When the pair of companions returned to camp, part of Charlie had expected to find everyone licking their wounds. It had been a defeat, in spite of the almost amicable conclusion it had finished with.

Every eye in the camp was fixed in one direction, the fear could have been cut with a knife.

At first glance Charlie believed that they hadn't been noticed but he quickly realised otherwise.

It was still and silent, terrifyingly so. Unnatural. They were like statues.

Petrified.

A growl crept to the back of Charlie's throat, only cut off by Briar's touch on the back of his wrist.

Spinning around with a snarl, almost forgetting who she was. She barely seemed to notice his aggression, pushing past him as though he were a child to be pushed around. He held himself together only long enough to allow logical thinking into play.

Briar slipped through the camp, a spell at her fingertips and she headed in the direction that the eyes were fixed in.

The King's tent.

He followed.

Charlie would have shifted had it not been for the intense pain rippling through him from the wounds already inflicted on him. He moved to take the lead from Briar, he didn't know what they would find inside of the shelter.

And he didn't want her hurt by it.

But she wasn't having it.

Grabbing hold of his wrist just as he passed, and gripping onto it with surprising strength. He looked at her, narrowed eyes but voice lacking the growl from before. His eyes softening a little as he looked down at the smaller witch.

Her tone on the other hand was a little more sharp.

"I'd rather not be ripped limb from limb by you," she said firmly. "We don't know what will happen in their, I can look after myself. I go first."

As much as he hated to admit it, and allow her to go in by herself, Charlie had to agree with her.

Once again he followed.

Pushing past and through what remained of the gathered army, their staring yet unseeing eyes made him uncomfortable. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch one, as though to make himself certain that they were actually human and not some strange prank.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

Forcing himself to not look back, he sped up a little to keep up with Briar who had continued on.

When they at last found their way to the traditional red and black colours of the King's tent, standing out against the red and gold of every other standing shelter. It stood out like a sore thumb, for more than just that reason.

It was the only source of sound from the entire camp, other then Briar and Charlie's footsteps.

Even the birds seemed to have fallen silent, though if it were in awe or terror of what happened bellow, Charlie didn't know. He was very aware that it put him to the point of losing it whilst he still wasn't sure of what he would find.

The presence of Briar was the only thing which kept him calm.

But now he was left wondering if it was because of her powers, or because of something with a deeper meaning.

Until he could be certain, Charlie felt unable to shake the feeling of caution around her.

Still he followed her like a lost puppy, because for now she was his anchor.

A role once played by his brothers and sisters. He would have done anything to hold onto his sanity. Clenching his fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch her, a ridiculous desire but an almost overwhelming one.

Briar moved to open the tent flap, but Charlie paused in her wake.

She looked back at him for a split second, raising an eyebrow but she wasn't entirely unsympathetic. Charlie was thankful in that moment that she couldn't read minds, he would have hated for her to regard him as a coward.

Gesturing to the space beside her, she whispered in a low tone. "You ready?"

Swallowing the lump which was all but choking him, Charlie forced a nod. "As I'll ever be."

Yet it was too late to change his mind, Charlie stepped to catch up with Briar and they entered the tent together.

Whilst Charlie had always known his father to be a strong man. More than capable of lifting large loads, even more so then would have been regarded normal as a wolf shifter.

This was something else entirely.

The King had Anthony by the collar, and had him pinned to the great wooden pole which held up the centre of the tent. From the useless and limp way that the still alive witch hung from the grip, Charlie could tell that he had no choice about the position he was in.

Acknowledging Charlie and Briar more in hindsight, the King threw the witch to the side like a ragdoll. Whilst the witch seemed unhurt from the encounter, save for a few bruises which marked his face.

Charlie didn't want to know how much worse it could have been had they not intervened.

Here, seemed to be the only place of movement in the camp at the moment. Four guards stood at each corner of the tent. Despite their attempts to seem stoic, Charlie could see how surprised they too had been by their King's display of power.

Normally a group who would have regarded Charlie with either fear or like one would a dangerous dog. They looked to Charlie through wide eyes, so much so that he could see the whites of them.

The looked like deer caught in the headlights, not wolves at the heart of their territory.

They seemed to be looking to him with desperation, for help.

Charlie wondered what on earth had gone on here to make such horrendous people desperate for help. Especially from him.

It took him a moment longer then it should have done for Charlie to realise that Briar was yet to breathe at his side. He glanced sideways at her, to find her noticeably pale. And seemingly filled with the desire to hit something from the look in her eyes.

Whether it was him, the King or Anthony, Charlie wasn't sure.

Part of him almost said something, asked her what on earth was wrong. But movement from his father cut his words short before he could even bring them to the tip of his tongue. He put them to the back of his mind, and looked over to his father through narrowed eyes.

Turning away from the witch, his long cloak fluttering around him in a dramatic manner, as though it was a planned performance on the part of the King.

The golden crown littered with red glittering rubies on his head glittered in a regal manner, a sharp difference to the display of power and danger from a moment before. It hadn't been as much as knocked a little sideways.

The King turned and settled into a makeshift, almost throne like chair pressed against the tent wall furthest from the pair.

Now their King had released the strange witch from his grasp, the guards visibly relaxed. But Charlie couldn't pretend to not notice the lack of colour in their faces, they were paler then freshly fallen snow. As though they had seen some horrible ghost.

"Good to know you didn't manage to fall off a cliff," the King said pulling the pair out of their own little worlds. They were nonchalant, as though he had been settled in the chair the entire time.

And Briar and Charlie hadn't seen a rare show of strength and glaring anger from the normally level headed monarch. The change was as sudden as a strike of lightning, gone before Charlie was even certain it had been there.

Not taking the time to acknowledge the words of his father, Charlie had eyes only for the witch beside him. Who seemed flabbergasted, and furious.

"You're alive," she sounded almost disappointed.

The other witch looked up at this, narrowing his eyes as though trying to figure out if he could recognise Briar, then seemingly unable to shrugged his shoulders. "I thought that would have been obvious." He answered, even after everything that had gone on. The confidence in his tone all but bellowed across the tent.

Briar was almost seething with anger. Had she been a shifter, she would have been growling.

Had it been me, Charlie noted, it would have sounded amused under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have an in tact throat. However, the realisation was more of a second throat and the anger in her voice chased off any chance of humour.

"You're meant to be dead," her furiousness dissipated to be replaced with a quiet, boiling anger.

"I'm not." Anthony's reply was colder then Charlie had expected it to be.

"How?" Briar seemed incapable of stringing together coherent sentences more then a few words long. A stark contrast to her usual silver tongue and ability to work herself out of tricky situations. Charlie wasn't sure why, but he hated seeing her in such an angry state, even if he didn't know why.

"You mean how did I survive your murder attempt?"

The statement was cold, though void of anger which Charlie would have anticipated.

Charlie recoiled at this, and even the King seemed surprised by the revelation. Though it wouldn't have been obvious unless someone had thought to look closer at the King's expression.

It sent a shockwave down his spine, but he didn't say anything, watching in a forced silence.

"Maybe you're not as good at manipulating emotions as you thought you were," was the only response he gave. His tone making it clear that he had no intention of going into any further details.

It left Charlie wanting for further answers, and he almost protested verbally at his refusal.

Briar, whilst she didn't seem happy with the lack of answer, didn't say anything further. Her arms crossed, Charlie tried to make eye contact with her. Which the young witch pointedly avoided.

Again he found himself resisting the urge to reach out and comfort her in a moment of fear for her.

He didn't.

The King spoke up in the midst of the silence, raising his voice despite the lack of competition form anyone else. "I will think about your proposition," he said firmly. Though he looked vastly uninterested in the whole thing.

Abhorrent by the mere suggestion, and it was obvious on the way his face twisted from a normally handsome to an almost vile expression. He shook his head firmly, seeming confident even with the desperation which now seemed to reek from the witch.

"No," his voice a stark contrast to his expression. "This needs to be sorted now, or God only knows how it will all end up." He spoke firmly, even if it was infuriatingly vague to the two who hadn't been there for the rest of the conversation.

"You've come to me," King James said in an equally firm tone, if not a little smug. As though he were a teacher scolding a student after being proven right. "I have every right to take my time to decide what's best for my men."

As though he cares at all about any of us, Charlie felt his fangs slip a little beneath his lips but he hid the anger as best as he could. To the point where he was left clenching his fists in order to stop himself shaking.

"You wont want to do that," again annoyingly vague, as though he held all the power in this conversation. Anthony had regained his early composure, his chin held haughtily high, his golden eyes narrowing until they were merely slit like holes in his face.

Having had enough with the insolent witch, the King gestured with his hand. The Guards stepped forward to capture the witch, though cautious at first. Two of them shifted as to protect themselves better from the witch.

They know he's a threat to be reckoned with, Charlie noted, somewhat gratefully.

"Don't make me do this," the witch said in an almost sad tone.

The King looked up from where he had turned his attention to anything else that he could have concentrated his attention on. He almost smiled, then corrected himself and looked at the witch through narrowed eyes.

"You are my captive, what is it exactly you think you can do against us. Sure, conjure a spell. Kill maybe one of us, there will be many more after that. Do you really think you can kill enough of us to change my mind, all by yourself?"

With that the man smiled, almost knowingly and before they could reach him enough to fully restrain him, he gestured.

And the four guards fell dead to the ground.