The following day, neither Penelope nor Verando met us for breakfast. I can't say I'm necessarily surprised by that given that I walked out on him in the kitchen and Penelope entertained all evening. My body felt heavy; I'd hardly slept before I'd gone for my wine and continued to toss and turn for the rest of the night. 

Between Marcus snoring and wondering why I was continually denied the comforts of the flesh by the gray-haired asshole, I found the arrival of morning to be a frustrating occurrence. 

To pass the time, since we'd be stuck in this town for the next two weeks, I opted to do some shopping with intention. Penelope, though she may appear female, had the taste of an ogre at a buffet, and anything that would fit upon a human frame had been chosen. Though I assumed Verando had had something to do with the poor choices, knowing Penelope as I did lured me into believing she truly did have terrible taste.

Leaving a message with the innkeeper as a time of when to meet us, Marcus does an exceptional job of reminding me why I'd chosen to pursue him. His charm, wit, and easy nature lulled me right back into the sense of security that predictability brought. I did not have to think about the future; Marcus seemed content to remain quietly behind me. 

Despite his lack of consideration in the bedroom, he had many positive qualities. His appearance, voice, and age were all easy enough to focus on when I got too carried away in the negatives. Marcus didn't devise the rules; there was no baggage to unpack beyond his desire to push the wolf down into the depths, and I couldn't say I minded the idea of a nearly human lycan.

 The man was confident in his skin; while he lacked excitement and the seduction of the untamed, he was consistent. It would be a wonderful, boring life. 

I couldn't help but sigh as I picked through some of the pale shirts. 

"So, you saw Verando last night?" The Spanish accent catches me off guard. My fingers hang in the air over a sleeve before I drop it and step to look at something else. 

"Yes, I went to grab a drink to help me sleep. He happened to be in the kitchen as well. Why do you ask?" I retort, squaring my shoulders as I glance at the reflective glass. The shopkeeper offered me a different style of vest, one that might bring in my waist better by the looks of the cut. 

"You've been distant today. I'm worried you've reconciled, but I suppose, since Verando is not here, that he turned you down again." Marcus muses, buttoning his lips as I turn on my heel to glower at him. 

"I do not find your tone amusing in the slightest." I snap, storming over to mount a pedestal so that I might try the vest on. Shopping always helped me feel better; why did this man feel the need to ruin the small sense of joy I could find in this elven hell? "He did not reject me; we disagree on multiple things, which deems us incompatible. What does it matter to you, Marcus?"

It's difficult to ignore the fact that this pleases him. "I'm just glad I get to hold onto you for a bit longer. I'm curious about how much longer he can play this game; he was always the jealous type. When he comes running back, I hope you'll see it for the charade that it is. He just wants his prize." The man muses, folding his hands behind his back as I button the double buttons on the vest; the shopkeeper aids in tying the back to tighten the fit.

I rotated on my heel, pleased with how it gave me some sort of waist beyond my typical lack of luster in winter wear. His words do not fall short of their mark; he was hoping to disenchant me with the idea of returning to the warlord. "Right, because why would he see me as a human? That couldn't be possible, right? You know Marcus, sometimes, one is best to be thought the fool rather than open their mouth and prove it." 

Stepping down, it's irritating that our height varies drastically once I'm off the pedestal. Paying the shopkeeper, I dawn my coat, keeping the vest. "Do not overstep, Marcus. A man came before you, and one can certainly come after." Not waiting for his comment, I stride past him and out the door to mount my horse without his aid. 

By the heat that radiated off of him, I knew very well that he was furious with my insinuation, but more so, I felt he was angry I was no longer playing naive. 

It was commonplace in friendships and relationships; even my instructors grew tired of my ability to go low in retaliation. I'd regret it later when I wanted him in the bedroom, but the lackluster sex was getting to me. The fresh and new had begun to wear off, especially when my favorite flavor was dangled in front of me by my own doing. 

Settling on formal attire matching our elven hosts, Marcus and I ride back to the Inn, where we wait awkwardly for the rest of our group to arrive. He was too frustrated with me to speak, and I was too proud to apologize, not that his behavior warranted one. 

It was highly unusual for our scarred leader to be absent, and I was getting worried after our conversation last night.

Penelope steps out of her room, walking shakily down the hall like a newborn foal in her heels. With her slender frame, the dress that she dawned left some to be desired of her flatter, youthful body. She lacked the curves of a fuller woman but made up for it with her tangle of wild hair and startling gold eyes.

Smoothing out the dress, she spies my judgment of her untamed mane and seems pleased with her wardrobe. "Wow. You are female." I allow with a smirk, prepared to dodge a flamed assault, yet she merely curtsies before sneering in response. Penelope sticks out her tongue childishly.

Uncomfortable in his outfit, Verando appears behind her with a grimace.

With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he wasn't quite as formal as Marcus and me, yet somehow, his relaxed nature suited him. The vest accentuated the broad depth of his chest, and I couldn't help but appreciate the male form before me. The difference between the two felt startling. Marcus's body was wider, heavier, and less defined in its musculature. 

Verando's clothes clung to him yet gave little away about the artwork underneath. The man devoted more time to his physical fitness than anyone I'd ever met, I'd been spoiled for life. I felt Marcus's disapproving glare as he wrapped his arm around my waist.

Penelope gestures proudly. "Feral to Fantastic in only a few hours." She'd even managed to cut his hair and convince him to shave off his stubble, yet his skin was still slightly grayed, resembling a shadow of the hair that had been there. 

I'm drawn to him, a beacon of the untouchable. My mind drifted to envisioning his lips on mine, and he tasted precisely how I remembered.

Adjusting the collar of his shirt, she pats him lightly on the chest. "The elves will eat it up," she says. 

Attempting to figure out how to get Penelope on her horse in her dress and heels, Verando throws her over his shoulder, unceremoniously offering to carry her much like one might a parcel. I wonder exactly how flammable the lycan is as she flails; we're interrupted by the clip-clop of hooves on cobbles.

A grand carriage presents itself before the inn while a confused footman glances at his papers and then up at our small group. "Um... Prince Nicolas of Dezna?" he asks, yet he hurriedly bows once he spots my attire. "Your Highness, I've come to bring you to Master Oris's manor for the gathering. Is.. now a good time?"

"Put me down, asshole!" Penelope snarls, only to scream as he half-heartedly allows her to slip, only to catch her and chuckle as he sets her on her feet. She punches his side; much as he's unimpressed with the gesture, I could tell she meant every ounce of the punch she threw. "You're such a jerk!"

"I've been told," he muses, approaching the carriage to give it a quick once-over. I can't help but roll my eyes, greeting the footman with an apology for our hodgepodge group. 

"Sorry. They're feral at best, I appreciate the ride." I attempt to keep my composure as Verando opens the door to inspect the inside, tossing aside the decorative pillows and picking a couple of the drawers. "And I apologize for the search.. my companion is.. thorough.."

"Guard." Marcus corrected, moving to put his arm around me, but I blocked the attempt as casually as possible. The man was already judging us; I didn't need Marcus to prove we were also swayed. 

Penelope ignores us both, stomping over to the carriage with her hands folded as politely as possible before her, clutching a fan as if releasing it would cause it to burst into flames. "Help me." She demands of him, stiff, as Verando jumps out of the carriage. The footman runs over, dropping down the steps and offering her his hand. 

"M'lady." The footman greets.

Verando gestures with a nod of his head for her to get in, and she rolls her eyes at him, muttering under her breath as she climbs in. 

"You heard him. Ladies." He addresses us, and while it amuses me just slightly, it is only because it means he is in a good mood.

It would be one of my first formal events on my own, as Prince of Dezna, as the potential new ruler of Romania. To my surprise, Marcus and Penelope talk, for they seem to be the only ones looking forward to this event. Penelope guesses about the food options, while Marcus insists that Elven food could be hit or miss and that we'd be better off partaking in the alcohol. 

It feels like a normal conversation, yet I can't help but feel on edge. We'd just come out of an active warzone, and when I close my eyes, I still see the faces of dead elves and hear the screams of men at the end of their lives. I envision the carriage being taken and how we would get out. Every bump and jolt of the wheels on the cobbles makes my spine grow rigid and my throat tighten.

Looking across the space, I see Verando's jaw is tight, his eyes searching almost frantically out the window, and his hands tightly closed into fists on his thighs. 

"What're you doing?" I ask quietly, though I very much know the answer. 

His light eyes don't dare leave his mission, and his lip twitches, indicating he'd heard me. "Listening and observing..." He exhales, keeping his voice low, yet I can tell my questioning puts him slightly more at ease. It means he isn't alone—that I am worried about it, too. "How about you?"

I force a smile. "Much the same, I'd say. I'm just trying to stay aware. It's good to know you're watching my back."

Verando hesitates; it gains me a moment of his focus, "Always, darling."

The local elves seem very impressed with my level of protection as we arrive at the impressive mansion's large oak doors. Various people, including magic users, elves, and mortals, swirl around in a continuous wave of curious eyes. Political figures, dealers, tradesmen, and the commonwealth all line up for a look at their new Lordship and their competition.

My father lacked structure in these lower regions. He had no interest in insider trade so long as his taxes were paid. I could imagine they wondered where my rule would leave them. A young man unfamiliar with the age-old, unspoken treaty between man and collector might thwart their business plans.

Slipping into the crowd, I was surprised at how comfortable I felt. I mingled with lordships and dukes from neighboring cities, for most could not afford lycans and were no worse for wear with my new laws. They seemed pleased that the upper class would be stripped of their slaves for the wrong reasons.

In the case of the haves and the have-nots, the suffering of others seemed much more appealing to many men than the abused servants' freedom.

Most citizens want a free world, so long as it is free to them. Concerned with the rising costs of goods, the talk of smuggling lycans across the border hedges in the air as we drift through the room of conversations. Indeed, they were testing the waters of the seriousness of Haryek's decree. Shocking to all of us, the war seemed to be the last thing anyone talked about, yet it's all I can think about. 

Whenever I lock eyes with someone, I see exactly how I would dispatch them, assessing each being as their own risk and threat level. It sickens me; I was never this troubled before, and yet now I was thinking about protecting myself from civilians. 

"Do tell how such a small force conquered the Elf kingdom, Prince Nicolas. You must have quite the military mind," Oris muses, gathering his gaggle of drunkards around us.

"I was handed an incredible force; the motivation of freedom makes victory well worth it to everyone in my cause. Don't sound so decided, Mayor Oris, for this battle isn't over. Not until every lycan slave walks free. " My words cause murmurs, suspicious eyes cruising over my person.

Tense, Verando drifts towards the crowd's edge, staying close to the windows. Sensing his lack of desire to speak to these beings, I invite Marcus to take his place. His animated way of talking impresses them as the crowd chatters with laughter, allowing me to breathe. I felt surrounded, like I was suffocating; it was too loud to get my bearings in this political hell. 

When I look for Penelope, I'm not surprised to find her gone, and I resort to downing my wine as fast as the help can bring it. Everything feels tight and stuffy, and voices are too loud to be suited for proper indoor conversation. I wish I'd made Verando stay in our circle. Much as I understood his discomfort, I felt horribly exposed with Marcus's involvement in the conversation.  

My hands felt charged, creating an iced film on the outer edge of my glass as my body questioned the need for defense.

The voice in the back of my head wouldn't quiet, questioning every intention of anyone who passed by.

"Prince Nicolas, this lycan is a delight; you must bring him with you as the keystone of your campaign! What a fine example of how civilized a lycan could be!" Oris chimes in, patting me roughly on the back, I nearly spill my wine and freeze it before it can leave the glass. 

This seems to shock the small crowd; they gape at the frozen liquid, and quickly, I retract the magic and take a sip. "Marcus is not a display piece, he's merely a good friend who has agreed to act as protection on this journey. I assure you, Oris, all lycans are quite civilized."

"Right, right... What I meant is the beasts are very uncontrol! I meant no harm; it's refreshing; everyone should meet such a lycan. I'm saying he's a token to your cause, Your Highness. " Oris insists, grabbing another glass of champagne. Popping out a fan, he fans himself with a heavy sigh, "My, it is so warm in here! Have Reed open those damned windows immediately."

I touch Marcus on the shoulder, feeling the heat radiating from him again. "I'm going to go find Penelope. I need to talk to get some air. Are you feeling alright?"

The Spanish man waves me off, dismissive, and I don't have time to wonder why he's upset with me now.

Slipping into the darkroom, I spy Penelope sitting behind a desk. Her head craned back; she looked as though she might be resting. "Hey. Had to get away?"

Jumping at my voice, her hands shoot beneath the desk to rest in her lap. Red-faced, she clears her throat loudly, "Oh! Nic! Yes, I just needed some time to myself."

"You can go home if you like; I think it's going well, and Marcus is doing a fine job entertaining. I think Verando has already left; I haven't seen him." I mumble, shuddering at the room's chill compared to the heat of the festivities.

Biting her lower lip, she squirms awkwardly in her chair as she attempts to right herself. "Mhm, that's a good idea. I think I'll do just that. Thanks, Nic."

"Are you drunk?" I scoff, raising a brow as I slowly approach the desk. "The night has hardly started." I can't cast too many stones; I'd downed three glasses of wine since I'd been here. Marcus was right; the food was lackluster, but the alcohol was superb. 

With a breathy sigh, she grips the desk with one hand, gritting her teeth as I hear her foot thump under the table. "Very drunk." 

"Well, let me help you out of your chair, and we can go. I don't want to leave you here like this," I suggest cautiously, suspicious of her off-behavior; coupled with everything else these last few days, I wasn't sure what to make of the mage who always seemed so put together.

"No!" she squeaks, shaking her head quickly. "Don't come over here. Really, I just need to clear my head. You just go back to the party." 

Taken aback, I can't help but frown. "What're you talking about? Of course, I'm going to help you. Did you soil yourself? It's truly fine; it happens to the best of us." Moving closer, I tilt my head to look better at her face.

Flushed, lips lightly swollen, eyes vast, and hair a mess, she was out of sorts in the realist way. Holding up her hand to stop me, she attempts to right herself. "Nic, I'm fine."

I notice boots at the edge of the desk; stopping, I stare at her in bewilderment.

"Seriously, Penelope?! At a private function?!" I can't believe her nerve; more than that, I can't believe the startling amount of jealousy I feel in my chest.

Envy replaces hurt; Marcus would never have agreed to such an act.

Upset with her luck more than her actions, I storm towards the desk, intending to end her exciting evening.

"I'm a horrible person. I completely understand if you don't want to see me for the rest of the night," she offers, desperate to stop my pursuit of this man's identity.

"No. I want to see who's got you acting so absurd. Is it the same man as before? Surely, there aren't multiple men serving you." She didn't seem like someone who would bed a stranger; it had to be one man collectively. Yet why hadn't I seen him? Where was she hiding this stranger?

"Move."

I hear his voice, and my heart stops. Slipping out from under the desk, the man of my darkest desires stands before me in his dominant glory. Rigid, commanding, the light eyes torment me as I breathe him in and damn him all the same instant.

"Are you kidding me?" I'm numb, stunned, and in disbelief. "Are you absolutely fucking kidding me?"

Penelope keeps her eyes averted, her head bowed in submission to his presence. She could not tell me because he had declared it so. She was at his mercy. "It's none of your business, just as your interactions are none of mine. Isn't that what you declared? I have no right to worry for you?" he tells me firmly.

"You're bedding one of my best friends!" I accuse him. "I said you must choose me, not fuck my friends!"

"You're bedding my brother," he tells me lowly. "Who am I to get in the way of what you deem happiness?"

I want to be furious and hit him, but I can't. Much as I wasn't ablaze with the thought, I was in a relationship with Marcus. What did I think would happen when he permitted me to explore? It hadn't occurred to me that he would entertain the thought of anyone else, let alone a woman. Somehow, in my mind, he intended to have nobody else if it wasn't me.

Thinking back to the past few days, my heart begins to sink. Her sudden infatuation with him, going off together, the man in her bedroom, and needing the bigger room. It was because he had been with her; they had been serving each other quietly behind our backs.

Taking a step back, I allow myself to feel the wave of pain. "I see, so when you saw my pain, what, did you feel guilt? Did it feel liberating to know I would suffer through it and wouldn't complain loud enough for you to hear it? That I'm not dying inside wondering why you keep running from me when you're willing to fuck someone else? Someone younger? Someone more naive?!" I'm shouting now, unable to hold it back.

Choking back the shock, I feel ridiculous for allowing myself to be so upset over this man. He didn't belong to me, much as he had claimed a piece of me. Of course, I was replaceable.

"You told me you didn't want me if you couldn't have all of me, and damn it, I'd bared all to you, and it wasn't enough! I shouldn't have to dredge up my past to please you, Nicolas! I've made plenty of sacrifices. You are dangerous-"

"I'm getting rid of the book for you!" I demand, knotting my hands into fists. "Don't forget you are dangerous, too. You can't control the wolf, you've hurt me so many times, and I keep forgiving you because I love you, asshole! I would instead you fuck a dozen other men than go back to a woman; going back to a woman either means I was a passing fling or that you loved me so damn much; a woman is the only way you can stomach what you're doing to me. I don't think I can handle it either option. "

"Nic!" Penelope attempts, only to scream as the door swings open.