I had nothing to fear. She smiles at me, shaky, her eyes that I share brimming with tears before she stumbles forward and hugs me tight.
“Sharlotta,” she whispers. “My darling girl, thank you.”
Danilo bursts into human shape with a roar of joy and hugs Syd, nakedness ignored, though my friend is blushing and pushing him off before long.
Thank you. My magic hugs her as my family embraces me, the loss of my father a keen blade in my heart.
You, Syd sends, mental voice full of love, are very welcome. And finally free.
Not really. But I’ll put my duty before my heart, especially now. My people need me more than ever, and having my mother and brother back fills the gap Sage’s departure left behind.
I’ll cry over him later. For now, I step away from my family and accept the cheering welcome of my people as I turn and ascend the steps to the throne, spinning and slowly lowering myself to its seat.
***
Chapter Twenty Nine
I stare at my reflection, touch my blonde hair. It was an easy enough thing to strip the black dye from it, even encourage growth, as it turns out. I shake it out over my shoulders, long and thick again. I missed it.
So odd the things that matter to me now.
A cold breeze washes in through my window, ruffling the gauzy curtains of my quarters. It’s really too late in the season to have them open, the chill of winter less a hint and more a promise, but the fresh air helps me think.
It’s hard for me to believe it’s only been two weeks since the fall of Caine and the disappearance of Rupe. My fingers trace over the golden tiara resting in an ornate wooden box on my dressing table. This crown belongs to a princess, something I won’t be much longer.
I sigh and stand, walking to my wardrobe to dress. The palace still feels like sorcery, but for a good reason this time. The Steam Union made short work of cleaning up the rogue practitioners Rupe left behind, their laws kicking in when the defeat of Caine and Rupe ended the need for the coalition.
At least we have his people here and will be able to question the sorcerers who Rupe abandoned. Tallah’s speculation about the state of what remains of the Brotherhood will likely be confirmed by their testimony.
One shaking young man with red hair and far too many freckles told Eva as much in a trembling voice. “Our master has left us,” he wailed, clutching at her as though she would save him. “We thought Rupe would be our salvation.” The young man wept into his hands. “We are lost.”
Happy news that the Brotherhood is in such a state, even now. But I’ll need both Belaisle’s and Rupe’s heads—bodies optional—in my presence before I’ll believe this is over.
I shake out the white dress I’m to wear, sinking to the soft mattress of my bed. I may have sat a symbolic moment on the werethrone, but tonight is the real deal, the night I accept the crown and take rule of my people. I let the silky material fall into my lap, biting my lip to keep the almost constant threat of tears from bursting out of me.
Here I am, focused on the future, or trying to, when it’s the last thing I want to do. Running the events of the last few days over in my head helps a bit, but every time I skim near two weeks ago, a choking weight threatens to close my throat.
He left me. Went with what remains of Caine’s pack, back to America the night of our victory and I haven’t heard from him since. Yes, I’ve been trapped by the circumstances of my position since the throne room was cleared and Oleksander made his fateful speech. And Sage was right about how the werenation feels about him and the others, Caine’s former pack. I’ve heard whispers since, even a few openly challenging remarks I’ve quickly squashed. The resentment of my people toward the new breed of our race hasn’t diminished in the past fourteen days, nor would I expect it to. It may take years for them to learn to accept our people are no longer bound by the superstitions and fears ingrained in us by the Black Souls.
But I expected more from Sage, a battle to stay with me, if nothing else. While I understand his desire to protect me, it’s not fair we’ve finally won, come so far, only to be torn apart by the same old politics. Especially after our conversation on the roof at Oxford. I thought he understood I’d make sure we could be together.
Have the controls Rupe had over him changed Sage somehow? Or is he just tired of the politics, the deceptions, the ways of the werenation?
Tired of me.
No matter his reasons, he is gone, and I’m left here, alone, being pushed toward a future I wish I could stop, but one rushing toward me with the elemental power of a rising tide.
I try not to feel bitter as I stand and slide into the dress. Bitter that my mother and brother have been welcomed home without question, but Sage is still an outcast. Though I suppose it’s logical and practical in the way of wolves. Both Mother and Danilo are heroes of our people and have been for decades. Their return has been hailed as miraculous, the fact of their entrapment not even discussed, especially when they joined me in teaching the werenation to take full wolf shape and free the last of their power.
It’s not lost on me they are now much like Sage, those who judge and disown him. The last trace of their old prejudice remains and I wonder how long it will take to wear away. Maybe sooner rather than later? It’s the human in my people keeping them from accepting Sage and the California pack. Maybe there is hope, once the last of the werenation is woken from their magical suppression and embraces our destiny.
The satin feels like steel suddenly, binding me, holding me in place. But I must continue, go on, endure. Too many people have sacrificed to put me here, tonight, so near the throne I can taste the weight of my impending rule.
And not the least of those, my father. My hands crumple fistfuls of fabric and I hang my head a moment, letting the last of my guilt over judging him wash clean. Yes, I stood at his funeral pyre and held my mother’s hand, my brother’s on the other side, watched as my grandfather lit the decorated body with a blazing torch. Yes, I endured the sympathies of the gathered leaders, the werenation who loved him even more, loved me and my family now the truth of Raoul’s sacrifice has been made clear. That of any werewolf, it was he who gave us our freedom, who led me to Syd and to this moment.
And it is his heroism that has thrust me even closer to taking the throne. The Moreau family, long adored and looked upon as the leaders of our werenation, have been forever immortalized thanks to the selfless act of my father who chose a life of exile and shame to save us all.
I force a smile past the glittering tears on my cheeks as I look up at myself. Both hands smooth the sides of my dress before wiping away the moisture on my cheeks. I’ve already cried many tears over my loss, not just of my father, but of all that time wasted, time I could have spent loving and trusting him.
The werewoman in the mirror sighs out the last of her grief at the sight of herself, the satin sheath hugging non-existent curves. I’m thin, too bony. There’s so little time to eat, so much to do. The past two weeks have flown by and I can barely remember any of it. My hands slide over my arms. It’s been wonderful reconnecting with my brother and my mother. Especially Danilo. Mother is a memory newly refreshed, a face and heart long gone from me. But my brother’s presence I have missed desperately.
He seems to feel the same. We’ve spent every moment possible together and I’ve leaned heavily on him since Oleksander’s announcement.
“You’ll make a wonderful queen,” my brother told me last night, while I paced in a weak moment of panic. I’ve been suffering episodes of fear, when I have time to stop and realize I’m about to take the throne. Danilo’s dark eyes are our father’s and remind me of Raoul’s sacrifice. “Anything you need, Sharlotta. You know I’m here for you.”
“I need,” I said, sinking down beside him, “to find a way to make this go away.” I smile at him, trembling lips traitors. I hate to show weakness to my brother, but he understood. He always has. Danilo leaned forward and hugged me, magic touching mine with the strength I remembe
r, his hero’s heart as big and supportive as ever.
“I’m sorry you’re so unhappy, my sister.” He let me go, his own face sad. “In this time of victory, there is so much I wish was different.”
“I’ll manage.” The Moreau pride woke then, and I found a real smile to share with him.
My brother didn’t say anything, simply kissed me and left me alone, his head bowed as he departed. I miss him even now as I remember, and wonder how much pain he carries. My questions about what he remembers from his time as a full wolf have gone unanswered, though the sorrow in both his and my mother’s eyes when I’ve gently inquired told me their journey has been just as painful as mine.
My hands fall to my sides, biceps thin and lean. I frown at my physique, a distraction from my thoughts, focusing on the trivial to keep me centered. My reduced muscle flexes as I make a fist. I need to find time to work out and build my lost muscle back. Which makes me think of Sage.
Again. I have a feeling this cycle will go on for a very long time.
I heard from Tallah this morning, the werewolves arriving safely in her territory.
“I’ll keep an eye on him for you,” she said as I thanked her for letting me know. At least I don’t have to worry if she’s going to watch over him. I just hope Sage doesn’t alienate her out of some misguided sense of lone wolfness. He’ll need a friend or two while he figures things out. At least Nina seems to support him and, from my brief contact with her, seems level headed and confident. A likely mate, perhaps.
I clench my fists against such a thought and snarl at my reflection.
I should be the one helping him. Anger spits sparks inside me as I push at the heavy chair in front of my dressing table, knocking it into the wall. But temper won’t help me. I’m here, trapped in this life. I can’t let my people down now.
My hair sticks with static to my hands as I wind it back into a bun. I could have help, maids to assist, but I want to do this alone. I do manage a grin as I think of how pissed off Erica must have been to find out Sage and the others were making North America their home. Syd gave me the smug impression it took her, Femke and, surprisingly, Eva, to convince her, but I have no doubt it was mostly Syd. Of course, that knowledge is counterbalanced by the expected lack of action against the Dumonts. Why am I not surprised to hear there was no punishment waiting for them at home, no reprimand? That Erica simply ignored their involvement in this debacle and allowed business as usual?
All is well. Andre and I have an appointment. I’m content to wait to keep it.
My fingers fumble as I stab myself with a bobby pin. I let my hands fall to my lap, hair tumbling down in waves and think of Zoe Helios. I might not have much freedom once I’m on the throne, at least to act as an individual. But I really need to track that girl down and find out what else she knows. Having access to an Oracle might make all the difference the next time trouble rolls around.
I’m not foolish enough to think we’re free and clear. But with the Steam Union actually on our side, Eva and her people accepting the werenation finally as our own people as a race and not one to be looked down on or feared, maybe we can make enough progress when the next disaster hits, we’ll be ready.
Piers refused to rejoin his mother, the only other dark mark on our victory, and I know it has to be eating Eva up. Maybe his defection has forced her to face the flaws in her leadership. Though I wonder what my sorcerer friend will do without his own particular pack.
“I’ll be fine,” he informed me this afternoon over lunch, gray eyes sparkling. “I have some things to look into, my own plans that Mum and the others don’t need to know about.”
“What about your werefriend?” I prodded him with my fork.
“All in good time,” he said before kissing me and leaving me, too.
They all left, of course, Syd and Femke and the vampires, taking most of the disruption with them. It’s taken two weeks to clean up the mess, to return the palace to normal. I miss my friends already, though I’ll see them shortly, downstairs, when I take the throne.
My body shudders against the thought.
A soft knock at the door pushes me to my feet. I know it’s her before I pull the portal open, already reaching for Syd. She hugs me and then slips inside my room, turning to face me as I close the door behind her.
“You’re sure about this?” Leave it to Syd to push my waterworks button. I shake my head, lips tight against the need to cry.
She sighs and flops down onto the bed. “Of all people,” she says. “Charlotte, if you don’t want the throne, don’t take it.”
“Of all people,” I repeat. “You know I have to.”
We stare at our hands in silence, equally glum.
“Sorry,” she says at last. “I didn’t mean to be such a bummer. On your coronation day and everything.”
I wave off her apology. “It was inevitable,” I say. “All of it.” I meet her eyes. “Wasn’t it?”
She nods slowly. “I guess it was,” she says. “Even though I’m all about free will and stuff, yeah. Neither of us had a choice.”
I pat her hands and stand. “In that case,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice, “I’d better finish up before they send guards for me.”
She grins. “We could just take off.” Her hands flap in front of me. “Somewhere, dunno. See what kind of trouble we could get into?”
I laugh and kiss her cheek. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
She lets out a gust of air and shrugs before hugging me again. “See you when you’re queen, I guess?” Her hesitation breaks my heart.
“No guilt,” I say. “From either of us. This is what it is and I will make the best of it, as you have.”
“Not so bad, really, once you’re used to it.” She heads for the door before turning, hand on the doorknob. “At least we have each other to commiserate.”
I let her go without answering, heart heavy. I’m about to let a few tears fall when the door stirs past her retreating form and Femke peeks in.
“Bad time?” I shake my head, smiling for real as I usher her inside. The European leader comes to me, embraces me. “I wanted to see you before it’s all official.” She sounds sad, too.
Which makes me snap out of my funk. “Why are we all treating this coronation like I’m going to my funeral?”
Femke looks startled, then laughs. “I have no idea,” she says. “Except there are those of us, I guess, who know what leadership is really like. And wouldn’t wish it on our worst enemy.” Her lips twist in a wry smile. “At least I have some amazing people to rule the world with.”
We part after a moment, Femke leaving me to dress. “You look beautiful,” she says before closing the door.
I catch my mother’s scent as she speaks, turning to find her standing at my window. “She’s right.”
***
Chapter Thirty
I’ve always been told I look like my mother and now I see it. Her own blonde hair is darker, but her face shape, the tilt of her eyes and the width of her mouth are all mine. I cross slowly to where she stands, glancing out at the balcony. “You could have used the door.”
She smiles, touches my cheek with one hand. “I’ve grown so used to the sly ways of wolves,” she says, “it seems odd to do anything so direct.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right.” My tears spill at last, hands covering my face, the shame of my weakness. She embraces me, whispering soothing words in my ear until I fall silent and wrap my arms around her.
“I am so proud of you, Sharlotta,” she says. “I have watched you, as best I could, since your friend Sydlynn freed me from the animal mind that held me silent, all those years ago.” She leans away, strokes the tears from my cheeks. “I tried so hard to reach you,” her own despair hovers behind her eyes, “and there were times I thought you suspected.”
I should have. I feel her now, and know had I only been a little more curious, spent a bit more time investigating… but even her scent had changed, shifted t
o a wolf, a musk she will, I think, carry with her now forever.
“I raised you to be strong,” my mother says, stepping away from me, eyes locked on the tiara I will wear—and have taken from me—when I sit on the throne with a new crown on my head. “To never show fear in the face of danger. And to accept your place as the proudest of daughters of the Moreau family.”
I nod. “Thank you for that.”
She turns on me with a scowl. “No,” she says. “Do not thank me.” She runs a shaking hand over her face. “I did you a disservice, my beautiful one. I taught you to be a servant.”
“You saved my life so many times,” I tell her, hands outstretched to touch her but she pulls away with sharp shake of her head. “Mother, without your teaching, your memory, I would have fallen, broken.”
“Never,” she says, smiling through new tears. “You were remarkable, even as a tiny girl, Sharlotta. And I weakened you with the old ways of our people.” She waves off further protest. “Times are changing, our people with them. There was a point where the greater good of the whole meant more than the needs of the individual.” Her eyes are tight with anger, and I wonder who she’s thinking of. “But being a wolf, being part of a real pack for so many years, I understand the value of the single soul.” She drops her hands to her sides. “And that if we are to progress past our creation, we must release this fierce need we have for outward appearance, let go of our crippling pride and our so-called caн that has led us to nothing but slavery and dishonor.”
What is she saying? I hold my place before her, stunned by my mother’s revelations.
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