Petition

Wynter felt whatever calm she’d managed to keep hold of, slipping through her fingers. More guests at the castle? She could make a guess as to who that was.

‘I’m busy,’ Fenrir snapped at Dorien, returning to his seat upon the throne. He looked at her, meeting her gaze for a brief moment before looking back to the Knight. ‘Detain them in the drawing room. I will hear their business.’

‘Your Highness,’ Dorien nodded in deference before vanishing from the room once more. The heavy door clicked behind him and Wynter turned back to face the Prince once more. She felt sick. He hadn’t given his answer to her petition and yet they were already here.

Malachi had caught her up, and if Fenrir didn’t offer his protection then she needed to run. Every second counted. She urgently needed an answer. Yet what if pressuring him, changed his mind? She bit the inside of her cheek. Her breath was heavy, laboured.

Ready to run or fight, she could feel the adrenaline flooding her limbs, making them tingle.

She looked up at Fenrir, and it was hard to remember Fin from the night before. Her memory of the man she’d met and shared herself with, lost in the austere Prince who sat, glaring at her. As though he hated her. Had it really been that bad? Had sleeping with her been so awful?

‘You asked for my protection,’ his voice remained a low growl, anger and frustration running like a river through his words, ‘I wish that you hadn’t…’ he paused then. Looking her over once more.

He’d vanished with the night, and his anger was tangible. As certain as if it could paint the air between them in shades of burgundy and black. The colours of his house.

‘Will you give it?’ She challenged and he held her gaze.

‘Have you broken the laws of this country?’

‘No,’ she didn’t back down as she replied, unwavering. It didn’t matter if he hated her, she would still be honest.

‘Your running?’

‘I’m looking for a fresh start,’ she shifted her weight between her feet. ‘I just want to live,’ she breathed. Staying with Malachi meant death. That much was certain. ‘I can be an asset to your house,’ she took a step forward, up the dias once more before freezing in place as his glare intensified.

Wynter couldn’t help glancing back at the door Dorian had appeared through.

‘You’re a soldier?’ He laid his hands on the arms of the chair again, casual and in control. ‘Do you intend to join the King’s Guard?’

‘No…’ she shook head, her lips trembled and she retreated a step back once more. He didn’t want her to get too close. Truly the night before must have been awful for him. She felt ashamed. Deeply ashamed to her core for sharing so much of herself with the man.

Last night she hadn’t been able to regret their actions. Today, in the cold light of day she felt nothing but mortifying remorse. She wrapped her arms across her chest, as though she could remove the memory of her nakedness from his mind.

She felt exposed without her weapons, wishing that they were to hand. Even if she were to run from Malachi, she needed the weapons back to survive.

‘Life here is challenging for the villagers. It’s hard work with little reward. We’re often separate from the rest of Beryn and the trade you might expect to come through,’ Fenrir explained slowly, as though barely reining in his anger. As though he was speaking to a child, ‘our village can’t take on additional mouths to feed.’

‘I’m a huntress,’ she struggled to explain, ‘I can help your village bring in furs and meat from the forest.’

‘The Whire is no place for a stranger to wander!’ He snapped. ‘It’s an ancient and wild woodland, not a tamed copse in Gryff.’

‘You said it was safe enough,’ she replied. A shiver ran through her body, ‘I don’t desire your charity or coin, Highness.’ She deferred to his formal title. Pretending that she knew anything of the man wasn’t going to help her. She needed an answer or she needed to run. She felt as taut as a bow string, pulled too tight. Ready to snap.

‘You said it would be safe, if I didn’t cross the Line drawn through the Roses. I can heed your rules,’ she assured him. Trying to sound firm and confident when she felt anything but. Her entire life and being depended on his answer.

If he cast her back to Malachi or his guard, how would she leave again? It would shatter her. Her eyes burnt with unshed tears in her desperation. I am strong, she reminded herself, I will find a way.

‘These guests,’ Fenrir’s dark blue gaze was narrow as he watched her, critical, ‘you seek protection from them?’

‘I think so,’ she admitted, gripping her ragged shirt more tightly. ‘I’d rather not find out,’ she watched each emotion play out across his features. ‘I want to build a life, your Highness,’ she assured the man.

‘And your intentions towards me?’ He demanded and she was reminded again of the heat that had scorched the night before. Or had it only been in her own imagination? He seemed unaffected when every movement he made, had a flashback playing in her thoughts. Her body remembered how it had felt with him pinning her to the bed. Her lips parted, as she pulled in a shaking breath.

‘I have no intentions towards you,’ she replied softly. ‘We both know that I wasn't innocent,’ she swallowed the lump in her throat. Was this his worry? That she’d claim he’d taken her virginity and demand that he married her. Wynter lifted her head despite the shame that she felt, she’d chosen so poorly in Malachi. It was a mistake that would haunt the rest of her life.

‘I’ll swear it, if you need me to,’ she lifted her chin once more, ‘by a blood oath, or to Sir Dorien - I make no claim on you.’

If anything her answer only seemed to increase his anger and for all her bravado, Wynter knew that she didn’t have the strength to fight him. Not when half her awareness was pinned on the door and the guests who waited beyond.

She retreated back down from the dais, turning her back on the Prince. He wasn’t going to grant the protection. She couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to run.

‘Where are you going?’ His voice snapped like a whip crack in the air and she froze, mid step.

‘I…’ she couldn’t breathe. Her fear of Malachi had been rising over her body like floodwaters lifting. If her fear rose any higher, she’d start drowning in it.

‘You’ve left me no choice, Wynter,’ he growled from his Throne. ‘You will have the protection of my house,’ he lent back in his chair, studying her response. Her knees felt weak, as though they would drop out from beneath her. She stared at him, relief pushing back the tide of terror.

Wynter closed her eyes and turned, curtseying to the man.

‘You have my gratitude,’ she told him with unfailing politeness.

‘I don’t want it,’ he snapped. ‘I want you out of my sight. Go,’ he pointed to a door that led out of the enormous room, ‘follow that down to the kitchen and Genevive. Tell her that you’re setting up in the East Lodge. Dorien will bring your weapons later.’

She nodded quickly, but lingered despite his dismissal.

‘Your guests?’ She had to ask. If she did as he’d commanded, what if she ran into Malachi?

‘I will manage my guests,’ he curled his fingers against the wooden arms, nails dragging against the wood in a way that set her teeth on edge.

‘F-’ she stopped herself from questioning further. From lapsing into familiarity and calling him Fin. Instead she bit her tongue once more and nodded her head before turning. Fleeing from the room before he could change his mind. The side door closing behind her.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to run down the corridor. Was it Malachi? Wynter shuddered, shivering as she lingered on the other side of the door, eyes closed. Her fingers pressed to the wooden panels as she listened.

It wasn’t long before a familiar voice rang out across the throne room.