"Good afternoon, Fenrin. Any new ideas?" Jayln slid over a bowl of hot oatmeal with honey.

"My offer still stands."

"As does my offer and my refusal."

"Ah, but you still don't trust me."

"Not a mite."

"What if I swear by my father's grave?"

"You hate your father."

Fenrin sighed, taking the food. "Too true. Too true."

They sat in silence, Fenrin eating and Jayln watching, deep in thought. As he finished the last bite she asked, "Tell me about your sister?"

He grimaced. "I just ate."

She chuckled but waited expectantly. Fenrin knew he shouldn't tell Jayln anything more, especially now they were 'in negotiations', but he found he was in the mood to bad mouth Lyra.

"She's a bitch."

"Seems to run in the family."

He raised an eyebrow and grinned at her comeback. "Maybe. Lyra takes the cake though. She takes whatever she wants and I mean that literally. She wants your sword, it'll be gone the next day. She wants your house, you'll wake up in the streets. She wants your loyalty, she'll find what matters most to you. Heck, Valhym's screwed now she's decided she wants the throne."

"Yes, that is concerning. Why does she want the throne?"

"Either for the power or the prince, well, king now. Personally, I don't understand what she sees in him. Bryn broke him years ago. Maybe that's the appeal, he's easy to control but his "moral" upbringing makes manipulating him enjoyable. All I know is she was interested in him before she even considered the throne."

"Maybe they're in love?"

Fenrin's jaw dropped and he looked at Jayln like she'd suggested fire was cold. He laughed, tears streaming. Lyra and the prince in love! It was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jayln frowned and after Fenrin's laughing didn't subside after a few minutes she got defensive. "So that's really not a possibility?"

Wiping his eyes, Fenrin stopped laughing and leaned forward, face an inch from the cell bars. "Considering we killed his mother in front of him, bloodied him, and laughed as our father demanned the king, I doubt he cares much for Lyra. That's probably why she sticks around, she's not one to let a wound close."

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Jayln looked concerned as she tried to process this new narrative. "What do you mean? Your family attacked the royal family and walked away?"

"Yup, the crown crossed the Bear and he made sure to pay back the compliment. Honestly, they were lucky, Bryn held back. I thought we'd skin ‘em alive. Probably didn't want to bother with the politics of an empty throne. Me and daddy dearest never cared for politics like Lyra does."

Jayln sat back, her face blurring in the shadows. Fenrin heard her whisper, "No remorse..."

He bared his teeth. "Of course not, it was more than they deserved."

A tendril of real emotion flashed through his words and Jayln caught it and pulled. "For what?"

The hook slipped and Fenrin stepped back, evading her question. "For getting in our way. Story times over. Unless you've got a plan that involves me leaving this cell, we're done here."

Jayln knew there was more, but she stood up and nodded, leaving Fenrin once more in the dark. He backed up until he reached the wall and slid down. Talking shit about Lyra had felt good, like imagining driving his sword through her smug face. But Jayln's questions had led to a hidden wound, still too fresh to prod. It stirred up old uncertainties.

Why was he here? It was true that he went down north where Lyra wouldn't get in his way, but Fenrin realized there on his cell floor that it had been more than that.

There wasn't anything left for Fenrin in Valhym. His father was gone leaving him no orders, no direction, just a giant crime network Fenrin discovered he had no interest in running. He was made for the wilds, to stake out and claim the uncivilized and untamed.

He wanted the life his father had led in his younger days, when he was a bandit, not a warlord. Leave the large scale scheming to Lyra. Fenrin wanted to live by the strength of his arm and no one else's. By going north, he sought a place he could make his own. A place he could be happy and not haunted by the sins and regrets of the past.

He chuckled in the darkness. Maybe it was more than winning, maybe it was the challenge of getting there by his own efforts. Fenrin felt fire fill the empty hole that had been uncovered.

Screw Lyra and Valhym, Fenrin the Wolf would carve his own section of the world by his own hand! His chuckles grew to laughs and he howled like a wolf, feeling energized with new purpose. He hadn't felt like this since—

He stopped, the black box in his chest creaking back open and sucking his enthusiasm into its void. Fenrin knew when things had started to go wrong, when the balance had shifted and weights began to topple. His mother's death had been the catalyst that had thrown Fenrin's world out of orbit.

Without Dyla's steadying influence, her unquestionable loyalty, Bryn had lost the little control he had. Her death led the family to the castle where Lyra had met her ambitions. Dyla's death started the countdown on Bryn's own and left Fenrin with no place in the hierarchy. Fenrin found himself thinking about his mother's influence more carefully.

Fenrin had been around his mother enough to know how important a tool she had been in creating his father's small empire as well. Her calming words, sharp mind, and self-sacrifice were the only influences to ever sway the unswayable Bryn. She had been the heart of everything, the oil and grindstone that kept Bryn and his heirs sharp.

She had been imperfect—Fenrin knew both Dyla and Lyra would never forgive her for abandoning her daughter. Fenrin had also been left at times, but that first time she had picked him and that action could never be undone, could never be forgotten.

Fenrin closed his eyes, it was strange how different his family looked from a more calculated perspective. He'd never thought of this before, but then again, he'd never had this much time to do nothing but think.