Chapter Three: The Wolf, the Fae, and the Apple

Dante Lennox received his apple back at precisely two seventeen in the afternoon.

It hit him in the chest.

Hard.

“What the—”

He caught it before it reached the floor.

Laughter erupted throughout the training courtyard.

Dante looked down.

An apple.

Not an apple.

His apple.

Or rather, what remained of it.

Someone had wrapped the bitten half in a pristine white napkin and tied the whole thing with a thin silver ribbon.

Dante slowly looked up.

Princess Amelia Corvo stood twenty feet away.

She was smiling.

Not the diplomatic smile she’d worn while entering Helix.

Not the sweet little expression she’d given him before allowing enough siren power into his name to make his wolf stand at attention.

This smile was victorious.

Dante looked at the apple.

Then at her.

“You threw something at me.”

Amelia clasped her hands innocently in front of her.

“I returned your property.”

“You could’ve handed it to me.”

“You could’ve kept it off my plate.”

Several werewolves nearby laughed.

Dante ignored them.

Mostly.

He started toward her.

Amelia didn’t move.

That was the first thing he’d noticed about her.

She was tiny.

Ridiculously tiny.

He’d known the Corvo princess was short, but photographs hadn’t done it justice.

Five-two, maybe.

She barely reached his chest.

Everything about her looked delicate.

Her wrists.

Her shoulders.

Her waist.

Even her hands.

But she never moved backward.

Not once.

Most people did when Dante approached them.

Amelia Corvo simply lifted her chin higher.

“You tied a ribbon around it.”

“I thought it needed improving.”

Dante looked at the ribbon.

“Silver?”

“It suits you.”

“I’m a werewolf.”

Her green eyes widened theatrically.

“Oh.”

Someone behind him snorted.

Dante stared at her.

Amelia’s mouth twitched.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Silver?”

“Would you have preferred gold?”

“You’re funny.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“No one tells you that.”

Her smile disappeared.

Dante grinned.

“People tell me plenty of things.”

“People tell Princess Amelia Corvo plenty of things.”

That did it.

Something in her expression shifted.

Small.

But Dante caught it.

He shouldn’t have.

He hadn’t meant anything by it.

Well.

Not entirely.

But he’d seen enough royals to recognize the difference between the person and the title.

His own family wasn’t technically royalty, but the Lennox Pack had controlled enough territory for enough generations that the distinction was mostly academic.

Dante knew what it felt like when people laughed because they were supposed to.

Agreed because they were supposed to.

Moved because your last name entered the room before you did.

He looked at Amelia differently.

“Did I offend you?”

“No.”

Lie.

Dante smelled it.

Interesting.

Werewolves couldn’t read minds.

Despite what humans seemed to believe, they couldn’t magically smell every lie either.

But emotions?

Those were different.

Fear had a scent.

Anger.

Desire.

Embarrassment.

Amelia smelled—

Dante stopped himself.

Absolutely not.

He held up the apple.

“Truce?”

Amelia eyed it.

“We’re at war?”

“Apparently.”

“I wasn’t informed.”

“Consider yourself informed.”

“Then why would I agree to a truce?”

Dante smiled.

“There she is.”

Amelia frowned.

“Who?”

“The princess.”

Her eyes hardened.

Wrong answer.

Before Dante could correct himself, another voice interrupted.

“Your Highness.”

Amelia immediately turned.

A woman approached from the opposite side of the courtyard.

Tall.

Dark-skinned.

Beautiful.

And armed.

Very armed.

Dante recognized her immediately.

Lieutenant Samira Voss.

One of the Corvo Crown Guard.

The woman had reportedly killed three rogue vampires during the Marseille Incident without ever dropping the royal child she’d been carrying out of the building.

Dante had always assumed the story was exaggerated.

Looking at her now—

maybe not.

“Your combat assessment begins in six minutes,” Samira said.

Amelia’s shoulders dropped.

“I know.”

“You were instructed to report ten minutes early.”

“I’m here.”

“You are standing in a courtyard arguing with a werewolf.”

Dante raised the apple.

“Peace negotiations.”

Samira looked at him.

Dante lowered the apple.

“Never mind.”

Amelia bit her lip.

Samira’s gaze returned to her.

“Your Highness.”

“I’m coming.”

Amelia started away.

Then stopped.

She turned toward Dante.

Her eyes dropped to the apple.

“If you put that on my plate again, I’ll have it dipped in actual silver.”

Dante laughed.

“There she is.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and walked away.

Dante watched her.

Samira noticed.

Of course she did.

She stopped beside him.

“Lord Lennox.”

“Lieutenant.”

“If you continue looking at Her Highness that way, you and I will eventually have a conversation.”

Dante’s eyebrows rose.

“What way?”

Samira smiled.

It wasn’t friendly.

“Exactly.”

She walked away.

Dante looked down at the apple.

Then at Amelia.

Then back at the apple.

He smiled.

This was going to be fun.

It was not fun.

Amelia decided this approximately eleven minutes later when Professor Thorne knocked her onto her back.

Again.

The ceiling blurred above her.

“Gods.”

“Dead.”

Amelia groaned.

Professor Cassian Thorne appeared over her.

“Again.”

“I am already dead.”

“Then resurrect.”

“I don’t think sirens do that.”

“Today you do.”

Amelia accepted his hand.

He hauled her upright.

Around them, students occupied the enormous combat hall.

The Upper Academy curriculum differed considerably from Helix’s lower divisions.

Children learned control.

History.

Mathematics.

Languages.

Species law.

Humans called it school.

Upper Helix was something else.

Diplomacy.

Advanced magic.

Combat.

Governance.

Inter-species law.

Military strategy.

Political history.

And, for heirs like Amelia—

survival.

Professor Thorne stepped backward.

“Again.”

Amelia lifted her training blade.

He attacked.

She blocked.

Barely.

Metal cracked against metal.

Thorne twisted.

Amelia ducked.

His blade passed over her head.

She pivoted.

Fast.

Sirens were stronger than humans.

Faster too.

But compared to werewolves?

Vampires?

Some fae?

They depended on other advantages.

Amelia drove forward.

Thorne blocked.

She struck again.

Blocked.

Again.

Blocked.

Frustration burned through her.

She swept her leg.

Thorne jumped it.

Then tapped his blade against her throat.

“Dead.”

Amelia glared.

“This seems personal.”

“Your enemies will be personal.”

“I don’t have enemies.”

Thorne stared at her.

Amelia sighed.

“Fine. I have enemies.”

“Again.”

She raised her blade.

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

“Do you enjoy this?”

“Immensely.”

Amelia attacked.

Felix Ashford had intended to attend Advanced Fae Diplomacy.

He truly had.

Then he’d heard Amelia Corvo was completing her combat assessment.

Plans changed.

“You’re pathetic.”

Felix didn’t turn.

“Hello, Dante.”

Dante leaned against the railing beside him.

They stood on the upper observation deck overlooking the combat hall.

Below, Amelia was fighting Professor Thorne.

And losing.

Repeatedly.

“How long have you been here?” Dante asked.

“Three minutes.”

“Lie.”

“Seven.”

“Still lying.”

Felix sighed.

“Why are you here?”

“Same reason you are.”

Felix finally looked at him.

Dante was still carrying the apple.

Felix stared.

“Why do you still have that?”

Dante looked down.

“Oh.”

“Did you forget how rubbish bins work?”

“She tied a ribbon around it.”

Felix blinked.

Then smiled.

“Oh, you’re finished.”

Dante frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it.”

“Absolutely not.”

Below them, Amelia hit the floor again.

Both men winced.

Professor Thorne ordered her up.

She stood.

Again.

Dante’s amusement disappeared.

“He’s going too hard.”

Felix looked at him.

“She’s the future Siren Queen.”

“So?”

“So if someone attempts to assassinate her, they’re unlikely to adjust their technique because she’s five feet tall.”

“Five-two.”

Felix slowly turned.

Dante realized his mistake.

Felix smiled.

“How do you know that?”

“Everybody knows that.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re interested.”

“We have a bet.”

“Of course.”

Dante folded his arms.

“Watch the fight.”

Felix did.

Amelia attacked again.

Something was different this time.

Thorne blocked her first strike.

Second.

Third.

Then Amelia deliberately stumbled.

Felix straightened.

Dante saw it too.

“She’s faking.”

Thorne moved in.

Amelia dropped.

Not backward.

Down.

She slid beneath his arm, twisted behind him and drove the hilt of her blade into the back of his knee.

Thorne stumbled.

Amelia kicked his ankle.

He went down.

Her blade touched his throat.

The entire combat hall went silent.

Amelia breathed hard.

Professor Thorne looked up at her.

Then smiled.

“Alive.”

Amelia’s face transformed.

Felix forgot what he was going to say.

She smiled.

Really smiled.

Bright.

Triumphant.

Almost childish.

The expression changed her entire face.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows.

And there they were again.

Those freckles.

Felix stared.

Something inside him tightened.

Dante nudged him.

“You’re staring.”

Felix blinked.

“So are you.”

“Yeah.”

Neither denied it.

Amelia’s victory lasted approximately thirty seconds.

“Again.”

Her smile vanished.

“Professor!”

“An enemy rarely travels alone.”

“I hate this school.”

“Again.”

She turned—

and saw them.

Felix.

Dante.

Standing together above the combat floor.

Watching her.

Her stomach flipped.

Then irritation immediately followed.

Were they following her?

She looked at Professor Thorne.

“May I have five minutes?”

“No.”

“Three?”

“No.”

“One?”

“No.”

“Thirty seconds?”

“Princess.”

Amelia sighed.

Then her eyes drifted upward again.

Felix smiled.

Dante lifted the ribboned apple.

Amelia’s eyes widened.

He had kept it.

Why had he kept it?

She looked away.

Immediately.

Professor Thorne noticed.

His gaze traveled toward the observation deck.

Then back to Amelia.

“No.”

Amelia frowned.

“No what?”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Her face warmed.

“Professor Thorne—”

“Your father personally asked me to ensure you remained focused this year.”

Amelia’s mouth fell open.

“He did what?”

“Again.”

“Oh, I am going to kill him.”

“King Alexander or Lord Lennox?”

Amelia froze.

Professor Thorne’s mouth twitched.

“Again, Your Highness.”

She attacked him considerably harder.

Felix found her first.

Technically.

Amelia had finished combat, showered, changed and escaped Samira long enough to reach Helix’s west library before someone appeared beside her.

“Don’t worry. I’m not asking to sit.”

Amelia stopped walking.

Felix leaned against a bookshelf.

She looked around.

“Do you simply appear places?”

“Fae.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It answers most questions.”

Amelia resumed walking.

Felix followed.

She noticed.

“You are following me.”

“We’re walking in the same direction.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Smart.”

She stopped.

Felix nearly walked into her.

Amelia turned.

“What do you want?”

There it was.

Direct.

No fluttering lashes.

No pretending she didn’t know why he’d approached.

Felix liked that.

He liked it more than he should.

“To speak with you.”

“You spoke with me at lunch.”

“You rejected me at lunch.”

“You asked to sit.”

“Exactly.”

“And?”

“Women don’t usually tell me no.”

Amelia stared.

“Perhaps you should meet more women.”

Felix laughed.

Again.

Damn her.

She continued walking.

He followed.

“You’re different.”

“So Dante informed me.”

Felix’s smile disappeared.

“He said that?”

Amelia noticed.

Interesting.

“Why?”

“No reason.”

“You’re jealous.”

Felix nearly choked.

“Of Lennox?”

“Are there other Dantes?”

“I assure you, Princess, jealousy is not among my many flaws.”

“You have many?”

“Countless.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

Felix smiled.

They reached the restricted archives.

Amelia placed her hand against the enchanted panel.

It flashed silver.

ROYAL ACCESS GRANTED.

The doors opened.

Felix stepped forward.

They immediately slammed shut in his face.

Amelia burst out laughing.

Felix stared at the doors.

Then through the glass at her.

She covered her mouth.

He pointed.

“That was deliberate.”

Amelia’s eyes danced.

She opened the door manually.

“Royal archives.”

“I am an Ashford.”

“Congratulations.”

“My family helped establish Helix.”

“And yet.”

She gestured toward the locked door.

Felix stared at her.

She smiled.

Something strange happened in his chest.

He ignored it.

“What are you looking for?”

“None of your business.”

“Then I’ll help.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It does to me.”

She considered him.

Then sighed.

“Supernatural treaties between 1980 and 2020.”

Felix’s eyebrows lifted.

“Light reading?”

“Professor Armitage assigned an analysis.”

“To everyone?”

“No.”

“Why only you?”

Amelia hesitated.

“Because apparently being future queen means I need additional coursework.”

Felix studied her.

There.

For the first time, he saw it.

Not privilege.

Weight.

“That sounds miserable.”

Amelia blinked.

Most people told her it was an honor.

A responsibility.

Her birthright.

Nobody called it miserable.

“It is,” she admitted.

Felix smiled.

Not his usual smile.

Smaller.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“I know where the original treaty collection is.”

Amelia frowned.

“You can’t enter.”

Felix lifted his hand.

Gold magic shimmered over his fingertips.

The archive doors clicked.

Amelia stared.

“Felix.”

He stepped through.

“Founder’s blood.”

“You just broke into the royal archives.”

“My ancestors built the enchantments.”

“That does not make it legal.”

“No.”

He smiled.

“It makes it easy.”

Amelia should call security.

She knew that.

Instead—

she followed him.

They spent forty-three minutes together.

Amelia knew because she checked.

Twice.

Felix was different when he wasn’t performing for an audience.

Still arrogant.

Still irritating.

Still far too pleased with himself.

But intelligent.

Very intelligent.

He knew supernatural history better than anyone she’d met outside her tutors.

They argued over the Third Concordat.

Disagreed about the Vampire Territorial Compromise.

Nearly started an actual fight over fae involvement in the Atlantic Rebellion.

“You invaded.”

“We intervened.”

“You occupied three siren territories.”

“Temporarily.”

“For sixty-two years.”

“History is subjective.”

“Not when there are dates!”

Felix laughed.

Amelia threw a rolled parchment at him.

He caught it.

“Violence, Princess?”

“You deserve worse.”

He placed a hand over his heart.

“I’m wounded.”

“Unfortunately not.”

He stared at her.

Amelia stared back.

Then both smiled.

And for one brief moment—

everything became quiet.

Felix’s gaze dropped.

Her mouth.

Amelia noticed.

Her heart stumbled.

She stepped backward.

Felix immediately looked away.

Too soon.

Much too soon.

The game.

He needed to remember the game.

Amelia cleared her throat.

“I should go.”

“Probably.”

Neither moved.

Then Amelia heard it.

Footsteps.

Heavy.

Familiar.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

The archive doors opened.

Captain Lucien Vale stood there.

Amelia had seen Lucien angry.

She had seen him furious.

She had once seen him personally drag a vampire nobleman from a royal banquet after the man grabbed a servant.

This was worse.

His gaze moved from Amelia—

to Felix—

to the illegally opened royal archive—

back to Felix.

“Lord Ashford.”

Felix straightened.

“Captain.”

“Step away from the princess.”

Amelia closed her eyes.

“Lucien.”

“Now.”

Felix moved.

Immediately.

Amelia looked at him.

He shrugged.

I’m arrogant, not suicidal.

She almost laughed.

Lucien turned to Amelia.

“Your Highness.”

That tone.

Oh, she hated that tone.

“I can explain.”

“I have no doubt.”

“He was helping me.”

“Inside a restricted archive.”

“Technically—”

Felix started.

Lucien looked at him.

Felix stopped.

Amelia bit the inside of her cheek.

Lucien stepped aside.

“We are leaving.”

Amelia gathered her things.

Then Felix spoke.

“Princess.”

She turned.

He held something.

Her pencil.

She hadn’t realized she’d left it.

Felix approached Lucien’s invisible boundary but didn’t cross it.

Amelia took the pencil.

Their fingers touched.

Just barely.

Warmth traveled up her hand.

Fae magic.

Surely.

Nothing more.

Felix’s gold eyes held hers.

“Tomorrow?”

Amelia knew what he was asking.

She should say no.

Her father would say no.

Lucien’s entire face currently screamed no.

Elara would probably tell her to be careful.

Every lesson she’d ever received about young men whispered the same thing.

Time, little pearl.

Amelia pulled the pencil from Felix’s fingers.

“We’ll see.”

Then she walked past Lucien.

Felix watched her disappear.

“We’ll see,” he murmured.

Not no.

Interesting.

That evening, Amelia sat before the enormous vanity in her bedroom while Elara brushed her hair.

One hundred strokes.

Her mother insisted.

Amelia suspected the entire ritual existed merely because some Corvo ancestor had decided princesses required unnecessarily long nighttime routines.

“Felix Ashford.”

Amelia looked at Elara through the mirror.

“What about him?”

“You spent forty-three minutes alone with him.”

Amelia turned.

“How do you know it was forty-three?”

Elara stared.

Amelia slowly turned back.

“Lucien.”

“Lucien.”

“Traitor.”

“He is literally employed to report your activities to your father.”

Amelia froze.

“My father knows?”

“Not yet.”

“Elara.”

“Lucien has agreed to omit certain unnecessary details.”

Amelia exhaled.

“Thank the gods.”

“On the condition that it does not happen again.”

Amelia said nothing.

Elara stopped brushing.

“Amelia.”

“What?”

“You like him.”

“I barely know him.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Amelia looked at herself.

Porcelain skin.

Green eyes.

Black hair falling almost to her waist.

The tiny freckles across her nose were visible beneath the warm lights.

People had spent her entire life telling her how beautiful she was.

How fortunate.

How special.

How perfect.

Felix hadn’t told her she was beautiful once.

He’d argued with her.

Called her interpretation of the Third Concordat ridiculous.

Laughed when she threatened him with a parchment.

And when she’d admitted that being the future queen could be miserable—

he hadn’t corrected her.

Amelia looked down.

“I think he’s interesting.”

Elara resumed brushing.

“And the wolf?”

Amelia immediately thought about gray eyes.

A half-eaten apple.

There she is.

“I think he’s irritating.”

Elara smiled.

“That’s not what I asked either.”

Amelia threw a pillow at her.

Across campus, Felix entered his suite.

Dante was sprawled across his sofa.

Felix stopped.

“Why are you in my room?”

“You left the balcony unlocked.”

“That isn’t an invitation.”

Dante tossed something.

Felix caught it.

An apple.

He stared.

“Seriously?”

Dante grinned.

“How was the library?”

Felix’s expression changed.

“How do you know about that?”

“I have friends.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fair.”

Felix dropped into the chair opposite him.

Dante studied his face.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

“Did she kiss you?”

“No.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“No.”

“Did you try?”

“No.”

Dante frowned.

“Then what the hell did you do for forty minutes?”

“Talked.”

Silence.

Dante sat upright.

“You talked.”

“Yes.”

“To Amelia.”

“Yes.”

“For forty minutes.”

“Forty-three.”

Dante stared.

Felix realized his mistake.

Dante smiled slowly.

“Oh.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it.”

“You’re interested.”

“It’s been one day.”

“Didn’t say you were in love.”

Felix laughed.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Dante tossed the apple into the air and caught it.

“It’s a wager.”

“Exactly.”

Felix leaned back.

“A wager.”

Neither spoke.

Then Dante looked at him.

“Tomorrow?”

Felix smiled.

“Tomorrow.”

Dante stood.

“Good.”

He headed toward the balcony.

Felix frowned.

“Use the door like a civilized person.”

Dante opened the balcony doors.

“Not fae.”

“That’s not what civilized means.”

Dante disappeared.

Felix shook his head.

Then he noticed something on his desk.

A silver ribbon.

The one Amelia had tied around Dante’s apple.

Dante must have dropped it.

Felix picked it up.

He stared at it.

Then toward the balcony.

“Interesting.”

He placed it back down.

Tomorrow was Dante’s turn.

And Felix suddenly found himself considerably less amused by that prospect than he should have been.

At Corvo House, three floors beneath Amelia’s bedroom, Captain Lucien Vale entered the king’s private study.

King Alexander Corvo did not look up from the documents on his desk.

“How was her first day?”

Lucien closed the door.

“Eventful.”

Alexander stopped writing.

Slowly, he looked up.

Lucien had served the Corvo family for seventeen years.

He had fought beside Alexander.

Protected Lillian.

Carried Maximilian’s body home from the battlefield.

There were very few men King Alexander trusted with his daughter’s life.

Lucien was one.

“Define eventful.”

Lucien considered lying.

Briefly.

Then remembered who he was speaking to.

“She met Felix Ashford.”

Alexander’s expression went blank.

“And Dante Lennox.”

The pen in Alexander’s hand snapped.

Lucien looked at it.

Alexander looked at the broken pen.

Silence.

Then the king placed both pieces carefully on his desk.

“No.”

Lucien almost smiled.

“Your Majesty?”

“No.”

“I haven’t told you anything yet.”

“I don’t care.”

“Alexander—”

“An Ashford and a Lennox?”

Lucien sighed.

“She spoke to them.”

“No.”

“She is eighteen.”

“Incorrect.”

Lucien stared.

Alexander folded his arms.

“She was born approximately six months ago.”

“Your daughter is eighteen years old.”

“Propaganda.”

Lucien actually laughed.

Alexander did not.

Then his expression changed.

The humor disappeared.

“Did either of them touch her?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Not intentionally.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed.

“Lucien.”

“She is safe.”

The king stood.

He walked toward the enormous window overlooking the dark grounds of Corvo House.

For a moment, he wasn’t a king.

He was simply a father.

“Max was nineteen.”

Lucien’s expression softened.

“I know.”

“When we lost him.”

“I know.”

Alexander stared into the darkness.

“I cannot lose her too.”

“You won’t.”

“You cannot promise me that.”

No.

Lucien couldn’t.

Alexander’s reflection stared back from the glass.

Then his voice became quieter.

“And Ashford?”

Lucien knew what he meant.

Not Felix.

The bloodline.

“Nothing.”

“Did he notice?”

“I don’t know.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened.

“He cannot.”

“She’s going to encounter fae her entire life.”

“Not Ashfords.”

Lucien remained silent.

Alexander turned.

For the first time that evening, something resembling fear appeared in the Siren King’s eyes.

“If that family looks closely enough at my daughter, they will see Lillian.”

Lucien’s expression hardened.

“Then we’ll make certain they don’t look too closely.”

Upstairs, completely unaware of the conversation taking place beneath her—

Amelia Corvo lay in bed thinking about golden eyes.

And gray ones.

And somewhere across Helix Academy, two young men were preparing for the second day of a game none of them yet understood.

A game whose consequences had begun long before any of them were born.