Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,23
lesser fae and high fae—then his wolf form must be unseelie, and his humanoid form must be seelie. Until now, I assumed the fae were strictly one or the other, not capable of shapeshifting between the two at will. That goes far beyond the glamours I’ve heard about. Why wasn’t any of this mentioned in the pamphlet I read when we gained citizenship to Faerwyvae?
I take a small sip of water, determined to finish my meal as slowly as possible; I’ve already learned something from this conversation, which tells me I could find out even more if I keep the boy talking. “What’s your name?”
He lifts his chin in defiance. “We don’t have names.”
I furrow my brow. “Why is that?”
His lip quivers for a moment, before he says, “We don’t remember them. His Majesty calls me Scrappy.” The last word is muttered so quietly, I almost miss it.
However, I’m fixated on the term His Majesty. “And who is this royal majesty you speak of?”
“The king,” the boy says like it should be obvious.
“Who exactly is…the king?”
His eyes widen. “You already talked to him. He’s the Unseelie King of the Winter Court.”
I pause with a piece of bread halfway to my mouth. The boy looks fully serious, but he can’t be. This is just another part of the game, a crew of trickster fae with false personas. “Let me guess. The white wolf with three legs? The alpha male who walks with a staff?”
The boy nods.
“He isn’t actually the king though, right?”
“No, he’s the actual king.” He crosses his arms, jutting his lower lip. “I can’t lie, lady.”
The blood leaves my face. I avert my gaze to my tray, taking a keen interest in my next piece of bread while I puzzle over the information I’ve gained. The fae may not be able to lie, but does that count if one believes false information? Surely, that grizzled creature is not the king. My new king. I go over everything I’ve heard about the royals of Faerwyvae, particularly the Winter Court. I know each court is ruled by two royals, a seelie and unseelie king or queen, and all humans and fae living in that court owe allegiance to both. Either can be petitioned, but as I understand it, most humans deal with either the seelie ruler or the court’s human representative. But even if humans have little to do with the unseelie king, wouldn’t the people of Vernon know if he lived nearby? That he’s a wolf? Looks like a crazed mountain man? And what about his name? I’m sure it’s been mentioned…
My mind draws a blank.
It reminds me of when Imogen and I were talking yesterday. She mentioned that little is known about the unseelie king, but when she went on to say more, she just stopped talking and seemed a bit lost for a moment. I thought nothing of it then, but now…what in the name of the saints is going on here?
I chew my bread and wash it down with more water. “So, when you say you don’t remember your names, does that include the king?”
He nods.
“Then how do you know he’s truly the king?”
The boy shrugs, unconcerned. “We just know. He’s been king forever. Longer than that, probably.”
I eye him through slitted lids. “So, you remember he’s the king, but not his name. How is that so?”
Another shrug. “It’s the curse. Curses are stupid and they do stupid stuff.”
I tilt my head back. “Wait, the curse?”
“Yeah, are you gonna eat that?” His eyes are locked on the last bit of bread.
Part of me wants to continue eating so I can keep him here longer, extend our conversation. I still have plenty of water left for that purpose, though. “Go ahead.”
He takes the remaining bread and stuffs it in his mouth whole.
I lean forward. “So, about this curse.”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” he says, words muffled through bread.
“Surely, it affects you too.”
“Yup.”
“How, exactly, does it affect you?”
He releases a grumble. “It’s so boring and dumb.”
I bat my lashes. “And yet, I’d love to hear about it.”
“Fine.” He plops down, folding his legs beneath him. But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, a knock sounds at the door, sending him scrambling back to his feet. He yanks the tray from my lap and nearly throws it on the ground in his haste, then moves to the back of the chair to replace my bindings. Thankfully, he doesn’t tie them nearly as tight as whoever