Anything but the truth

Following Genevive through the wooden gate into the Castle grounds beyond, Wynter was shocked to find Fenrir standing close to the wall. Why hadn’t he simply visited her himself? She stumbled in her steps through the gate, letting the wooden archway swing closed behind her.

He was just as beautiful as she remembered. Visions of him, the memory of their night together had haunted her sleep. She’d told herself that she was simply imagining the best of the man. But to see him out in the summer light, she knew that was a disservice. She pulled in a breath, quivering as she took him in.

He was dressed simply in a white shirt and dark breeches. His feet pushed into boots. His broad shoulders bunched as he held his hands behind his back, his dark blue eyes intent and scrutinising.

‘Thank you for meeting with me,’ his voice was a low rumble, like thunder approaching over the mountain.

Wynter flicked a glance at Genevive as the Cook smirked and made her way back through the grounds, towards the castle.

‘I get the feeling that I didn’t have much choice,’ Wynter replied. She set her bow against the gate and checked her sword around her hip. Shadow whined, hopping down from the slung to curl up at the door. His nose pressed to his tail. ‘I thought that I wasn’t supposed to come into the grounds?’ She challenged and looked up at the man.

She was unsettled after her talk with Falcon. There really was a curse. Fenrir had promised to tell her about it, but he hadn’t gotten around to it. Not between slipping away the morning after they’d made love, and making his threats if she strayed into the Hart Wood. Wynter forced herself to rein in her frustration. She was grateful for the threat’s he’d made. But why hadn't he just told her the truth?

‘Not without an escort,’ he corrected, ‘and I’m here to escort you.’

‘Lucky me,’ Wynter lent back against the wall, arms folded over her chest.

He scowled at her in reply, ‘I get the feeling that you’re not happy to see me?’

‘You didn’t tell me about the curse,’ she met his eyes without hesitation, ‘don’t tell me that you didn't’ have a chance. You’ve had half a moon to visit and tell me- what, what is it?’ She stared at him. She’d mentioned the curse and he’d frozen. Pausing in his breath. He’d been moving, as though to reach out to her, but he hesitated. His large hand dropped to his side.

‘If you’re such an expert in the curse,’ he replied, voice tight. Dropping an octave in a way that made a shiver run through her body, ‘then why don’t you tell me what you know?’

‘Only if you share your own knowledge,’ Wynter looked down along the wall that ran along the Castle grounds, disappearing between the forest that boarded it on both sides.

‘Then an exchange,’ Fenrir growled back, ‘I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.’

‘Fair,’ Wynter looked back at the man, bending to stroke Shadow’s back as the puppy whined again, trying to hide his nose beneath his own clumsy paw. Keeping the shadow of the gate rather than venture forth into the elaborate gardens and grounds.

‘I’m waiting,’ Fenrir gestured with an open palm before folding his arms across his chest.

‘There is a curse in the Hart Wood,’ Wynter told him, ‘a Prince of the region pissed off a witch, and she cursed him. Your ancestors must really be something, because the curse still lives in the forest, and everyone who enters the Hart Wood, risks their lives.’

‘I see,’ Fenrir nodded, slowly, ‘you seem to be an expert in the curse so suddenly,’

‘I met a woman, Falcon.’

‘Falcon?’ Fenrir was surprised by the name, his gaze narrowing.

‘I see that you know her?’ Wynter stepped forward towards the man. She wanted to challenge him, to unsettle him the way he unsettled her. Just looking at him made her feel less sure of herself. Uncertain in her own body. Like she might melt under his gaze, being near Fenrir made her heart beat too fast and her mouth feel dry and her palms sweaty. She felt like a girl in the first blush of youth, filled with desires she didn’t know how to fulfil.

But she did know how to fulfil them these days. She knew just how good it could be with Fenrir too. She swallowed her nerves, hiding them behind her boldness. The Prince was a dangerous man and it was best to keep him at arms’ length.

‘Falcon is a dangerous Woman,’ Fenrir warned and stepped closer. Wynter turned away from him, walking away from the door and where Shadow curled up. She stretched out her arms and legs, trying to ease the tension in her body.

‘She’s not really a woman at all, is she?’ Wynter looked back at him, ‘and I suspect you know that too.’

‘Whire is a place that attracts power,’ Fenrir caught up with her easily. His long strides matching her own. ‘If you want to know the truth, then yes. Falcon is a Goddess, and you can trust some of what she says. But Immortals have their own agendas and you’ll never know it, before it’s too late to back out.’

‘Well I don’t trust anyone, so consider me safe,’ she turned to him. Angry, but not at the man before her she realised. Angry at the depth of her own scars and lack of trust. She was closed, she realised. To experiences and to friendships. She didn’t even trust Gaz and the man had been nothing but kind to her.

‘Why is that, Wynter?’ Fenrir demanded. He moved, cutting off her stride unless she wanted to walk into him. She stopped in his shadow and looked up at the man. Scowling, ready to give him some fast-tongued answer and push him away. To keep him away.

‘No,’ he growled and the hairs lifted on the back of her neck, ‘we made an agreement and I answered your questions and you will answer mine.’

Damnit. Hadn’t he been asking questions all along? She thought they’d exchanged knowledge already. She frowned, thinking back over the conversation and realised that he was right. He had baited his trap and she’d fallen into it.

‘Why are you here, Wynter? Why are you hiding in the Whire? I have reports that you took out three of the Kings’ Guard last night, barely raising a finger. You’re strong, competent and you’re more than just a huntress wandering the wilderness. If that was true, then you’d already be on your way. But you’re frightened of something, or someone.’ He had moved closer and closer towards her.

Standing toe to toe, he blocked out all the light and warmth from the sun and cast her in the shade. She shivered in her thin shirt. Tired, Wynter told herself. She was just tired or she wouldn’t have been pulled into this stupid verbal sparring match with the Prince. And he was a Prince, something she needed to remember.

Even if every time she saw him, she felt as though they’d moved past formalities. That was a mistake she’d made with Malachi. Not one she would make again.

‘You owe me the truth,’ he pressed and she grit her back teeth before looking up. She squared her shoulders, trying to think of a way to escape without answering. Because it was pitiful and pathetic. If she was so wonderful, strong, capable, then how come she’d ended up like she had? Frightened and alone…

Wynter took another breath, looking away.

‘Why are you hiding?!’ He demanded and the anger seemed to roll from him in waves, ‘why won’t you leave me and the Whire alone?!’

She took a step back, staring up at him. Was that really the truth of what he wanted? He wanted her to leave, to be away from him and out of his protection.

‘I was leaving you alone,’ she saw her opportunity to exit the conversation. His fists were clenched at his sides, pulse thumping in the side of his neck. ‘I’ve been no where near you, and had no intention of seeing you again!’ Wynter snapped, ‘you asked to see me!’

‘And you will tell me,’ he demanded, ‘you will answer my questions because I know that you won’t break your promises.’

‘Oh you don’t know me at all,’ she laughed then, bitter. ‘I’ve broken plenty of promises.’ She’d broken promises to Malachi. She’d sworn to be faithful to him, to stay with him always. To be his, to love him till the end of the world. She had been a fool. But before Malachi she’d promised to be a good and dutiful daughter. She’d broken those promises too.

Fenrir didn’t look any less frustrated, but he smirked, ‘the magic of the Whire will make sure that you keep your promise to answer, Wynter. Tell me. Why are you here?’

She did the only thing she could think of, the only thing that could distract him and stop him asking. Wynter moved forward, grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him forward towards her. Kissing him hard on the lips. Anything, anything was better than admitting the past and spilling her secrets.