here, with a different meaning?
I decide to ask Wolf but right now he’s rising from the tub into which he allowed the servants to help him, though he refused to let them scrub his back and other parts of him.
It’s stupid but it made me smile, that he’ll only let me touch him everywhere, even when bathing, and nobody else.
He rises from the water naked, no self-consciousness at all. What could he be self-conscious about anyway? He’s gorgeous, from the tips of his ears and his muscular chest and arms to his tapered waist and hips, his thick cock hanging between his strong legs. Even the scars and bruises mottling his skin add to that powerful male beauty of his.
When he glances sideways at me and licks his lips, his eyes heating, it looks like a promise for later.
Hard to recall he almost died from the poison last night when he gazes on me like that, though it will take a long while for the memory to dull. That much I am sure of.
The servants wrap him up in bathing sheets and help him out of the tub, but his eyes return to rest on me, predatory, hot with interest and lust. I want to tell him that he’s not up to it—that Little Wolf isn’t up to it yet, that he needs to rest and recover, regain his strength.
I bite my lip. Who am I to tell this Fae king what he can or cannot do? He fought a horned lion, fought off its poison twice. Here is the man who climbed my tower and then climbed it back down with me on his back.
A Fae, and a king of Faerie, with magic and inhuman strength. I sometimes forget he isn’t a fragile human like me. And if he lets me see his vulnerable side somehow, it’s a privilege. He trusts me, lets me see his weakness.
It makes my heart beat faster, harder for him.
The seneschal enters and bows low. “Majesty. You asked for the finances of the kingdom from the past thirty years.”
“Place them on the table.” Wolf waves a hand at him, not even turning.
“And the book on your family genealogy.”
That gets Wolf’s attention. Wrapping the sheet around himself, he pads over to the table. “You found it.”
“Sire.” Sil bows again, his gaze finding me. I’m not sure how to read his face. “Would you like me to go over the records with you?”
“Not necessary. Dismissed, Sil.”
The seneschal’s eyes widen imperceptibly. “You recalled my name. Sire.”
“Yes.” Wolf seems absorbed in the pages he is turning. “I told you, I recalled a few things.”
“Yes, Sire.” I watch the seneschal’s face carefully and I think now I can read suspicion on his features. “If you remember anything about the riddle and the curse, or your forced exile, will you—?”
“I said you are dismissed,” Wolf says, a heavier note entering his voice, a hint of anger.
Hurriedly, Sil backs out of the room, closing the door.
“Is that wise?” I say.
“Which part?”
“Asking Sil for things that could make him suspect you know more. Treating him in a way that show you suspect him, too.”
“I never said I was wise,” Wolf says, lifting the heavy book from the table and sitting down on a sofa. “Send those servants out. We have some reading to do.”
“We do?”
“Here.” He places the book on my knees the moment I sit beside him, and I do my best to focus on the pages when he’s sitting right beside me, clad only in a wet sheet that’s now fallen to hang loosely around his hips. His wet hair sends droplets raining on my face when he bends his head. “The family legend.”
“Silver Wolf Clan. Descendants of snow Fae (or mountain Fae according to some authors) from the days when the world was young. Affinity to snow and ice. Lycan tendency. Storm and cold magic.” I glance up. “And? What does all this mean?”
“The curse is meant to bring out the true nature of my family. Of myself. I am the curse, Mina. The Empress only took off the seal on my family magic. Liberated it. And I have wreaked havoc on my world.”
“So, what do you want to do about it?”
“Do? I don’t know yet. This is on me. I have to find a solution.”
“This isn’t on you, Wolf! How can it be on you? You didn’t choose to liberate your magic and destroy your kingdom. Stop being melodramatic. You didn’t do this.”
“But I let the Empress do it.”
“Let her?”
“That’s part of my memories. You see...” He sighs quietly, rubs a hand down his face. “Instead of inviting her inside the palace, I denied her entrance. I refused to parlay. She had already killed my parents, though I didn’t know it yet. She had made me king and I hadn’t known, but I said no to everything she offered.”
“But then how is this your fault?”
“She said she was in love with me. And I... I mocked her. Laughed at her from the battlements. Told her she was ugly, that she should never hope for love. And she told me that I have a heart of ice, true to my clan, therefore the day would come when I would become the solitary wolf who runs on the plains and knows not who he is, and then that ice in my heart will spread and take over me.”
“But—”
“I remember now,” he says. “It’s not the one or the other. I was the solitary wolf in the human world, before I knew you, unaware of who I was, like a wild animal. And what comes next is cold oblivion.”
“We will beat the curse,” I say, forcing all my conviction into my voice. “You’re not turning into ice, Wolf, not on my watch. And if I’m fire, then I’ll melt the ice in your heart.”
“My problem is,” he whispers in my ear, draping an arm around me, “is that I think you already have. Maybe you have lifted the curse already.”
But like with everything, if life has ever taught me anything at all, that would have been too simple to be true.