What led me to the prince's room, I cannot say.

After Roland closed his door I wandered the royal wing, my mind filled with the terrible possibilities of the king in wolf form, until something, whether chance or fate, stopped me before the ornate door.

I didn't want to entertain the prince's company.

And I wouldn't have to, for when I peered through the hole in the door I found his bed empty, and no physicians or servants were moving within.

Without thinking, my hand rapped on the wood. I shook my head, feeling foolish for knocking on the door to an empty room.

"Come in," a voice called, almost too quiet to hear.

I pushed open the door, curious to discover who was inside the room while the prince was away. The whelp was reclining on a chair, and when he saw me he moved quickly to his feet.

"I thought you were a servant!" he exclaimed as he gave a short bow.

"Sorry for interrupting," I said, then added a quick lie, "I was looking for the prince."

"Oh, he's not here. He's with a physician for his studies."

"His studies?"

"He has them twice a day. He's got to be clever for when he becomes king." He went to a table and plucked a grape from a platter piled with food. "He spends lots of time with the physicians."

"How long will he be away?"

"Depends on his mood and how strong he's feeling. Sometimes he's gone for hours, sometimes it's minutes." He swallowed the grape and reached for a slice of apple. "You can stay here and wait for him if you want." His brow furrowed. "At least...I think you can."

"Thank you, but I don't wish to intrude."

"You're not! Please stay! Just for a moment." His tone was pleading.

"You wish for me to stay?"

"Only if you want to. You don't have to..." He blushed and lowered his eyes. "You don't have to do anything I ask. It's just a little lonely here."

I considered his request, weighing it against the potential punishment of being caught. As I paused in the doorway, the whelp's attention was taken by something else.

A spider had wandered onto the table he was seated at. I watched as he lowered his hand and allowed the arachnid to crawl onto his fingers. I assumed the boy would slam his hand and crush the poor bug, but he only examined it.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" he whispered to it. "You won't find the food you're after here though."

While carefully balancing the spider on his hand, the whelp stood and walked to a corner of the room. With gentle care, he placed his palm against the wall, creating a bridge for the spider to cross.

"Go on and build a web so you can catch some real food."

He waited patiently for the spider to leave his hand, and watched in amusement as it climbed the wall. When he saw my expression, he gave a bashful chuckle.

"She wasn't hurting no one. She just needed a bit of help."

"Most people would have squashed it," I said and instantly regretted opening my mouth when the whelp's face went pale.

"Would you have squashed her?" 

"I would have done the same as you."

He visibly relaxed. "I can't stand to see things in pain."

"That's because you've experienced it," I blurted.

"Only a little," he replied.

"You don't mind it? You don't wish it was someone else in your place?"

"No, I never have."

"Wouldn't it be nice if you were the one hitting instead of being hit?"

"That doesn't sound nice at all."

"That's strange for a person like you to say."

"A person like me?"

"Someone who is..." I winced. "Used...as you are."

"Oh, yes." He smiled, but it was full of sorrow. "I'm just doing my duty, same as everyone else." He shrugged before adding, "I'm the prince's whelp."

"But don't you think it's ridiculous that the prince gets to act horribly while you take all the punishment?"

"I don't take all the punishment. I get a few slaps now and then, but the prince gets the worst of it."

"How?"

"Bruises and cuts always heal, don't they? But wounds up here—" He poked his temple. "Those are the kind that remain. Besides, I've got padding to soften the blows." He patted his stomach.

I resisted the urge to argue further. The whelp's face still sported remnants of the king's beating, and though they were not as severe as when they were first inflicted, they looked quite sore.

"Do you want some food?" he asked. "I don't mind sharing if you're hungry."

I took a seat across from him but did not eat. Instead, I looked around the room while awkwardly waiting for my host to speak. A flash of silver caught my attention, and my eyes settled on a familiar object.

Grizzelda's skull sat in a corner, left there to be forgotten.

On my first night in the castle it had been thrown at my feet, but I hadn't seen it since. The prince must have demanded the prize, and was indulged as he was in all things. 

The spoiled boy had treated it horrendously. 

The once gorgeous helmet was scratched and dented. One of the fangs was bent out of shape, while the other was missing, and a soiled rag had been stuffed into one of the eye sockets.

I was furious with the prince's treatment. He had no respect for the champion that provided it or the great cost it had taken to procure it. I wanted to take it back and hide it in my room, but I knew the moment it was gone would be the moment the prince remembered it. I turned to the whelp, desiring to distract my anger.

"Why were you chosen to be the whelp?"

"Oh, it's not that interesting. My mum was a peasant, and she gave birth to me on the same day the prince was born. The physicians said it was a sign, so my mum was allowed to give me to the king."

"Didn't she know what would happen to you?"

"I don't know. I never saw her again. I wouldn't be able to pick her face from a crowd. But I think she did the right thing."

"Why?"

"Well, what sort of life is there for a peasant? I see the servants...many of them are hungry and rarely get a bath. Their hands are always dirty. But here? I have nice clothes and all the food I want. I sleep in a comfortable bed. And I used to go with the prince to his studies, so I can read and write and count my numbers.  If all this means I have to take a few slaps for my future king...I'd tell my mum to do it all over again."

"What will happen when the prince becomes king and no longer needs punishments?"

"Oh, that's the best part! I'll become a courtier. I'll be free. I'll dine in the hall and laugh with everyone. I'll find a wife and have lots of children, and I'll never raise my hand to any of them. But I won't be a regular courtier. Past whelps are often given the honor of sitting on the king's council, where they'll give wisdom and advice in times of need. Who better understands the king's moods? His fears and dreams? I've been by the prince's side his whole life. You see, my position now is a small price to pay for a comfortable future."

"What if one day the prince goes too far—or the punishment carries on until it does too much harm?"

"I used to be afraid of that, but not anymore. There's lots of good things about being the whelp."

"Like what?"

He reached over the table and cut himself a slice of frosted cake.

"The prince has a delicate stomach. There's many things he can't do and even more he can't eat. He's not allowed cake, for example. He's never had a single bite. He watches me eat it. I get all the cake I want. I'm lucky, don't you think?"

I didn't agree, but there was no point in souring his good mood. If the boy chose to view his grim circumstance as lucky, pointing out the truth would help nothing.

"There is a part I don't enjoy," he said with an abrupt change of tone. He looked at his slice of cake and his face twisted into remorse, as if he was suddenly disgusted by the dessert. "When the prince gets nasty...sometimes he makes me eat too much and my stomach hurts. And he'll say mean things. That's the only time I feel unlucky."

"What does he say?"

When the whelp spoke his breath was stilted to keep from crying.

"One time he had a mirror brought into this room. Big enough that I could see my whole body. He made me look at my reflection and called me names. Then he made me repeat those names." He looked down at his belly, which hung well over the waist of his pants, and shook his head. "Sometimes I can't help but believe him when he says those things."

He went quiet, leaving a somber note in the air. When he looked at me, there were tears on his cheeks.

Childhood shouldn't be this way, I thought.

"Mostly I'm sad for the prince," the whelp said.

"Why?"

"Because when he says those awful things...sometimes I think he isn't talking to me, but himself. No one should ever have to hear those kinds of things. I take them, just as I take his punishments. He can't help the anger he has, you see. His sickness has denied him many things. Like cake. I've watched him spend weeks never leaving his bed. I think I would be angry, too, if my body didn't allow me to leave the bed. And I love him, despite how he treats me, not just as my future king, but as my friend. It hurts to see him in pain."

"You're a very odd sort of boy," I said quietly, "but in the best way."

He wiped his tears with a cloth napkin. "You give odd compliments, but I take them in the best way."

I felt a strange affection for the whelp. He was selfless in a way that many weren't, and might have been the closest thing to a hero one could find in the castle. 

"I'm not used to talking about myself," the whelp said suddenly. "No one asks me questions unless they're demanding something."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Still...it feels uncomfortable. Especially because you're much more interesting."

"I'm not interesting."

"That's not true! I heard what you did in the dining hall! Can you really—"

"What is this?"

A man's voice cut through the peace of the room. I turned to find the king standing in the doorway, dressed in full armor and scowling. The whelp and I were on our feet in an instant, and moved to bow. The king scoffed at our respect and his hateful gaze settled on the larger boy.

"You'll eat yourself to death, won't you," he said with scorn. "Disgusting and spoiled, fat little monster. The sight of you makes me want to expel my breakfast." The whelp remained silent. "Can you even walk, or must you roll your body around like a legless cow? Answer me, beast."

"I can w-walk, Your Highness."

"I should have you strung up in the hall to see how long it takes you to starve. You'd be there for years, wouldn't you? But oh, how the crows would cheer for the feast."

He turned to me and I flinched under his attention.

"I've been looking for you, boy. Thought to find you in Roland's quarters but you're here. You are not allowed in this room unless the prince calls for you. Given his absence, I doubt he's extended such an invitation."

"No, Your Highness."

"Follow me. I'll have a word with you free from the sight of that thing."

I trailed after him through the wing. We passed through a door I had never opened, which led into another hall. At its end was a door made of brilliant white oak, with gold decoration depicting a battle between humans and monsters.

The entrance to the king's personal chambers.

He did not invite me inside but glared down for several tense moments.

"Why were you in my son's room?"

I kept my eyes on my feet.

"I was curious about the prince. I haven't seen him."

"You miss the boy," he mused.

It was the furthest thing from the truth, but I nodded.

"I suppose it makes sense, being the only other child in the castle." He wasn't counting the whelp or any of the servants as people. "When he's regained his strength, I will arrange another meeting between you. In the meantime, I have need of the wolf."

I feared he meant to drag me back to the dungeon and force me to participate in Odd Gran's deadly experiments.

"There will be a hunt in the morning and the wolf will be at my side for it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"We'll leave after breakfast."

He disappeared behind the door without another word, and I made my way back to my room, using the map the twins had drawn to guide me. My stomach was unsettled, and though I wished to see Interra and Amatha, I was plagued with fear over the day to come.

What would the wolf do if the king gave a command it didn't wish to obey?

How would the king respond if the wolf refused him?

It was very possible that the hunt would end with no game caught, and the king returning home with a lupine pelt slung over his shoulder.