Little Red (Not Quite the Fairy Tale #5)

by May Sage

  He’d generalized, throwing every wolf in one basket, and that probably bordered on racism.

  Chase had met one horrible Wilderling, as well as ten cowards who hadn’t chosen to fight against him; but the same day, he’d met two hundred individuals who were just normal people – fur notwithstanding. The only thing he knew for certain about them was their strong sense of family; they had each other’s back, like no other community he’d ever heard of. Classifying them all under one umbrella had been stupid.

  Hell, he’d actually said monsters. To Lana’s face. Frankly, he’d meant that the Alpha had been a monster, but he hadn’t exactly clarified that.

  Chase wished someone could have punched some sense into him before he opened his big mouth.

  When it became quite apparent that he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep, despite the godforsaken hour, he got up and started the day off by blowing some steam in the gym, punching a bag as hard as he could. First, he’d imagined it to be the cocky alpha, and he’d bruised his knuckles. Then, he visualized his own face, saying and repeating “They need to understand what kinds of monsters roam their lands.” He hit the thing so hard he broke his skin, and knocked the bag off its hook.

  After wrapping his hands, Chase tried his luck at casually lingering in the corridors, hoping to bump into Lana like it was a coincidence, but the palace was quiet, eerily silent.

  Around nine, he went up to Mimi’s drawing room; the women had seemed to get along, so he hoped Lana might popped by.

  The Queen sent him an icy stare and looked away, returning to her knitting; never had he seen her wield her large, intimidating needles quite so fiercely.

  “Grandmother,” he greeted her, trying to smile his way into his good grace.

  “Chase.”

  The reply was curt and cold. Oh, damn it to all hells, he’d really messed up this time. Mimi was never angry with him; not when he ignored the endless parade of legs she liked to submit him to, not when he’d come back dripping mud over her carpet, not even when he forgot to buy her chocolate and cakes.

  Giving up on acting as though nothing had occurred, he confessed right away: “I’m going to apologize. I was out of line with our guest, Grandma.”

  The thing was, Lana was female, therefore even if the fault had entirely lied with her, the only way to move forward was to say “ever so sorry, my bad.” Any man worth his salt knew and accepted that fact. As the fault was his, his apology ought to be sincere, and served accompanied with a bouquet of at least three different kinds of flowers. On such short notice, he’d had to forgo the peace offering, but he had he was quite happy to resort to bribery.

  The Queen lifted her head, and while some of her anger seemed to fade, it was replaced by exasperation.

  “Sit down, Chase.”

  Here comes the I am disappointed speech. Chase would have preferred the prospect of facing another snarling wolf pack, but he obeyed.

  “What do you know of the last Jereenan war?”

  Surprised, unsure where that was going, he replied, “It lasted longer than expected; Jereena had to call to Alenia, and even then, months passed until they managed to beat back the rebels.”

  “So, I take it you haven’t asked either of your friends for details.”

  He nodded his agreement: he hadn’t. When it came into light that his friend and ally’s kingdom was under attack, he’d offered his help, on principle, and after Aiden had politely declined, Chase let it drop, concentrating on his own kingdom’s issues.

  Enom wasn’t very well equipped for war; they had an army, of course, but if they were attacked, their main defense would come from their extensive alliances.

  They built the best tools – both their firearms and blades were so artfully crafted most kingdoms had signed peace treaties just to ensure that they’d carry on selling to them – but there weren’t many soldiers retrospectively, considering they were a nation twice the size of Jereena.

  They all knew that: Aiden had appreciated his generous offer of a few thousand soldiers he couldn’t spare, Chase had appreciate Aiden’s kind refusal.

  “It wasn’t a civil war, Chase. No one advertised it, but they were attacked by Wilderlings. Five hundred Wilderlings, against over fifty five thousand men. Young Armand told me all about it,” she said, referring to the previous King of Jereena, Aiden’s father.

  To her, he was “young Armand” because she’d seen him in diapers, a few decades back. The respectable King had been vocal in his protests, until he’d realized that she called anyone from the following generation “little.” Then, he’d wisely shut it, before finding himself demoted to little Armand.

  “More than five thousand men died, another ten were wounded so badly they had to be honorably discharged. Jereena may not have won, if little Dane hadn’t somehow managed to get rid of the leader of their enemy.”

  Mind: blown.

  He could see it, though. Humans were no match for those humongous wolves, that much had been apparent the previous day.

  “It may be a very small society, but it’s a significant one. Making an enemy of not one, but two of their leaders, is a mistake I hope our kingdom will not pay for. We would not survive a war against the wolves.”

  He’d woken up ashamed about his behavior, now he was also horrified by what he might have to pay for it.

  “Do not fret, boy,” Mimi sighed. “Lana may not be overfond of you, but she likes me. Besides, she lacks the testosterone that accounts for most stupid decisions rulers generally make. We’ll not see her teeth and fangs clawing at our doorstep. Just try to think things through if you ever see her again, hmm?”

  That made him pause. If he saw her again?

  “I’ll speak to her now, as long as she’s awake.”

  The Queen was shaking her head, before delivering a blow that hit him harder than he would have thought it possible.

  “They left before sunrise, dear.”

  Chapter Seven

  Myths

  “A white wolf, you said?”

  “I tell you I’ve been ambushed by a pack of feral shape shifting wolves who killed all of your men and you’re focusing on that bit?”

  On the other end of the phone, Aiden asked him to wait a minute and popped him on hold. Unbelievable.

  After listening to some bubbly pop song that made Aiden lose a few manly points, he was back on the line.

  “Sorry, I had to check something. Cook did speak about white wolves, before... Chase, wolves take the shade of either of their parents and there are practically no white ones, these days; the genome has been overriden by dominant colors.”

  “I’m quite certain of what I saw Aiden. She’s as white as chalk.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying that according to Cook, there’s only one kind of wolf who can be born white: the Vermeilles.”

  Yeah. Because that made sense.

  Aiden had woken up with a headache that was worsening every time he spoke to anyone.

  “Could you please, please explain in very simple, straightforward terms? And who’s Cook, by the way?”

  “My cook. His name is Rémond Francis d’Alisto, and he’s not gay. You can’t exactly blame him for going by Cook.”

  Good point.

  “And the Vermeilles are a very, very old family, dating right back to the Old Kingdom. If history holds any truth, they were the first wolves, descendent from Fenrir – a god. Vermeille means red – blood red – in the old Jereenan language. According to the legend, they ruled Jereena back in the days; that’s why our emblem is a wolf. They gave their blood to nobles who pleased them, sharing the gift of shape shifting. They were good rulers all around – then, of course, the last of their Kings was the black sheep of the linage. He despised and oppressed regular humans. They turned on him and chased him to the forest, along with every shifter out there. That’s common knowledge to any Jereenan kid – we learn it in class. But the Vermeilles were a myth, as far as I was concerned; at least, until Cook
told me he knew two.”

  “You’re saying the wolves are Jereenan nobles?”

  Chase had already accepted that nothing made sense in the world, but it was getting worse and worse.

  “Yeah – and if you think about it from their perspective, I guess I get it. It’s their land – the deeds they hold would probably supersede any proof of ownership my family and I can come up with. We usurped their place. Father and I wish we’d known that. A discussion might have gone a long way.”

  As a Prince himself, Chase could put himself in Aiden’s shoes and he didn’t envy him.

  Royalty was a duty, a blessing, but first of all, it was a birthright. The most deserving person on Gaia could achieve everything under the moon – it still wouldn’t make him a King. The one thing that mattered was the blood in their veins. It was stupid and unfair, thinking of it, but it was a reality they were proud of. Their ancestors had all meant something.

  The Hunters had been given their lands after service rendered to the Eastlian crown. Over the course of the following centuries, they bought more territory around their principality, until it was large and important enough to appeal for its independency. Chase knew his place was most definitely his. He could only imagine what was passing through Aiden’s mind.

  “You know it doesn’t matter, right?” he asked. “Most kingdoms of Europa have changed hands at one point or another – we’ve all fought against each other and redefined our borders. There’s been at least a handful of civil wars everywhere.”

  “Perhaps, but how many royals are banished to their own forest?” he replied, quite innocently as neither Aiden nor Chase knew of the Woodlandian Princess who’d survived in hers for over a year.

  “I’d like to speak to her. We could come to an arrangement. Money, land – if there’s something I can do, I will.”

  Chase was surprised as his own fervent aversion to that prospect. Providing things for Lana was his place.

  Rather than attempting to enunciate his inexplicable feeling on the matter, he replied: “I’ll pass the message along, if I ever see her again.”

  His words were tart on his tongue.

  Then, because they were friends, he had to say: “Aiden, you know the song we’re submitted to while being on hold happens to be Pretty Pinup, right?”

  Understandably, the King was silent for an entire minute.

  Then: “Pardon me, it seems I need to go spank my wife.”

  When she’d imagined leaving the pack before, it had been by herself, or with her mum and Jaya in tow. The plan had been staying in Jereena and blending in; now, it was out of the question.

  If they had been twenty, they could have gone anywhere. Considering the fact that there were two hundred and seven Wilderling under her care, she had to think things through.

  Lana considered her options very seriously before writing her missive, and charging Tarik with delivering it in person to one particular couple in Europa, who might be able to help them. She expected to hear from them in a month or two – if ever. She drafted a few other plans, but none of them included staying together, satisfying their need to shift at will, and their urge to run. If the couple rejected them, they’d have to sacrifice something.

  Going separate ways was out of the question. Their pack might be new, and rather small, but the link was firmly implanted in her protective instinct – all of them were hers to care for, as long as they wished to be. So, that meant they’d have to move to a place where they’d need to hide their nature. Others were doing it, so she knew they could, although that prospect broke her heart.

  On the positive side, her packmates were as settled as they could be in a place that was only a pit stop.

  The Royal Bank had purchased another bag of gold – a larger one, this time – and she had enough funds to take care of her people.

  Her people. She still couldn’t get over that.

  Lana chose to rent a countryside castle on a six month lease. It wasn’t far from Crystalia and it had turned out to be much cheaper and simpler than trying to secure five dozens of houses in the same area.

  At first, most amongst the pack were confused, unsure of what they were supposed to do. They’d all had jobs back in their old homes, and they’d received an allowance of food and gold for their contributions.

  They had plenty of money now; some of the other enforcers had had as much gold as Lana, others, less, but enough to buy themselves a comfortable future regardless. They’d only brought what they could carry on their back with them, leaving most of their possessions behind, but it had been plenty.

  Strangely, the only person who was without personal resources was the richest woman in the pack: her mother.

  Mary had inherited a collection of fist-size stones carefully set on delicate filigrees of platinum and gold, diadems, rings and bracelets so old they belonged in a museum. That’s what she’d chosen to carry, along with a handful of things Lana valued. None of it would get sold.

  “It’s your legacy,” Mary had told her a long, long time ago.

  Lana wasn’t sure what it meant. She knew she’d had to be called Vermeille, like her mother, rather than adopting her father’s name, but frankly, she wasn’t overly curious about a bunch of dead people who’d liked shinny stuff. Her name meant nothing; well, except that a silly fay had insisted that red was somehow her color, because of it.

  Considering that most of them were millionaire, they didn’t need chores, but without them, they were close to death by boredom.

  “Let me help,” she heard Jaya beg the cook, when she passed by the kitchen “I’ll just prep some vegetables for you, that’s all.”

  “No! We’re the help, you’re a guest. Go away.”

  Everywhere, from the gardens to the bedrooms, similar arguments were breaking on a regular basis. Lana hadn’t had the inclination to dismiss the servants who’d worked for the castle; that meant that there was no chore left for her people.

  “It’s only temporary,” she ensured them at dinner the first night. “When we move, things will be different… but it’s time to choose what you want to do. Jaya, if you want to carry on cooking, perhaps you’d like to study with a chef?”

  No one had said much at first, but gradually, the confessions came.

  Vera, who had the voice of an angle, wanted to take singing lessons. Ryss loved math, and wondered if he could possibly become an accountant, with the right training. Jaya turned out to be a closet artist – there were hundreds of different professions they wished to try out; a lot of things that they could never have pursued confined to the old pack territory.

  There was only one problem really: their wolves.

  They were on edge, not only because they couldn’t shift at will everywhere, but also because they didn’t have a home.

  Their animals were territorial by nature, they needed to own their land, and do whatever they wished to there. Renting an estate wasn’t cutting it. Lana felt even more uncomfortable than the others; she hadn’t shared Chase Hunter’s opinion, so she alone knew that they weren’t welcome in the kingdom.

  She hadn’t lied to reassure them: their stay was only temporary. If plan A didn’t fall into place by the end of the month, they’d prepared for plan B: travelling around Europa until she found a place they could call theirs.

  Five days after sending Tarik, probably just after he’d made it to the other side of the continent, right at the tip of Europa, plan A appeared before her eyes as she walked down the main street of Crystalia.

  Lana’s sense of smell always alerted her of those around her, but there was no warning this time; they materialized out of thin air, around a bit of cold foggy mist, just to make their entrance that little bit more dramatic.

  The couple was stunning beyond belief; her, willowy and exotic, with a darker complexion set off against the bluest of eyes, and him, as big as your average dominant Wilderling, and taller than most. Taking in the pointed ears under his dark hair, Lana could confirm that she was indubitably standi
ng before Eira, the Snow Queen and Kai, the elven King.

  Chapter Eight

  Escape route

  Her eyes widened in surprise. Holy shit. It was only then that she fully acknowledged that she really hadn’t really counted on plan A working out. Why would two prominent monarchs – not to mention, deities – bother with her?

  But here they were.

  “You must be Lana Vermeille,” the goddess guessed with a little bow.

  It hit here that she was probably supposed to curtsy or something. As she had no clue how to do that, she popped her hand up to her forehead and saluted.

  “Hi. I kinda wasn’t expecting you…” she could have said ever, instead she cleared her throat, leaving it at that.

  “What, you assumed I would not wish to respond to a non-human minority seeking a homeland?”

  The elf was smiling indulgently; if the stories were true, he’d spent hundreds of years trying his best to care of his people by himself – which kind of was why Lana had thought of them, first.

  “Is there a coffee shop, somewhere?” Eira asked, “I want hot chocolate. We can talk there.”

  “We’re in May, wife,” Kai replied, shaking his head. “And it’s not even remotely cold here.”

  “I want hot chocolate, Kai Eldorian. You will provide it for me.”

  Strangely, the man didn’t shiver and cry, despite the fact that the goddess’s voice had made the earth tremble under their feet and that the arm she had been touching was quite suddenly covered by a thick layer of ice. He just sighed and mouthed a silent “she’s pregnant” with an apologetic look.

  Lana took a cautionary step back.

  “Come, dearest witch. We’ll get you chocolate. Lana, if you’d lead the way.”

  There were plenty of coffee shops in the center of Crystalia, but instead, Lana led them to Tarina’s.

  Eira’s gaze took it all in when they entered the shop, and she started to cry.