3

He’d spent my entire life trying to pretend I didn’t exist. I was nothing but a reminder of his regrets: the wife he’d lost, and the male heir he didn’t have. Apparently sending me to the King’s Choice was potentially a two-birds-with-one-stone situation. If I won, I’d live my life in Efra, away from him, and Daybreak would enjoy more power in Frasia by having access to the king’s court. If I lost, he could lower my status in the court without raising any eyebrows. Either way, he’d be rid of me.

If my mother was alive, would he still be sending me away like this? Would he ever want to send his child to the Court of the Bloody King?

I shook off that thought. No point wondering about things that never were. I moved briskly through the halls toward my chambers. My room was near the top of the manor, overlooking the sea. It wasn’t too big, but it was enough for a lady to take care of herself. Despite that, I did spend more time in the library than I did in my chambers.

I sat down at my vanity and, with some trepidation, unfolded the invitation letter.

There was nothing ominous about the letter—nothing that would suggest it had come from the Bloody King himself. It was a simple invitation, requesting that the Daybreak Pack send a suitor to compete in the Choice to become the Queen of Frasia. There wasn’t anything in the letter that might’ve helped me plan for it, like logistics, length, or even the events that would be held as part of the Choice.

If it was anything like King Constantine’s, it’d be quite the affair. The Choice wasn’t just a way for the king to find a queen—it was a way for him to build a reputation. If the king was wise, he’d make this a spectacle. It’d be a gift to the citizens of Efra and any Frasians who wanted to travel to witness it, with weeks of feasts and dancing and celebrations.

The contesting women would be the center of it. Not only would we be competing for the king’s affections—we’d be competing to win the hearts of the pack and all the wolves the king ruled over.

Diplomatically, it was a good idea. If I were to take the throne, Daybreak would gain a much-needed boost in power, and my skills would benefit Nightfall in softening their reputation as bloodthirsty, savage wolves.

I huffed and shoved the letter in a drawer. Unfortunately for my father and for the king, I wasn’t going to be winning this competition.

Even still, there was a tiny chance that this could work out in my favor. If I went to the King’s Choice and lost, without a doubt, my father would lower my status. I’d have substantially less responsibility in the Daybreak Court. One of his advisors would step up and complete the trade-related duties I usually took care of.

I’d no longer be tied to Daybreak. If everything worked out—maybe, possibly, I could leave Frasia and travel the world like I’d always wanted to. I could finally explore the lands I’d admired so extensively on the maps I adored in the library. I could finally find a place where a shifter like me actually belonged.

I wound my plaited hair up onto the crown of my head and then pinned it into a bun. I fit my loose sunhat over it, so most of my blonde hair was hidden beneath the straw. With that and a light linen cloak draped over my shoulders, I looked like one of the normal wolves of Daybreak, instead of the Lady of the Court. There were no other wolves in Daybreak with the white-blonde hair I had, courtesy of my mother, of the Starcrest pack.

It was just another way I didn’t fit in.

I wondered sometimes how my mother had felt in Daybreak. What she’d been like. Had she felt like a misfit as I did? Or had it been easier for her, somehow? Would she have been able to help me figure out what to do in this competition?

But she wasn’t here, and there was only one person I was going to let in on this plan. The only person other than Barion that saw me as me, instead of as a pawn in the court’s games.

When I opened the door, Barion was waiting for me. “Lady Reyna—”

“Sorry, Barion,” I said, pushing past him. “I’ve got to run some errands.”

“Reyna, please,” Barion said, in the defeated tone of a man who knew this request was going nowhere. “We have a lot of logistics to cover regarding the Choice.”

“We can discuss it over dinner,” I said, “preferably with a lot of wine.”

Barion sighed.

“If you insist,” he called from behind me as I hurried down the hall.

It was a gorgeous, sunny afternoon, and I adjusted my sunhat to shade my eyes as I strode down the path from the manor into the main strip of the town. It was crowded, as it usually was in the afternoon, with fisherman coming in from long days on the water and innkeepers opening the doors to their taverns. I carefully held my skirt so the hem grazed my shins, out of the dirt and dust of the cobbled street. The noise washed over me like a familiar wave as I made my way down a narrow side street to Marco’s.

Marco’s was already busy, despite the afternoon hour. Outside the door, I palmed a coin to a street boy and asked him to fetch Griffin. There was no way a woman of my standing—dressed as a commoner or not—would be caught in a place like Marco’s. Even if Griffin enjoyed spending time there, often to my dismay, I refused to go inside.

I stepped into the alley to wait for him as I usually did. I peeked in through the back door, careful not to rouse any attention. Marco’s was busy. Inside, sturdy wooden tables were populated with rough-looking wolves, occasionally baring their teeth at each other over games of dice and cards. I tried not to cringe. I didn’t like that Griffin went in establishments like this but at least he didn’t get awfully drunk like the wolves already spilling beers on the bar in broad daylight. Small favors.

Griffin was in the far corner, at a darkened table with three other men, all a bit larger than he was. I smiled when I saw him and watched with affection as the boy ran up and whispered into his ear. Griffin nodded, then spoke to the men at the table and levered to his feet. He was without a doubt the most handsome wolf in the room—tall, slender, with his deep red hair pushed rakishly off his forehead and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose.

He was a member of the court as well. Griffin worked under the duke, focused mostly on trade taxation. He was smart, ambitious, and had priorities similar to my own: We both wanted more than the lives we were offered here in Daybreak. Out of everyone in this town, Griffin was the only one who saw me as more than a Lady of the Court—a pretty face and fine manners.

After a moment, Griffin stepped into the alley. He looked a little worse for the wear, with bags under his eyes and his lips turned down into a grimace.

“Not going so well in there, I take it?” I asked.

He sighed and combed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, we’re just getting started. I’ll earn back what I lost.”

“Right,” I said, biting back a smile. That never really went the way Griffin thought, but he enjoyed the game, so I held my tongue.

“What’s up?” he asked. “I thought you had court duties today.”

“I do,” I said. I tugged my hat off and held it at my side, trusting that no one would look down this narrow alley where we were hidden in shadow. “I just… I needed to see you.”

He must’ve seen something in my face, because his expression softened, and he stepped a little closer. I leaned my back against the brick wall of the alley and set my free hand at his hip. Ducking my chin, I gazed down at our feet. His presence always grounded me—made me remember that there was more to life than the political demands of the court.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”