Three hours later, the train pulls into Lunaris Station, on the edge of the Crimsonshadow estate. Stifling a yawn, I pack my book away and glance out the window. The village guard line the platform, arms outstretched, blocking the townsfolk from approaching the train. Morgana snores softly on the settee, The Beast Diaries hanging from her limp hand.

The door to the dining car opens and Lord Breton enters, Morgana's maid trailing behind him. He takes one look at the sleeping queen, then turns his attention to me. With a sigh, I stretch my legs, rise from the chair, and lean over Morgana. "Mor," I murmur, touching her arm. "We're here."

Her blue eyes snap open, fixing on me without a hint of sleepiness. "Shit," she curses, rolling upright.

"Let me fix your hair, Your Majesty," the maid says, pulling a comb and brush from her apron pocket. I move out of the way and smooth my trousers. I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and slip it on, fingers flying up the buttons.

Kaia and the other maids arrive to take embroidery hoops, cards, magazines, and my satchel. We can't be seen carrying anything when we disembark for reasons I've yet to understand.

Once the queen is presentable, the ladies descend the steps from the lounge car and arrange themselves into twos, one pair on either side of the steps. I remain inside as Morgana exits the car, repressing a sigh. Lord Breton descends next, then it is my turn. Through the billowing white steam I see dozens of townsfolk waving flags, their cheers muffled by the rumble of the train engine. Strands of hair curl around my face, the waves exacerbated by the steam.

I hang back as Morgana greets the line of townsfolk, waving to them but keeping them at arm's length. The station is a one-story grey brick building that stretches half the length of the platform. A wide, flat canopy juts outward, providing much-needed shade. I sigh and tug at my shirt collar, feeling sweat begin to bead on my brow and under my arms. The last time I was this far south I was wearing a dress. I'm starting to regret choosing the freedom of trousers; the other girls don't seem particularly uncomfortable.

Damn them.

A tall, bearded, broad-shouldered alpha emerges from the crowd, flanked by two other males. Despite the heat, all three are wearing a top hat, frock coat, waistcoat and trousers. "Your Majesty," Alpha Thorne greets Morgana, taking her extended hand and kissing her knuckles. He stands up to his full height and takes off his dark blue top hat; a collection of iridescent dragon scales shaped like an oak leaf is tucked into the brown band. "Let me bid you welcome to Crimsonshadow Pack."

"We thank you for your gracious invitation, Alpha Thorne," Morgana replies, folding her hands. From this angle, I can't see her eyes, but the slight tilt of her head tells me that she is assessing the two males who accompanied the alpha.

"May I introduce my son, Russell, and my nephew, Alaric Blackwood?"

Russell, the alpha's son, wears a grey suit with a crimson cravat; Alaric, the nephew, is dressed in dark brown. Both males are bearded, like the alpha, but Alaric's hair is blond to their brown.

"Charmed," Morgana purrs, and I pray she won't have me test them here. She's done it before on visits to other packs, which didn't improve my reputation.

"I've had my staff prepare a magnificent welcoming feast for you and your retinue," Alpha Thorne continues. "If you would please follow me to the carriages?"

We cross the platform and descend a small set of steps to a courtyard where a dozen carriages await. Away from the shade of the canopy, the sun beats down on my head. My scalp prickles with sweat and I reach up to rub at my forehead with the oversized sleeve of my right arm. Goddess, it's hot!

A hand wraps around my upper arm and I'm pulled away as I walk up to Morgana and Letitia. "Where do you think you're going?" an unfamiliar male asks, his voice carrying an undertone of taunting.

I whirl to face a beta with thick red-brown muttonchops and dark green eyes. Before I can answer, he sniffs audibly and I watch his lips curl into a cruel smirk. "Oh-ho! The Whore of Daroonga! What do you say about testing me—"

There's a roar and a massive white paw backhands the beta across the courtyard. His body sails through the air and collides with a wood and iron bench next to a gas light. Wood cracks and splinters, iron groans and bends with the impact. In the uncomfortable silence that follows, a small pool of blood oozes from the back of the beta's head.

Horses squeal and scream, thrashing in their traces as members of Crimsonshadow Pack use all of their strength to calm them down. I turn slowly and look up to see Morgana hunched over me in her warrior form. Standing over eight feet tall, the alpha queen's snow-white pelt is marred by a few specks of red blood on the knuckles of her left paw hand. Our eyes connect—green to blue—and she spins around, ears pinned back.

"No one is to use that name in my presence—AM I UNDERSTOOD?" she bellows, black lips curling back from massive white fangs.

Power ripples off Morgana's form like a heat wave, forcing everyone in the vicinity to round their shoulders in submission. I grit my teeth as my body is pressed down, down to the ground until I'm nearly kneeling on cobblestone. My fingertips brush the road, hands fluctuating between skin and brown fur. My spine tingles as my tail threatens to burst free and tuck between my legs.

"Yes, Alpha," flies from my lips, echoed by everyone in attendance.

"I DIDN'T HEAR YOU!"

"Yes, Alpha!" I shout, throwing my voice in with the rest.

A low rumble vibrates Morgana's chest—and then the invisible hand keeping me pressed to the ground is gone. I take a deep breath, and look up. Morgana stands over me, back in her human form, hand extended.

"Come, Issa."

I take the queen's hand and rise.

"Are you all right?" Morgana asks, linking arms.

I glance over her shoulder to where Letitia stands, straightening the hem of her jacket. Our eyes meet briefly before she turns away. "Of course," I reply, ignoring the pain in my upper arm. Thankfully, werewolves heal quickly. Should Morgana see evidence of bruises, the Crimsonshadow beta would be dead instead of being inconvenienced for a day or two.

Morgana sniffs, her eyes two hard flecks of sapphires. She doesn't buy my ruse, but she chooses to ignore it. "You!" she barks, pointing at one of the Daroonga servants. "Fetch Lady Wintergale's hat."

"Of course, Your Majesty," the omega boy exclaims, scurrying beneath the lead Crimsonshadow carriage.

My free hand flies up to pat the top of my head. "Huh," I remark curiously. I didn't even notice it had flown off.

"Thank you," I murmur when the boy returns with that ridiculous hat. I set it on my head, maneuvering the pins into place.

"Don't ever leave my side, Issa," Morgana says as we walk toward Alpha Thorne's carriage.

I chuckle wryly. "I try not to, Mor."

She snorts, a very un-queenlike sound. "These people and their protocols. Things were simpler back home—don't you think? No need for such a rigid structure. Just alphas, betas, gammas, and omegas. As the goddess ordained. We've become too much like humans."

"Well, humans did give us trains," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "Much easier than running on all fours to get from one pack to another."

"True."

You would think Morgana would elevate me to beta to fix the problem, but no, once again she doesn't consider it.

We reach Alpha Thorne's carriage. The alpha is tying his cravat; he bows and gestures to the cab. "If I may assist Her Majesty?"

The black carriage is large enough to seat six people—three on each side. Morgana enters first, followed by Letitia, who sits on her left, and then me on her right. Alpha Thorne's son enters, then the alpha and his nephew.

A footman closes the door. The carriage rocks briefly as the man climbs aboard, then we are off.

"I want to apologize for the behavior of my beta, Your Majesty," Alpha Thorne says as the carriage draws away from Lunaris Station. "I will demote him to omega for his actions."

The air inside the carriage swiftly grows warm. My eyes sweep the door, seeking a crank or some sort of handle to let a breeze in.

"I should hope so, Alpha Thorne," Morgana replies.

I spy an inlaid circular crank—a rather ingenious piece of innovation—in the wall next to me. Now, how to turn it just a little without being seen? All I need is a sliver for relief. Perhaps I can use my hat to hide my hand ...

"Lady Wintergale appears to be melting, Uncle," the alpha's nephew remarks.

A flush infuses my cheeks, not helping me cool down in the least. Out of the corner of my eye, Morgana lifts her eyebrows. "Roll down the window, Issa."

Nodding dumbly, I stick my fingers inside the recessed crank and turn it like a doorknob. The cramped interior combined with the angle my arm bends pulls at my bruised skin. I wince, but the window comes down slightly. My lips part in relief as a slow, but blessedly cool, breeze fills the carriage interior.

"You weren't harmed too badly I hope, Lady Wintergale?"

His question startles me. I'm used to being ignored, the queen's handmaiden who sits at her side and seldom speaks. "Oh—me? Uh, yes, I am well, thank you ... Lord Blackwood."

Lord Blackwood smiles, white teeth flashing. I notice his short blond hair is messy, not combed or pomaded like most betas around Daroonga. His green cravat is slightly askew; one jacket cuff is rolled up, while the other covers his wrist. Rather devil-may-care if I'm any judge.

"That is good," he replies, still smiling.

Alpha Thorne's eyes narrow slightly and I duck my head, fiddling with the hem of my hunting jacket. I can feel the alpha's censure bury deep into my bones.

"So, Alpha Thorne," Morgana says, breaking the silence, "what sort of game shall we expect to hunt tomorrow? I heard your lands boast of sheep?"

The alpha's right boot twitches and I slowly lift my head. Lord Blackwood and his cousin are looking at Alpha Thorne as he replies, "Indeed, Your Majesty. But I think you would enjoy hunting antelope more."

"One of my ladies told me that the horns are highly valued, are they not?"

Alpha Thorne blinks slowly. "Y-es, they are, Your Majesty."

Morgana cocks her head. "Then why would I wish to hunt antelope when the sheep are a far better prize?"

A slight flush creeps up the alpha's neck. He straightens in the confines of the carriage and rubs his chin with the pad of his thumb. "If Your Majesty wishes to scale the cliffs, I will most certainly oblige."

"Thank you, Alpha Thorne," Morgana says, inclining her head. "Now, tell me what else is there?"

I turn my head to look out the carriage window as Alpha Thorne waxes long about the antelope, the rugged terrain, and the profitability of his lands. I wonder if the older wolf regrets inviting his queen. Time will tell.