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  “Gareth, stop!” Ilyssa shouted.

  While it might have helped to stun the enemy, it would have also incapacitated Alaric. She targeted one of the Werewolves but before she could fire off a shot, a white-furred hand knocked the pistol from her grip.

  Ilyssa turned to see Karolyn, lips pulled back to reveal a mouth full of sharp teeth.

  “You should have stayed hidden,” the Werewolf snarled. “And your precious Prince Alaric is a fool if he thinks there will ever be peace between the races – as long as I have the diadem, it will never happen!”

  Grabbing Ilyssa by the throat, Karolyn lifted her off her feet and flung her toward the wagon.

  Ilyssa landed hard. Spooked by the gunshot, growls, and the clang of steel, the draft horse let out a shriek and reared up, causing the cart to shift. Ilyssa managed to roll out of the way before she could be crushed under a wheel. She scrambled up and found herself right behind Alaric, now down to just one opponent and covered in blood.

  Ilyssa looked around for Karolyn and found her just as she plunged her knife into Simm’s chest. Oh, no, Ilyssa thought, not Simm!

  The Werewolf then set her sights on Velerie and Marten, currently trading blows with the two Emberi Humans. Determined, Ilyssa leapt in front of her.

  “I don’t know how you came by that diadem,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter because you’re never going to get the chance to use it!”

  Ilyssa raised her second pistol and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Karolyn’s shoulder. The Werewolf let out an enraged howl but it did not stop her. Ilyssa knew she had no time to reload. Flinging down her gun, she drew her dagger and prepared to fight.

  The whistle of an arrow cut through the night, followed by the thud of impact as it met its intended target. Ilyssa saw Karolyn stop. She heard a second arrow, and Karolyn jerked. The Werewolf staggered, blinked, and then dropped to the ground. Two crossbow bolts protruded from her back. Surprised, Ilyssa looked up – and beheld a familiar face smiling at her from a few feet away.

  “Kristof!” She smirked. “Does Lenora know you’re here?”

  “Who do you think sent me?”

  An anguished yelp caught Ilyssa’s attention. She spun around to see Alaric on his knees, struggling against the furred arm locked around his neck from behind.

  He needs help! Spying Simm’s sword lying beside his body, Ilyssa snatched up the weapon, let out a roar, and charged. She drove the blade into the enemy Werewolf’s side and gave a twist for good measure. That did the trick. He released his hold on Alaric and fell over, dead before he hit the ground.

  “Alaric?” Ilyssa knelt beside him. Reaching out, she ran her fingers through the blood-soaked fur on his cheek. He was panting and coughing, one clawed hand rubbing at his throat. His lupine features receded and he became a man again.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He looked up at her and offered a weak smile. “I’ve been better,” he croaked. “Don’t worry – my people heal quickly.”

  He managed to get to his feet and she steadied him. Scanning the area, he took in the aftermath of the fight.

  “Mother Goddess,” he muttered, taken aback, “what are they doing?”

  Ilyssa turned to see Barto, Gareth and Velerie searching the corpses and removing anything of value – jewelry, coins – that they could find.

  “We do what we have to do, in order to survive. We sell off what we can or use it to barter for goods, food and other necessities.”

  “But, scavenging the dead…”

  “Yes, they’re dead. Which means they’re not going to need those things anymore.”

  Ilyssa looked at Alaric again. “Don’t judge.”

  Despite having three Werewolves on their side, all the delegates from Emberi now lay dead. Kristof tended to Marten, who had sustained a bad injury but would recover. They loaded him onto the wagon next to Simm’s body in preparation to return to camp, and then tossed their slain enemies into the river and let the strong current carry them away.

  Ilyssa found the box containing the diadem. She opened it, staring at the gleaming gold crown etched with symbols from a time long forgotten. A pale stone set in front shimmered in the darkness.

  “White moonstone,” she said, brushing her fingertips over the jewel with great reverence.

  “It’s said that when a person born of Emberi wears the Diadem of Akara, regardless of bloodline they’re granted instant control over the entire kingdom.” She shook her head. “Total power and unquestioned command…even over the king, himself. That’s why they keep it locked away, you know.”

  She frowned. “So what was a Werewolf doing with it? Even if she did have some kind of special connection to King Willem, I doubt he would ever trust someone of her kind with the diadem’s location.”

  “Perhaps she knew Willem better than she let on,” Alaric said.

  Ilyssa looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she never told me so herself, but all things considered…I’m now beginning to suspect that she may have been married to his son.”

  The revelation took Ilyssa by surprise, and not in a good way. Word of Prince Selvin’s untimely passing had reached them last year, when a group from the tribe had returned from trading in Emberi. The news had come as a shock to everyone previously affiliated with that kingdom.

  “I remember hearing about the wedding five years ago,” Ilyssa murmured. “I had no idea he had taken a Werewolf as a bride. I can’t imagine King Willem was particularly thrilled about that.”

  A wistful smile tugged at her lips. “I know they had a child, too. A half-Werewolf granddaughter, heir to the Emberi throne.”

  “Being the mother of said heir would explain why she remained a member of the royal family after her husband’s death,” Alaric pointed out. “That could also explain how she knew about the diadem.”

  “It doesn’t explain why she was going to give it to you, though,” Ilyssa said. “It has to be worn by someone born of Emberi. That would have included her, if Emberi was her birthplace. She could have used the diadem to take control of Emberi, and then if you and she had married…”

  “…By law, my father would have to abdicate the throne, thus giving me full reign over Lobishome,” Alaric finished.“And she and I would have issued a decree of peace.” He shook his head. “But none of that can happen, now.”

  “No,” Ilyssa said. “As soon as he discovers the diadem is missing and that you have it, King Willem will send his armies to attack Lobishome and take it back. When he finds out we killed his daughter-in-law? Werewolf or not, she was still a member of the royal family, and for that we’ll all be put to death.” She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Alaric. It looks like we’ve ruined any chance of seeing the prophecy come to fruition.”

  She started to close the box. Alaric shot out a hand and stopped her.

  “Actually,” he said, “there might be one more chance left. All we would have to do is find another person born of Emberi to wear the diadem.”

  Removing the crown from its bed of silk, he placed it on Ilyssa’s head. “Well, look at that: a perfect fit.”

  Ilyssa could have sworn her heart stopped beating the moment he set the diadem on her head. Surprise gave way to frustration.

  “Are you insane?” she demanded. “I swear you’re turning out to be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  Snatching off the crown, she stuffed it back into the box and snapped the lid shut.

  “Since I met you, I’ve acted without consulting my tribe. I put my people at risk and wound up losing one. I killed a man. And now I’m an accomplice to the murder of a member of the royal family, whose body I sent floating downstream. And this was all supposed to be in the name of peace?” She gave a hollow laugh. “I’m sorry, Alaric, but it just feels like it’s all been one mistake after another, and I can’t allow it to go any further.”

  “I noticed you didn’t include my marking you as one of those ‘mistakes,’” he said s
oftly. “Do you regret that, as well?”

  “Do you?” she fired back.

  “This isn’t about how I feel,” he told her, keeping his voice low and level. He gazed down into her eyes. “But if it helps, I do share your regret for the loss of life. I also know that you were right about the ambush, and if I had come alone I would be dead.”

  Ilyssa remembered what Karolyn had said to her about never seeing peace between their races as long as she had the diadem.

  “She had always planned to kill you,” Ilyssa said. “She probably just wanted to show you the diadem and let you know she was going to use it to make sure the prophecy would never be realized.”

  “But she had married a Human,” Alaric said. “Her child is both Human and Werewolf, the living embodiment of what we wanted to achieve.”

  “What you wanted to achieve,” Ilyssa corrected. “It’s clear she didn’t share your passion.”

  “But you do.” Alaric stepped in closer to her. “You left Emberi for that very reason. Now you have an opportunity to change your homeland, to make it more to your liking – a place of harmony, not hypocrisy. Your tribe could return with you and live there free of persecution for their beliefs – unless they prefer to stay in the forest, at which point you could offer them sanctuary in the woodlands of Emberi. They would never have to steal again, or worry if they’ll survive another winter.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

  “Consider it, won’t you?”

  “Right now, the only thing I’m considering is returning to camp, crawling into bed, and sleeping the whole day through. I’m too exhausted for anything else.”

  A sharp whistle caught their attention. They looked over and saw Barto standing up in the back of the wagon; Kristof sat on the bench holding the reins and Velerie sat beside him.

  “Sun’s coming up.” Barto pointed down at Marten. “We also have a man slowly bleeding out, over here. You planning on riding back with us, or would you just rather walk?”

  “Be right there,” Ilyssa called back. She turned back to Alaric. “All right,” she muttered, “let’s do this. I just hope it’s not going to turn into the biggest mistake of all.”

  “It is whatever you choose to make of it.”

  Chapter Five

  The central city of Lobishome’s vast kingdom stood in the embrace of the Crescent Mountains, a semi-circle of high, mist-enshrouded peaks rising up from a valley now rich with the vibrant colors of autumn and reflected beautifully in the clear, spring-fed waters of Lake Amboadia.

  Ilyssa had always admired the sight of it in all the times she would travel in to visit the marketplace. But the splendor of Lobishome had always dimmed in her eyes when she would see the way the Werewolf residents had looked at her, noses wrinkled in disgust at the smell of a strange Human coming into their territory. She wondered what they would think of her, now.

  Of course, she did have Alaric’s scent on her. Two days ago, she had consented to sex with a man she did not know, allowing him to mark her before they rode into a situation that had ended as badly as she had predicted it would. She had killed a man, another Werewolf, to protect Alaric. And now, as they rode into his kingdom in the same coach she had found him in that fateful night, Ilyssa could feel the weight of one of her people’s greatest treasures resting upon her head.

  Ilyssa had awakened that morning to discover Kristof had sent Barto back to Lobishome with a message for Alaric’s personal driver, to request a ride back to the kingdom. Included in this request had been an order for clean attire, including the clothes Ilyssa now wore.

  “I still don’t know how you got my sizes correct,” she said, looking over at Alaric. “This dress is a perfect fit.”

  “That’s because I sent along the clothing you had been wearing the night before,” he replied. “I told Farndale to find something similar.”

  “You sent Barto off with my dirty clothes? The ones covered in blood from that Werewolf I ran through with a sword?” She snorted and shook her head. “I’d like to know what Farndale thought, when he saw that…”

  Alaric smiled. “Farndale is one of my most trusted men. If it helps, I did assure him it was not my blood.”

  Reaching over, he took her hand and curled his fingers around it. “Relax. Everything will be fine.”

  “Let’s see if you say that after I meet your father.” Ilyssa tugged at the silk skirt. “I haven’t worn a dress in years. My legs feel so naked right now.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Alaric told her softly.

  He lifted his other hand and swept her hair back off her shoulder to expose the lightly freckled skin. Ilyssa had to fight back the urge to shudder at the pleasant tingle that coursed through her with that simple, gentle touch.

  “Trust me, it will be all right.”

  “People who say ‘trust me’ a lot are usually the ones you should trust the least,” Ilyssa said with a smirk.

  She looked at him, his eyes just a normal amber color in daylight. “Trust isn’t something I give easily. I keep a tight grip on it. Normally, it takes a person weeks to earn it. But you?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is about you. I’ve been trying to find some rational explanation but nothing comes to me.”

  “Maybe your friend is right.” Alaric arched an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I’ve bewitched you with my ‘dark magic.’”

  Ilyssa rolled her eyes and shoved at him. “Shut up,” she muttered, but she still had to smile.

  She felt so comfortable with him. She could push at him like she did with Barto whenever the tracker made one of his bad jokes. She could argue with him as she sometimes did with Kristof but not feel any long-lasting resentment.

  Alaric possessed another quality Ilyssa admired: compassion. When they had returned to camp following their skirmish with Karolyn and her men, the tribe had gathered around to mourn the death of one of their own. Alaric had been the one to carry Simm’s body down the path to the place where they conducted their funerals, and had placed him upon the pyre with the reverence one shows a fallen warrior. He had stayed with them as they had lit the fire and bowed his head in respectful silence as the tribe had joined in singing a dirge to send their comrade’s spirit on its way. Upon returning to camp, Ilyssa had offered him to join her in her hut, knowing he had to be tired and in need of rest, but Alaric had given a polite refusal before making his way back to the storage room that had been his holding cell. Ilyssa had checked on him once and found him asleep on the bedroll.

  He confused her as much as he moved her. Maybe it’s instinct, she realized. Maybe we really are descended from the Mother Goddess’ children, and it’s the ancient forces drawing us back together and making us trust one another.

  She looked at him, so handsome in his blue brocade coat and pale gray breeches, his black hair tied back with a ribbon the same shade of emerald green as her dress. She had heard that Werewolves could only see a limited number of colors, green being one. She had to wonder if he had asked for it specifically when he made the request.

  Farndale drove the carriage up to the front gates of the palace, which the guards opened to let them pass through. Ilyssa had seen it before from afar; now, getting her first real look at it, she found it to be one of the most magnificent structures of all the kingdoms she had ever visited, combined.

  The coach stopped in front of the main doors. Ilyssa reached up and pulled down the veil of cream-colored lace that covered her head. According to Alaric, Lobishome custom decreed that a woman being presented before the king for the first time be covered and then later revealed at the appropriate moment.

  “I hope that’s another practice you’ll abolish, once you take the throne,” she had said. “Workers aren’t property to be branded like livestock, and women no matter how beautiful are not works of art to be unveiled before an audience.”

  “Duly noted,” Alaric had replied. “You see? You were born to wear that diadem. You’re already restructuring t
he laws.”

  Farndale opened the door and Alaric climbed out first. He offered his hand again, and this time Ilyssa accepted it without hesitation. Together, they ascended the steps. Servants lined the polished marble and gold corridors, bowing in respectful greeting to their returning prince. When they reached the Great Hall, six trumpeters announced their arrival. Warm autumn sunshine filtered in through tall windows, and a cool breeze from the mountains caused the court banners to curl and dance as though in celebration. As they passed the courtiers, Ilyssa could hear them whispering.

  “A Human!”

  “Who is she?”

  “Where is she from?”

  Ilyssa looked up through the lace and saw King Mardell. A swarthy, older man with raven hair and a neat black beard shot through with silver, he wore robes of black accented with the same blue as Alaric’s coat, and a gold crown upon his head. Ilyssa could see Alaric in his father’s features, but she could also see them in his late mother, represented by a beautiful tapestry on the wall behind the throne. Mardell rose from his ornate chair and descended the dais steps, arms open to receive Alaric.

  “My son,” he said, smiling as he embraced the prince.

  “Father.” They separated, still holding onto each other’s arms. “Forgive me for not telling you of my departure from the kingdom, but I had wanted this to be a surprise.”

  He stepped back and turned, motioning Ilyssa forward. “Father, may I present to you the woman I have chosen to be my bride.”

  The king looked at Alaric, his thick brows coming together in a frown. “While I have waited many years for this day,” he said, “I must admit I am somewhat…perplexed.”

  Because your Werewolf son has come home with a Human woman, Ilyssa thought, smirking behind the veil. She knew they could all tell by her scent that she wasn’t one of their kind. She glanced around, noting all the possible exits, as well as the number of guards she would have to fend off if the king decided his son had to be out of his mind and ordered them to seize her.

  Mardell moved toward Ilyssa. For her part, she stood her ground, just as she had during her first conversation with Alaric. The king reached out for the veil’s hem, lifted it up and draped it back over her head. His eyes, a darker color closer to smoky quartz, widened when he saw what she sported.