The savage and the swan

His mouth opened, long tongue peeking out, and then he sat, though his head still loomed over mine. Unable to stop myself, I reached out with a tentative hand, watching those eyes to see if he’d snap, and when he merely waited, I gently stroked his mane. Instantly, my fingers disappeared inside the impossibly soft white fur, and I pulled them back with a start.

Dade licked his lips, and I looked away, stabbing into a piece of lamb with my fork. “You should probably lie down, unless you want me to stand.” As always, he was too close, too huge, and far too much for such a confined space.

He did, and I stopped myself from balking at the sign of submission.

A wolf king at the feet of a swan.

It took great effort to keep my hand steady as I delivered the fork to his mouth, which now sat nearly level with my chest, and his ears pulled back, as did his head.

I scowled. “You don’t like lamb? I don’t believe you.”

He huffed and swung his eyes to my free hand. It dawned then. Of course, he didn’t want me to use a fork. He wanted me to hand-feed him.

My stomach sank as I glanced at that mouth, the ginormous dagger flooded darkness within that would shred my entire hand in under a second. Dade stared at me, waiting, knowing I was at war with myself yet again and offering me something he wasn’t used to giving anyone else.

Patience.

He wouldn’t hurt me, I reminded myself. The bond we shared made that nearly impossible. At least, he wouldn’t hurt me physically.

My heart, my feelings, did not fall under that protect at all costs mentality—for he hadn’t a heart of his own. But when his nose gently nudged my hand, I wondered if somewhere behind those watching blue eyes, he was now learning that mine must be protected too.

So I picked up a piece of lamb, and with it in the palm of my hand, offered it to the king.

A flash of something moved behind those eyes before he lowered his head and gently licked the meat from my hand with his soft tongue. But when I made to pick another piece up, he grunted, and I sighed before snatching my fork to take two bites of my own meal, which had now grown cool but no less delicious, the beans soaked in a glazed caramelized onion sauce.

We continued in this fashion until all that remained were the vegetables. I set the plate upon the floor. “You can lick those up yourself,” I said, smiling when he released an irritated breath.

He ate, and satisfied, I helped myself to a glass of water, then tipped some into a small bread dish upon the tray after placing the tiny bread rolls onto my empty plate.

Though the size of his nose made it difficult, the king still lapped all the water from the bowl, but turned his head when I offered him more.

The following morning, the king refused breakfast but agreed to eat lunch. Of course. Meat and vegetables in this form were probably all he’d tolerate. The porridge would only make him ill.

That evening, the king dozing before the fireplace, I ran myself a bath after di

I should’ve known he’d protest at the wooden barrier and bust it open at the first sound of pain that left my mouth. Still, I slid inside the warm depths, vanilla-scented bubbles frothing near my chin, and gritted my teeth.

I’d barely noticed the healing wounds upon my back, the numerous tiny yet deep cuts that had nearly healed, until the water reminded me of how many feathers I’d be missing when I next shifted. I was almost too afraid to find out, praying that enough time would pass before I did and that many would have grown back beforehand.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled. Peeling the bandages from my arms, I set them over the ledge and selected a sponge from the windowsill to carefully drag over the healing wounds. “You can leave now.”

We both knew he’d do no such thing. He slumped to the ground right outside the bathing room, his head almost filling the doorway.

I sighed but finished washing before allowing myself a moment to just sit inside the warm, creamy water and breathe. A wet nose at my arm roused me from sleep, and I forced myself not to startle at the sight of Dade’s narrowed gaze inches from mine.

“Okay,” I said, righting myself in the tub and then remembering I was naked. It didn’t matter that he was a horned beastly wolf, nor that he’d seen me naked before, I still ordered, “I’ll get out if you give me the privacy to do so.”

He stared at me in a way that could only be described as mocking, then took his time turning in the small space and heading back into the bedroom.

He didn’t close the door, but when I looked over my shoulder before climbing out, I couldn’t see him. Wrapped in a cloth, I padded from the bathing room to the large robe in the next and selected a peach satin nightgown that fell to my knees.

Dade was slumbering upon the floor, one eye flicking open as I dragged a comb through my damp hair while walking back to the bed. I set it upon the nightstand, then gingerly pushed my legs underneath the bedding and listened to the wind howl outside, unable to sleep.

The thorns upon the vines clattered into the windows, the fire in the hearth guttering.

“Dade,” I eventually whispered, not sure if he was asleep, if he ever truly slept while in my rooms. “Your uncle is being held somewhere, I assume. You can come back now.”

He said nothing, and after some moments of staring at the ceiling, light and dark throwing each other into the shadows of the moon, I knew it didn’t matter if the threat was contained.

Scythe was right. The king wouldn’t return until he was ready—until he’d spent enough time alone with his anger and shame and whatever else ailed that dark, strange mind.

I had to wonder if maybe he wouldn’t come back until I’d forgiven him. And maybe I could forgive him this, but there were too many other things I could not.

In any case, Scythe’s visit had been more than a mere message about his uncle that anyone could have delivered. It had been a checking in of sorts. Dade was a king, a tyrant but still a king, and this kingdom was now without one and an advisor until he chose to come back.

I had a feeling his uncle and advisor, the same male who could now not be trusted in the king’s eyes, was the one who’d govern in the king’s absence. Which left his most trusted warriors, the same warriors who liked to bed females in a ballroom under many a watchful eye while others gambled and drank themselves stupid.

I might not have known them well, but I knew that Scythe and Fang were ill-equipped to hold this place together for weeks. They’d likely never had to do such a thing before.

Dade had to know that, had to be well aware of that, given all else he was so keenly aware of in this form, yet…

“Dade,” I whispered again, harsher this time.

He sat up, eyes bright in the dark, horns dipped in moonlight.

I was crazy, most certainly. A fool for the way I cared when this would be an opportune time to take advantage of this murderous king. To swoop in and take back some of what he’d stolen from me and so many others. I could alert what remained of our forces—could send word to the human kingdom—if I could somehow leave this room or get a message out of Vordane.

But none of those things were possible, even if I could do them.

He would chase me. Wherever I went, whatever I did, he would know, and he would follow.

Nevertheless, I would continue with this asinine quest. But I was selfish, so I’d take advantage of this king while also feeding my starving heart—this invisible need that would inevitably be my end.