Ventris Station is a busy hub, with dozens of trains traversing its tracks daily. Today, however, the hustle and bustle is calmed while the queen and her retinue arrive. Ordinary citizens—mostly gammas and omegas—watch from behind barriers as we climb the platform. For many, this is their first glimpse of the alpha queen. For her part, Morgana favors them with a few waves before being ushered toward the royal train.

Steam belches from the engine as it idles near the platform, wreathing the area in a thick, hot blanket of vapor. Assembled in the final years of Queen Theola's reign, it took three years to complete and is a marvel of werewolf ingenuity. Indeed, it was the first train built using steam instead of coal to power its massive engine.

This marks my second journey on the royal train—the first being Morgana's coronation tour. The train has five cars hooked up to the engine: a lounge, a dining car, and three cars for staff and luggage. The five sleeper cars have been removed, given that this trip is three hours long, unlike the previous three-month tour. Unlike the state coach, the paneling on the royal train's cars is a warm, inviting brown. However, I wish the same could be said for the interior.

I thank the porter who hands me up to the lounge car and brace myself for the visual onslaught. Blue is the dominant color, taking the walls, chairs, and couches under its eye-numbing wing. The ceiling is quilted in white, just like the state coach. ** A thick woolen carpet covers the floor, intricately weaving a diamond-shaped pattern in shades of sandy brown, green, and blue. Goddess, it's like stepping into a fishbowl.

Morgana makes a bee-line for a blue upholstered settee and throws herself onto it, ripping off her ankle boots and tossing them into a corner. The other ladies blink, their expressions frozen as the queen idly scratches her leg with the toes of her other foot. I don't know why they're surprised; Morgana has acted thusly since she beat out all the other contenders to the throne. So far, no one has been able to polish the queen's rough edges.

Ignoring the ladies, I make my way to a blue chair shaped like a scallop shell next to the settee and set my satchel in a corner by the door leading to the dining car. Letitia takes possession of an identical chair opposite mine, leaving Elaine, Petra, and Thara to silently vie over the remaining three seats. I watch them posture and flash their teeth until Petra backs down and retreats to a chair at the very back of the lounge. Elaine and Thara practically preen as they gracefully take a seat on opposite ends of a thin wooden table built into the car wall.

Lord Breton, the queen's private secretary, an old beta wolf with iron grey hair and a long, thin face, enters the lounge through the dining car and approaches Morgana. In his right hand is a large brown leather box with Morgana's royal cipher inlaid into the top.

"Your Majesty, would you like to review the state papers?" he asks, bowing.

Morgana doesn't look at him. Her attention is fixed on her subjects crowding the platform, eager to get a glimpse of their queen before the train leaves. "No."

Lord Breton's mouth tightens, his shoulders twitching. The old wolf shoots me a pleading look. I don't know what he expects me to do—even I have trouble swaying Morgana when she's in a mood.

"It has been three days," I gently remind her.

Morgana sighs dramatically and throws an arm behind her head. "Fine," she groans, sitting up. "No one told me that ruling involved so much paperwork."

It's an old complaint of hers. I don't remind that at least two dozen people—including her own parents and pack elders—told her the exact same thing.

"Thank you, madam," Lord Breton murmurs, setting the box down next to the settee. He reaches behind a small table covered with knick-knacks and pulls out a folding desk. Morgana watches him with undisguised boredom as Lord Breton unfolds the desk and sets it up in front of the settee. He places the box atop the desk and opens a drawer in the small table, pulling out a pen case, and placing it next to the box.

"The royal engineer wanted me to tell you that we will be pulling out of Ventris Station in five minutes, Your Majesty."

"Not soon enough," she grumbles, flicking the case open and begins pulling out papers.

"Is there anything else I can get you, madam?" Lord Breton inquires.

Morgana flicks through the pages, frowning. "I'm hungry. I want something to eat and wine."

As if on cue, members of the train's kitchen staff open the door and begin serving breakfast. I take my plate loaded with poached eggs, thick slices of bacon, toasted brown bread with lemon preserves, and three fat sausage links and place it on the table next to me. I thank the servant girl who brings me my tea and hold it tightly as a sharp whistle blows three times in rapid succession.

"Finally," Morgana huffs, tossing the box of state papers onto the settee beside her.

I brace myself as the train lurches forward, steel grinding on steel as the wheels grip the rails for purchase. Steam pours from the engine, covering the entire platform and rendering Morgana's subjects invisible. My bottom slides around the upholstered cushion as the train continues to gain momentum.

Within moments, we've pulled away from the station and are gliding through Ventris City. I watch as the tall brown and grey buildings of the manufacturing hub shrink into the distance, until we leave the city entirely.

One of the maids sets a standing tray in front of me and I place my plate on it, along with the teacup. We eat in silence as the train continues to pick up speed. Farmland whizzes by and then we are plunged into the forest. I cover a belch with my napkin, then dab at my lips. However difficult it is to reside in the palace, I must admit that the food is excellent. I'm surprised I haven't doubled in size.

"Hand me one of your books, Issa," Morgana states as the servants circle the lounge car, picking up our dirty dishes and refilling our teacups—or, in Morgana's case, wine glass.

I look over at her as she stretches across the settee, propping her head up with several plump tasseled pillows, all embroidered with her cipher. There's a thud and a whisper of paper as she knocks the state box and its contents onto the floor with her feet.

I flinch; the other ladies' heads are drawn to the sound, but they soon return to their pursuits—Elaine and Thara to their cards, Letitia to her embroidery, and Petra to a magazine.

"Which one?" I ask, reaching for my bag.

"Bah, I don't know—the one with the shaggy beast drawing."

It takes me a moment to figure out that she is referring to The Beast Diaries. I pull it out and pass it to her. My head dips to The Magnificent Travels of Hortense Villamere, when Morgana begins to read aloud:

" 'The mammoth is a majestic creature. It resides in the coldest biome of the archipelago, its dense, shaggy fur keeping it well-insulated from the biting winds that tear through its territory.' " She snorts and continues, " 'My guides and I spent three days tracking a small herd of the beasts. I became deft at tying my boots and fastening my clothes with my fingers protected by thick gloves ...' You really read this drivel, Issa?"

I shrug. "I find it interesting." I have an inquiring mind, even my parents remarked on it. What can I say—I love to learn.

Morgana scoffs, but she doesn't return the book.

"How many more volumes did you say there are?" she asks after a moment.

"Four."

"Remind me when we get back to Daroonga," she says and lapses into silence.

A small smile stretches my lips. She won't admit it, but I piqued her curiosity. Across from me, Letitia shifts her position. I raise my eyes slightly from the page, catching her faint scowl.

Small victories, I muse, taking a sip of tea.