Morgana's unorthodox hunting style caused the rest of the sheep to scatter across the clifftop. We caught only the old and infirm, none with the same powerful horns as the first ram. As we gather around the pile of woolen bodies, I watch Morgana closely. She hunches over the carcasses like an icy, blood-stained gargoyle, brow ridges drawn low as she examines the kills. The scent of blood and musk, urine and feces, hangs heavily in the air. It doesn't help that the decomposition process is sped up by the goddess-awful heat.

I want to gag.

The Morgana I knew from childhood would have been elated to have caught so many. It meant food for the pack and a great source of pride for her parents. However, a mercurial Morgana reigns as queen and is thus unpredictable.

Alpha Thorne glances at me as if I hold the answers.

I used to, but I fear that is no longer the case.

Horn and hooves scrape on the clifftop as Morgana hefts an old ram up with one hand. A slow smile stretches across her muzzle and she chuckles softly.

Alpha Thorne's tail tip thumps on the grass. "What amuses you so, Your Majesty?"

The smile on Morgana's muzzle stretches into a grin, one filled with long, sharp fangs. "I'm just thinking about how pissed off all those old bastards at Daroonga are going to be once I have these mounted." She chuckles again, louder this time. "I think I'll hang this one in the throne room."

My fur slicks close to my skin as her words sink in. I lick my jaws and say cautiously, "Is that wise?"

As quick as a snake, Morgana's head whips around. My shoulders hunch and I lower my head, eyes to the ground. She drops the old ram, its body thumping dully onto the carcasses of its herd mates. "They seek to cow me, Issa," she says. "This is merely a reminder of who holds the power."

By turning Daroonga—the seat of power for generations of alpha monarchs—into a gothic hunting lodge? I can understand a new queen's need for renovation, especially one who will (hopefully) establish her own dynasty, but to completely disregard history? I do not believe the counselors will react the way Morgana predicts.

In fact, I think this attempt will strengthen their resolve and desire to bring her to heel.

A real friend would remind Morgana of that fact. Something I would have done only two days ago had my friend not turned on me. Even now, my legs tremble slightly beneath the weight of her power.

"Of course," I say to the grass instead.

The invisible hand pressing down on my head and neck relents. I look up to see Morgana smiling. "Exactly. Now, what do you think about having this one in my room?" She hefts the first ram up. "Shine up the horns and gilt them?"

That would be positively atrocious. But I'm saved from having to voice another opinion by Alpha Thorne. He rises to his feet. "Perhaps Your Majesty would like to see some examples in my trophy room?"

Morgana cocks her head. "An excellent idea."

Alpha Thorne turns to the betas and makes a huffing sound. Two of the males shift, pulling long loops of rope from their pockets. They wade into the pile of sheep carcasses and begin tossing them onto the backs of the other males, securing them with the rope.

Morgana reverts to her four-legged form, watching with a critical eye as the betas make quick work of loading up her trophies. "Let's go, Issa," she says abruptly, rising.

The order runs straight through to my bones. I move to her side and glance back at Alpha Thorne: the older male barks, a low sound emanating from his chest. Russell Crimsonshadow turns around, ears pricked. "Escort the queen and her handmaiden back to the estate," the alpha instructs.

"I am more than capable of getting back down, Alpha Thorne," Morgana tells him, waving Russell off with a flick of her tail. "Come, Issa." Without waiting for the alpha's reply, she pushes through the bush barrier and disappears.

Alpha Thorne's ears skew sideways and his jaw drops slightly. "But—"

"Sorry," I tell him sincerely before spinning around and following the queen.

------------

By the time we reach the base of the cliff, Morgana has decided that she would much rather take a bath and nap. After spending hours in the grueling heat, I wholeheartedly agree and return to my room. Kaia is nowhere to be found, but I don't blame her for not being at my beck and call. I can wash myself.

I draw a cool bath, strip off my sweaty, filthy garments, and sink into the tub.

How did I get here? I wonder as I stare at the bathing room's sand and gold tile. How did I go from relishing my role as the queen's handmaiden to fearing her in less than two days?

I sigh and tip my head back, focusing my gaze on the white-painted ceiling. Perhaps things will go back to normal once we return to Daroonga, I muse, flicking my right hand back and forth through the cool water.

No, it won't, a tiny voice in the back of my head counters.

I blink, fingers stilling. Morgana had every opportunity to apologize to me, but she hasn't. Instead, she doubled down on the compulsion. She was more cavalier, more wild this morning than I have ever seen her. The Morgana I grew up with would never have dived off of a cliff without checking to see if it was safe.

She's the queen now, that small voice reminds me. She's no longer your friend.

Frustration boils in my chest and my hands curl into fists below the waterline. I'm being paranoid, that's all.

... Right?

"Ugh!" Water splashes over the lip of the tub and onto the floor. Why can't the answers be simple?

Too upset to enjoy a long soak, I quickly wash up and step out of the tub. After a quick dry, I flop onto the bed naked and immediately fall asleep ... only to be woken up by Kaia.

"My lady," she says, gently touching my arm.

"Uh?" I groan, blinking the fog from my eyes. "Wha ... ?"

"It's time to get ready for dinner."

I sit up and look at the nightstand for my clock. It takes me a moment to remember that this isn't my room in Daroonga, but Crimsonshadow Pack.

"It's four in the afternoon, my lady," Kaia gently reminds me, hands tucked in front of her apron.

"Huh," I grunt, wiping the vestiges of sleep from my tired eyes. Goddess, didn't I fall asleep?

My limbs move mechanically, pulling on the stays and underwear Kaia hands me. My omega maid presses a cup of tea into my hands, which I sip gratefully as she takes a dress from the wardrobe and lays it over a chair. Have I worn that dress before? I wonder as I drink the tea, thoughts gradually solidifying. There's a simple white gown, the skirt flared out by an underlayer of petticoats. The upper half is blue-grey with pink and white flowers and lace at the bodice; half-length ruffled sleeves complete the ensemble.

Perhaps I have and I've just forgotten. I've worn so many gowns these past three years, that it's difficult to remember.

Kaia helps me into the dress, fixes my hair, clasps a tiny diamond necklace around my throat, and applies a little rouge to my lips and cheeks—to give me some color, she says with a sympathetic smile.

Morgana is entertaining the beta ladies with tales of today's hunt when I arrive at her suite. They sit around her while her maids finish putting fresh flowers in her white hair, each one wearing a mask of forced interest.

"You missed the tour of Alpha Thorne's trophy room, Issa," she says as I take a seat by the door. "Your maid told me you were sleeping."

Letitia's mask cracks for a split second as she seizes on this bit of information.

"Yes, I apologize," I respond hastily. "The heat got to me."

Morgana shrugs. "Anyway, I've decided to have the big ram's head mounted and placed above my throne. The others will be boiled down to the bone and mounted in the great hall." She pauses and flashes me a smile—one that does not reach her eyes. "They need to remember that their queen is a hunter."

"Good idea," I reply automatically.

"I thought so." Morgana nods and slips her feet into soft green slippers that match her dress.

The gown, paired with her thick white locks, calls to mind a snow-touched wood nymph. The sleeves are crafted of three-quarters' length gauze, with tiny pink and light green flowers embroidered on them. These flowers flow across her low-cut bodice and down her stomach, where they blossom into full-sized versions on the skirt. Perched on her head is a small, but magnificent diamond and emerald tiara; large emeralds hang suspended from her earlobes and nestle in the hollow of her throat.

"Shall we, ladies?" Morgana asks, still wearing that cool smile.

I slip behind the betas as we exit her room, hands clasped in front of me. Sunlight sparkles off of the jewels in Morgana's tiara as we walk down the hall to the dining room. Another time, I would find it pretty and remark it so to her, but not today. I doubt she would share the sentiment.

It's a smaller affair tonight, I realize as we enter the hall. A few of the ranking pack members and their mates are at the table but save for Alpha Thorne, his wife, son, and Lord Blackwood, that is all.

"Here, Lady Wintergale," a footman says. He touches my elbow and guides me to my seat—right next to Russell Crimonshadow.

I blink, drawing up short. "Surely this is the wrong—" I peer across the table to see Lord Blackwood seated diagonally across from Morgana.

Lord Crimsonshadow rises from his chair. "No, you're in the right place, my lady."

"Yes—of course," I mutter as politely as possible, letting him draw my chair out. It is then I see Alpha Thorne's eye upon us. Wearing a contemplative expression, he glances over at Morgana. She pays him no heed, chatting amiably with Lord Blackwood and Luna Amelia. The corner of the alpha's mouth twitches, an expression he quickly hides by reaching for his wine glass.

"Tonight is the last night we shall host our beloved queen," Alpha Thorne booms out. "On behalf of my wife and our son, I would like to extend our sincere appreciation to Her Majesty for gracing our humble home with her presence."

My fingers curl around the stem of the wineglass, watching as Morgana smiles and turns to the alpha. "It has been my pleasure, Alpha Thorne. I very much enjoyed our stay—as short as it has been. I would also like to thank you for the wonderful hunt this morning. The walls at Daroonga will not be so bare once my trophies are mounted and displayed!"

Alpha Thorne's returning smile is unfailingly polite but does not reach his eyes any more than Morgana's reaches hers. "Then let us conclude this visit with a meal provided by Her most gracious Majesty! To Her Majesty!" he calls out, lifting his glass.

"To Her Majesty!"

I lift my voice to join the others, my lack of enthusiasm drowned out by the others. In one gulp, I down the wine and call for another.

"Thirsty, Lady Wintergale?" Lord Crimsonshadow remarks, lifting an eyebrow.

"You have no idea," I droll, accepting a full glass from a servant. No idea at all.