Chapter 2

Cedric’s grip on her waist falters. She’s emaciated. He’s stunned, trying to make sense of it.

“Cedric?”

Icy wind sweeps through the room. Viola stands at the patio entrance to the study, pale and shivering. She’s in a short-sleeved dress, without so much as a sweater to keep her warm.

Concern for Viola immediately shifts Cedric’s focus. “What are you doing?” He asks, already shrugging off his coat as he crosses to her. “The healer said you should rest.”

Hurt twists in Iris's chest as his dark head bends close to Viola's, guiding her near the crackling hearth. Their matching black hair and brown eyes are a reminder of what they share - blood, bond, a belonging Iris will never have.

Spotting her, Viola’s eyes widen. “Iris,” she smiles warmly, “I heard you might be coming home today. I’m so glad you’re back.”

Yeah, right. Iris stays mute and fixes her with a steely-eyed glare.

Cedric shoots her a scowl, making his disapproval known. She might as well be sending out ray beams of hostility. Viola’s only just recovered from an illness, yet she still took the opportunity to find her and welcome her back. Iris could damn well learn from her graciousness.

Iris ignores the disdainful look he’s giving her. Sweat prickles at her neck, the heat from the fireplace suddenly stifling. She slips off the too-large peacoat and replaces it on the rack. Cedric treats Viola like fragile porcelain. All the while showing Iris impatience.

Chin up, Iris, she coaches herself. She used to cling to her brothers, but in the end, she’s always handled her own problems. And whether they noticed or not, she’s always been someone who reflects well upon her family.

Cedric places his hand on Viola’s elbow, already steering her toward the study door, "Go rest before the Queen arrives."

The easy tenderness sends another pang of loss through Iris. She still believes her family once loved her. For over a decade, they raised her, cherished her. They knew her kind nature.

Or, she thought they did. Something broke when Viola came home. Even without Cedric asking, she would have helped cover for Viola. She would have sacrificed for them. That’s who she is.

If only they could see that. Did they ever see her at all?

She’s sure as hell invisible now, while he fusses over Viola. Coming home was a mistake.

“But Iris -” Viola says, coughing, “We have to make sure she’s settled.”

Cedric pauses. Shit. He glances over at Iris, still standing by the rack of clothes.

Asshole. He was about to walk right past her.

Viola's cough rattles again, pulling his attention back. She's approaching eighteen and still hasn't shifted. He’s tried everything to help her recover, but nothing has worked. “Weak wolf,” the healers call it. It was caused by years of surviving alone without the pack or her family to protect and care for her. Without him.

She’s fragile in ways Iris has never been. Iris used to show up at the training grounds to spar with warriors twice her size. She doesn't need him hovering.

"She looks too thin, Ced," Viola whispers.

The feel of Iris’s gaunt frame in his hands… Dread curls in his stomach at the remembrance. He pushes it away before it can take hold. Doesn’t want to feel it. Doesn’t want to believe. Iris used to dramatically swear off dessert if she gained a pound. She's probably been on some ridiculous diet, and he’ll put a stop to it.

"She's fine," he says, raising his eyebrows at Iris. "Right?"

Iris nods, keeping her back straight and her face blank. But the adrenaline that carried her this far is draining away. Her vision blurs. Her knees wobble.

And all the while, Viola’s eyes are on her, studying her.

Before Iris can react, she’s crossing the room. “Here, Iris,” she insists, her expression full of guilt as she shrugs off Cedric’s coat, “You take this instead.”

Viola moves close to drape the coat around her shoulders. It’s too close, too fast. Three years of people approaching like that meant pain. Iris flinches, raising her hands instinctively as a barrier, stepping back.

And then Viola loses balance, or seems to, just before her weight crashes into Iris.

It happens in a heartbeat. Cedric jolts forward, but can’t catch either woman in time. Iris’s arm scrapes against the desk’s edge, pain erupting as her skin tears open. Her vision splinters black as her skull slams into the wooden floor. Viola lands on top of her, driving the breath from her lungs.

Cedric helps Viola carefully to her feet, “Shit, are you okay?”

Iris is still on the floor, the room swimming back into view. She can’t even lift her head.

“Yes,” Viola pants, “I’m - ” She cries out in pain as Cedric inspects a scrape on her elbow.

His eyes darken, one hand protectively clutching Viola’s uninjured arm. “What the fuck, Iris?” he explodes. “Viola tries to do something nice for you, and she ends up on the floor?”

Iris’s head is throbbing, and her arm is screaming in pain. She shifts her injured arm beneath her, pressing it against her ribs. The sleeve is wet. “I didn’t do anything,” she mumbles weakly.

“I saw you raise your hands,” Cedric snarls, “You pushed her just enough to knock her off balance, and she fell forward.”

His jaw tightens. With all the dignity she can muster, Iris asks flatly, "What's your proof, Cedric?"

“Other than what?” He huffs, “My lying eyes?”

“You see what you want to see.”

The air between them shifts. He squares his shoulders. “You’ve always had it out for her. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

Iris remembers another fall, days after Viola returned. She’d tumbled down the staircase and blamed Iris. Cedric had found her after, sobbing. I believe you, he’d said.

How had it all gone so wrong?

His voice goes low, dangerous. "Iris, I don't know what your problem is, but this family took you in. Gave you everything. And this is how you repay us. It’s disgusting."

Cedric sees something shatter behind her eyes. He opens his mouth to walk it back, but Viola speaks first.

“It’s okay, Iris.” Resentment burns in her eyes, but she gives Iris a tepid smile. “I forgive you.”

Cedric reins in the protective anger still molten in his veins. He looks down at Iris, his contempt barely hidden. “Then I won’t hold it against you, either. For Viola’s sake.”

Cedric waits for her to get up, to fight back like she always used to. But she doesn’t.

Viola braces her arm gingerly across her chest as Cedric leads her from the study, and a mindlink from the pack filters in: The Queen is here early, arriving at the gates now.

Iris waits until he’s gone to drag herself up, chest heaving, clamping her sleeve around the deep cut in her arm.

Queen Elara enters, flanked by top members of the Royal Pack. She’s regal, with silver hair, stately posture, and the kind of presence that commands a room. Her sharp eyes measure every person, every motive.

Iris flattens herself against a supporting column in the foyer while they exchange formal greetings and introductions.

They’ll tour the library, maybe the ballroom…

“Have you stationed a spy or an assassin, Fenrir?”

Cedric frowns. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure-”

“You. Behind the pillar.”

Well, shit.

Iris steps out, cheeks burning, into the focus of the goddess-damned Queen.

She curtsies as Cedric introduces her. The Queen's eyebrows rise at her name - the arsonist's reputation preceding her. Iris keeps her head low.

“Iris Fenrir.” The Queen steps closer, gaze searching, “Are you glad to be home?”

The question lands like a grenade. Iris feels the spotlight, Cedric’s held breath, Viola’s gaping stare.

"I'm grateful to be out of Black Rock, Your Majesty."

The Queen's eyes travel over Iris's frame. A Beta approaches with documents, but before she turns away, she says, almost casually, "Do you know the legend of the White Wolf, Iris?"

Iris blinks. Cedric stills beside her.

"I... no, Your Majesty. I don’t."

"It's a good story,” Elara smiles - something private in it, “Perhaps we'll discuss it another time."

Then she's gone, swept into official business, leaving Iris standing in the foyer with a racing heart and the strange feeling that she just passed a test she didn't know she was taking.

The Queen watches the girl disappear up the staircase.

Iris Fenrir. Eighteen years old. The right age.

"Your Majesty?" Her Beta approaches. "The trade agreements - "

She keeps her eyes on the landing where the girl vanished. "Investigate her," the Queen says quietly. "Her origins. The circumstances of her adoption. Everything."

The Beta hesitates. "The criminal, Your Majesty?"

"The girl."

Eighteen years ago, political strife had torn through the Royal Pack. The Queen had sent her infant daughter away for protection. She’d never returned. There had been an accident, they’d told her. She'd searched ever since. Crossed every territory. Chased every rumor.

And now… It was probably nothing. But something in the girl’s face wouldn’t let her look away.