How many nights has my father paced this carpet by the fire? How many times had I walked in to find him leaning against the edge of the fireplace, dark head bent, eyes locked onto the flames?

And it would have been Oren’s father who would have also joined my own, but tonight, it is me that leans against the mantle, and it is Oren who’s boots click across the stones until he is at my side.

The carpet at my feet is worn with the black wolf’s worries, and now it is mine that wears what’s left of the thread.

“You asked to see me, my king.”

I turn, wondering if it’s the right thing, guessing that my father had most likely often wondered the very same. “Do you have it?” I can barely force the words out, such is my anger.

“Yes, my lord.” Oren’s hand opens and there is my mother’s ring.

I take it from him, looking the jewel over in the firelight.

“Was this your order?” I ask, and he takes a step back in surprise.

“My lord?”

“Did you tell your men,” I pause to swallow, closing the ring tightly in my fist. “Did you tell your men to accost my wife? To steal this ring…my mother’s ring that I placed on her finger?”

Oren seems truly horrified by the idea. “No, your grace. Never, your grace. Unless you had commanded it, I would never abuse your wife, or had I known it was going on, I would have intervened.”

I breathe steadily through my nose long moments until I am satisfied that what he says is true. Releasing that burden, I relax slightly. “Can I trust you?” I ask.

I stare deeply into eyes that have always been judgmental of my every move. Oren would not have killed Katarina, of that I am certain. He would not have married a lion. He would not have allowed his own wife to be abused under his own roof. He would not have torn his kingdom in two the very same day he became king.

But Oren is not king.

I am.

“Of course, sire.”

I narrow my gaze. “I do not mean in the wolf way. The pack. I mean can I trust you with everything, Oren? Will you be the man that my father hoped you’d be? Your father was his first in command, his first line of defense, his everything. Now, after the battle, he has resigned and offered his position to you. I would give it to you freely and have no regrets, if only I could know, truly, how much I can trust you.”

“With your life,” he says, fist at his heart.

I smile, but it holds no humor. Looking at my mother’s ring again, I say, “Then it is not mine I ask for.”

His face changes. Oren knows what I mean. “The queen,” he says.

“The queen. And she will remain as such despite the rumors.”

“You can’t be serious.”

I turn to find who had spoken. Emilie is there in the shadows. Her eyes have the glint of a wolf ready to change. She stalks forward, and at first, I think she means to argue, but instead she bows. “I mean, your grace. You can’t be serious.”

I breathe deeply. “The lions killed my father. That is true. And we don’t know who had a hand in it, but neither do they. I have read a letter from Crede, and he’s no reason to lie to Liana. They were unaware.”

“But still---” I give Emilie a look that wilts her where she stands.

“I have already tasked you both with finding the truth of my father’s death. And I believe you will. But that does not mean I will accept a questioning of my command. I cannot.”

“Oren,” I say, turning toward him. “Can I trust you to protect her? With your life if need be.”

“I…I…” his shoulders slump in defeat.

“My father wanted this, Oren. If not for me, for him. Would you let the great black wolf down?”

His eyes fill. “I will protect her, sire. If you ask.”

Tension leaves my body. The thought of Liana’s bruises, her attack, it had rocked me to my core. Imagining her not recovered, but rather cold and dead alongside my father had been too much to bear.

I know her speech about protecting me is only half right. She feels guilt, and rightly so, because her pride would, of course, feel nothing for the loss of a lowly wolf king. Liana, only days ago, would have been just as indifferent to our plight. As long as the memory and coldness of the wolves have been, the brutality and ambitions of the lions have met them with the same amount of stubborn and willful fatalisms. Unwillingness to heal our realms of the lines drawn in ancient times has cost us both dearly, but we’ve never sought a way to ease such pains.

Until now.

But we, the wolves, are in more pain now than ever, and Liana must know it. It’s not right, but it’s not wrong. But her abuse…I’ve raged silently inside since learning of it.

And now our guilt is shared. Cuffed together in more than simple vows, Liana and I now have pain in common. And I sense that this is only the beginning.