The Wolf Prince

by Claire M Banschbach

  “Yes, sir.” Killian grinned.

  “Now.” Jonas cleared his throat. “I do believe your aunt wanted to see you.”

  Killian muffled a groan for his father and uncle’s sake. Is seventeen finally old enough for me to avoid the cheek pinching?

  “Yes, come on, Killian.” Lars draped an arm around him with a smirk, steering him towards the castle before he could escape.

  Killian rolled his eyes, but his retort died as he noticed a groom looking at him and whispering to a visiting squire. His prior mood vanished faster than smoke on a windy day.

  “Killian,” Lars grumbled a warning as his shoulders slumped.

  “I know,” he muttered, still grateful for the arm Lars kept around him.

  *

  Einar watched Killian surrender Leifr’s reins back to the groom and accompany Lars back inside. His shoulders slumped even under Lars’s friendly arm. Einar frowned. The change had come so quickly. The culprits scattered at the glare Lars threw their way.

  “Do you think that this is wise?” Einar crossed his arms. “Continuing to throw parties?”

  Jonas’s friendly face creased into a frown. “What do you mean?”

  Einar recognized the warning in his brother-in-law’s voice, but continued the argument they’d had in the past. “Exposing him to the rumors like this?”

  Jonas crossed his arms across his burly chest. “My father tried to lock Hugo away and it wasn’t good for anyone. I’ll not do the same to my son.”

  The people didn’t whisper as much about Killian as they did about Hugo, but Einar had still heard plenty of wild speculation. Speculation he hated for its small-mindedness. He loved both his nephews—even stubborn, irresponsible Lars—and he didn’t want to see Killian close himself off completely. Then he would lose his mind.

  “Jonas, you can tell he hates these. He listens more than he should. You can tell he wonders if it’s all true—”

  “There’s no curse,” Jonas said sharply.

  Einar spread his hands in apology. Neither of them truly believed that, but today he wished he could. Something about this year had him on edge. There had been disconcerting reports from the Rangers of late.

  A faint howl echoed across the lake. Jonas muttered a curse and turned inside.

  Chapter 2

  Noak the sorcerer growled under his breath, kicking up extra puffs of dust as he trudged along the road winding through the farmlands that sprawled along the eastern side of Lagarah Lake. His brilliant plan he’d been cultivating for years had stalled. He needed the blood of a magical creature, but once the faeries of Myrnius discovered his plan earlier in the year, they’d sent all the animals into hiding.

  Unfortunate, since his plan involved getting rid of all the faeries.

  Since Myrnius was closed against him, he’d turned to Calvyrn. However, he’d hit another stumbling block. His options in Calvyrn were slim.

  The Baedons were too fast and savage to make capture even a possibility. Even if he could get hold of a Wyvern, transport back to Myrnius would be problematic. They were bigger even than Myrnian Griffins and could spit poison. Trolls were also out of the question, for the obvious reasons.

  Noak scowled. Why can’t magical animals come in more rabbit-sized shapes? Midsummer’s day is in less than a month and the blood has to be fresh!

  Since early spring, Noak had kept his ears open for local legends, unexpected curses, faery blessings or the like. It was only a matter of time before he found one.

  The waters of Lagarah Lake glistened before him, hiding a sizeable colony of faeries under its depths. Surely there has to be some sort of magical working here.

  Noak studied the castle on the cliffs above the lake. A steady stream of traffic was coming and going up and down the road that wound up to the gates. A rumbling cough drew his attention to his left, where a grizzled old farmer watched him.

  “Good afternoon.” Noak nodded. “The castle seems busy today.”

  The farmer continued his slow study, scrutinizing Noak’s travel-stained robe up to his eyes.

  “Aye, there is.” The farmer spat, giving Noak a wary look. “It’s t’ youngest prince’s birthday today. Come of age, he ‘as.”

  An extra grumble deepened the man’s voice when he mentioned the prince. A young farm hand joined them, then another, curious about the patriarch’s conversation.

  “A great cause for celebration,” Noak said. I could really care less about some insignificant prince.

  The old man spat again. “Aye, ‘cept he’s a cursed one.”

  “Father!” A young woman shook her water pail in sharp reprimand.

  “I’m not t’ only one as says it.” The farmer wagged a finger.

  “Cursed?” Noak leaned forward, his previous disinterest forgotten.

  “Only t’ superstitious believe that,” the woman said, with another glance at her father.

  “T’ whole family is cursed,” the farmer said. “’Ave been for years, since a witch turned on ‘em.”

  “How did she curse them?” Noak spoke causally, but nervous excitement tangled in his gut.

  “T’ story says wolf’s blood runs through their line. But it’s just a story t’ scare t’ children. Prince Killian’s a fine young man.” Another farm hand shot a nervous glance at the old man.

  “Unlike that brother of ‘is.” This grumbled comment earned a disapproving glare from the woman, but a few murmurs of agreement from the other workers.

  “Aye, but you all heard t’ wolves when he was born and every year since. I wager this crop we’ll hear them t’night,” the old farmer said meaningfully. “Calling t’ their own, they are.”

  “Father, that’s bordering on treason. You know t’ king has forbidden that kind of talk!” The young woman looked helplessly at Noak.

  “Ah, I’m not interested in curses.” Noak waved his hand with a smile. “I’m only passing through. I might stop in at the castle and pay my respects.”

  “Aye, what is it you do?” The farmer, having told his story, reverted to his suspicious manner.

  “Merely a travelling scholar, minor historian, and sometime singer and entertainer.” Noak gave a little flourish of the hand.

  “Oh, then I’m sure you’d be welcome up at t’ castle,” the woman said brightly. “If you’re any good as a singer, I’m sure t’ king’d give you some coin and a meal for a song.”

  “Well, I’ll not delay my introduction then.” Noak smiled.

  The woman’s answering smile faded and her forehead puckered in something like unease. He had that effect on most people.

  The old farmer tapped his ear knowingly. “Listen tonight. You’ll hear ‘em.”

  I think I’ll do that. But first to find Finn and the twins.

  *

  After yet another speech, Killian set his wine glass back on the table. Lars didn’t share his restraint and gestured to a servant to refill his goblet. Killian rolled his eyes.

  He won’t listen to me and deserves the hangover he’ll have tomorrow.

  The tables still creaked under the weight of the bountiful food, but Killian couldn’t eat another bite. He forced another bite of sugar-encrusted apple cake the servants had piled on his plate and willed himself not to listen as another lord launched into yet another long-winded speech.

  He hated his birthday.

  Every year for seventeen years the wolves would begin to howl at the eleventh hour and not stop until midnight. The whispers would start again, and it would take him several days to work up the courage to step outside the castle.

  “Your Majesty!” A new voice cut through the merrymaking.

  Killian looked up at the figure that stood in front of the main table. Silver embroidery swirled among the folds of his blue robe. Something about the way the man’s grey eyes settled on Killian sent a shiver of unease down his spine. The sensation fled the moment the man looked away.

  “And who are you?” Jonas spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture.


  “Noak, a humble entertainer, and self-professed master of illusion.” The man smiled. “I had hoped to bring my talents before the prince in honor of his celebration.”

  “Ah! What say you, Killian?” Jonas turned a beaming smile on him.

  He couldn’t refuse when his father was in such a good mood. His mother smiled as well, so he nodded. The entertainer bowed deeply to Killian and the royal family.

  “Allow me to introduce my assistant!” Noak gestured with a flourish. A thin man in a bright yellow jerkin stepped up beside him and bowed to everyone in the hall, unfazed by the curious stares of the crowd.

  Noak and his assistant began with a juggling act, tossing balls, plates, wine bottles, and even knives to wild applause. Then Noak began his illusions. He draped a spare tablecloth over his assistant, rapped him over the head, and the cloth crumpled to the ground.

  A collective gasp of surprise and even horror rushed through the audience until he pointed to the end of the hall, where the assistant stood upon the tables. The act garnered massive applause, several of the nobles even standing to better show their admiration. Noak bowed and turned to the dais.

  “I have been gifted with a small ability to see into the future. Might I take the liberty of seeing what greatness lies inside you?” Noak smiled at Killian.

  A sudden urge to run away filled him. What if there’s nothing great about me? What if he says something else for people to whisper about?

  “Killian?” His father’s voice broke through his sudden panicked thoughts.

  His parents still smiled, even with a hint of eagerness, as if they believed the man could see his future.

  There seemed to be no objection from Lars either and the hall had hushed once more. He had little choice but to agree. But really, what could it hurt? The entertainer took Killian’s hand and bent over it.

  “Fine blood runs through your veins. You will help someone achieve great things. Your brother, perhaps?” He smiled.

  The sight sent a tug of unease at Killian’s stomach, and he again resisted the urge to back away and check over his shoulders for something...Someone?

  “You are courageous yourself! I see you walking among wolves. Yes, you share their blood.”

  Killian jerked his hand away. “What?”

  No one had ever spoken so boldly about the curse.

  Lars’s chair clattered behind him as he jerked to his feet, a knife in hand. “How dare you! Who put you up to this?”

  As if that was a signal, the hall erupted in shouts. Noak’s gaze darted between Killian’s face and the enraged features of his brother as King Jonas added his voice to the noise, ordering a guard to seize Noak.

  “Please, my King, I meant no harm!” he whined. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Lars’s eyes were wide in fury, his hands clenching and unclenching. His father’s face had calmed, only the tenseness of his jaw announcing his hidden anger as he ordered the entertainer taken away.

  “Wait!” Killian broke his stunned silence. Everyone paused. “Just let him go. He said he didn’t know.”

  The night was already horrible enough without a man getting punished. His father acknowledged Killian’s decision with a nod, and the guard released Noak.

  “Thank you, Prince Killian, thank you!” The man’s voice whined as he crashed to his knees.

  “Just go.” Killian pointed him away with a sharp wave.

  Noak bowed and scraped his way off the dais.

  “He should still be punished!” Lars’s face twisted in anger.

  Killian glanced around the hall. The whispers had started.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed to his family and their guests. He took several paces from the table before turning back. As bad as it was, he wouldn’t give in this year.

  “Lars, are you still joining me tomorrow morning when I take Leifr out?”

  Lars gave him a smile. “Of course, little brother.”

  *

  Noak watched from his hiding place in the shadows of the hall as the commotion gradually died down and men and women leaned closer together to whisper to one another. Look at them, whispering and fearful. No doubt of the curse now. He’d felt the raw power of the curse as the blood pounded through the prince’s heart.

  He barely managed to catch the last conversation between the prince and his brother and smiled. I think I’ll visit the stables.

  A wolf howled as he stepped outside. Another joined it and then a third bayed deeply. Noak almost laughed.

  *

  Killian shuddered, swinging the door shut on the safety of his room. He sank against the cool stone walls joined in the corner, pressing his back against the smooth surface. He gathered one knee to his chest and almost covered his ears. The howling died away on the night breeze and did not come again. It didn’t need to. It was a warning. He knew it. But against what?

  Chapter 3

  Killian pounded a fist on Lars’s door. An unintelligible mumble from the other side was his only reply. He rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs.

  Leifr stood saddled and waiting for him in the stables. The warhorse shifted from one hind foot to the other, snorting and tossing his head.

  “Easy, boy.” He rubbed the stallion’s broad forehead.

  Leifr butted his shoulder, nearly knocking him back a step, but calmed.

  “Are you sure you can’t understand animals?” The head groom paused by the stall. “He hasn’t stood still since we fed him this morning.”

  Killian flashed a quick smile, not about to tell the groom that he sometimes thought he could understand more than the wolves. The man was one of the few who didn’t seem intent on whispering behind his back, and he’d hate to change that.

  “Thank you for having him ready this early,” he said.

  The groom nodded. “Waiting on Prince Lars, sir?”

  “Not for much longer.” Killian shook his head and the groom chuckled.

  “I’ll send him after you when he comes down.”

  “Thank you, Mikk.” Killian swung into the saddle.

  The groom stood aside with a respectful nod. “Enjoy yourself, sir.”

  Leifr tugged at the bit as they neared the gate, straining forward against Killian’s firm grip on the reins. The guards saluted and let him through, murmuring admiration of the stallion as he passed.

  The road wound down from the hill in a gentle curve to the lake, and once they reached the shoreline, Killian kicked Leifr up to a trot. They held it along the waterline for a few minutes before breaking into a canter and then a gallop. The wind swirled and tugged joyfully at them, amplifying the thunderous pounding of Leifr’s broad hooves.

  Killian chanced a glance behind him, where puffs of sand settled over giant strides. He laughed at the rush of freedom. No whispers, stares, or curses could touch him. It was just him, Leifr, and the wind. He checked the reins. Leifr pivoted effortlessly on his hind limbs and they turned into the forest. They kept a quick canter along a wide path.

  A doe and her fawn darted across in front of them. Leifr tugged once, as if asking if Killian wanted to give chase, but a simple tap kept them on the path that would take them in a wide loop through the forest.

  A figure stood to block their path. Leifr slid to a stop and Killian recognized the blue robes of the entertainer. The flourishing smile had vanished from Noak’s face, but the strange eagerness remained. The hair on the back of Killian’s neck stood up in warning.

  Noak stared at Killian with an almost hungry expression. Unease tightened his stomach and Leifr shifted beneath him with a rumbling nicker. The man seemed more than an entertainer. Three more figures stepped out of the woods and surrounded Killian. He drew his sword, and waited for the challenge.

  “What do you want?” Killian managed to force some authority into the words.

  “You.” Noak swept him with an appraising look. “Or, more specifically, your blood.”

  Killian tightened his grip on his sword. The
man in the yellow jerkin raised a crossbow and Killian resisted the urge to look for his own crossbow hanging from the saddle. Leifr’s ears flattened.

  One of the men began to edge forward, but a flick from the sword warned him away. Killian tugged Leifr back a few paces, preparing to run. The archer raised his bow and loosed a bolt.

  Killian ducked to the side, but the arrow cut a deep groove across his shoulder. Leifr reared and struck out with his hooves against another advance.

  Noak released a column of smoke under Leifr’s hooves, sending him into a panicked rear. The sudden motion, combined with the throbbing pain from the cut on his arm, sent him tumbling from the saddle. A surprised cry of pain ripped from him as he landed on his injured shoulder, breaking it open further.

  He lay, dazed, as Noak approached, chanting in a low voice that made Killian’s blood churn. Noak thrust his hands out with a final shout.

  Killian tried to shield his eyes from the brightness that enveloped him. Burning pain ran from his scalp to his toes and he twisted with a howl of agony. Noak looked down at him in short-lived triumph as Leifr lunged forward, driving Noak back and blocking Killian from the rest of the men. Killian seized his chance and, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, scrambled to his feet and ran into the forest.

  “After him!” Noak shouted.

  Killian ran as he never had before. Every step burned his lungs and jarred his shoulder. He plunged through a small stream and kept running without any sense of direction. The uneven ground caused him to stumble, and he rolled down the edge of a dell, landing with a grunt in front of the welcoming mouth of a cave. He had to hope that the trailing moss and jumbled rocks at the entrance could hide him. He scrambled inside and huddled against the furthest wall.

  His heart had just begun to steady when a noise set it pounding again. A faint glow came from deeper in the cave. It grew brighter as shuffling steps announced something’s approach. A figure came through a fissure and Killian backed away until realization hit him.

  A faery?

  The faery’s hair glinted as pale as his skin. His simple tunic and trousers were the color of fresh turned earth, and his drooping wings seemed to be giving off the light.