The connection between Daivad and this Wolf was astonishing. Great Wolves, Belle knew, were incredibly intelligent, but they were even more so independent. Though the Great Cassiix Circus had worked with many nightbeasts and daybeasts over Belle’s lifetime, they had only ever employed two Great Wolves because, as a general rule, Wolves’ feelings regarding people ranged from indifference to hostility with little in between. The two that worked at the circus didn’t even perform, they were simply security from outside threats, in return for finding the family they’d never been able to find in the wild.

It was near unheard of for a Wolf to allow a person to ride them, but this was beyond mere riding. Belle watched their magics work in perfect synchronization. Daivad didn’t need reins or commands, he simply shifted his weight or even just shifted his magic, and the Wolf responded. The trust and understanding they shared was profound, and Belle added that item to the tally of proof that Daivad couldn’t really be that bad.

Belle completely lost herself in the magic around her. Warm, dense air swept by her, full of the songs of tree frogs and cicadas, of the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the cool scent of damp leaves. The magics of nightbeasts of all sizes skittered aside to let them pass, or followed curiously after them in the branches above. The Wolf’s magic had a rich, dignified purple base that went beautifully with the midnight blue of Daivad’s magic. She led the pack easily through the forest with the other Wolf bringing up the rear, and either of them snarled and snapped should any of the nightbeasts get a little too curious.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so free, and so full. It had to be during one of the circus’ open-air performances, those precious moments after she let go of the fly bar. Belle threw her arms out to either side and laughed, letting her fingers trail through the magic of this moment.

All too soon, the Wolf slowed to a trot, and then a stop. Belle let her arms float back down to her sides and tried to catch her breath while she felt Daivad dismount behind her. Courteously, the Wolf once again lowered to ease Belle’s own dismount. Once the Wolf was back on her paws, Belle filled her ear with admiration and thanks for such a wonderful experience.

Then, Daivad’s hand closed once again around her arm.

“We’re already here, right?” Belle said. “Can I free my eyes now? The rag has already hidden our path from me, hidden our location, so it’s done its job, right?”

The silence that followed combined with the fact that Daivad didn’t move told Belle she had won. She waited for Daivad to realize it too. In a soft growl, he said, “Fine,” and Belle snatched the blindfold off before he had the chance to do it himself, ripping out a few stray hairs in the process.

The Wolf was magnificent. She had the most beautiful, dark, glossy fur and a narrow, regal face flecked with gray around her muzzle. Her head was about the size of Belle’s torso, and out from her black fur gleamed two jade colored eyes that appraised Belle. Once the Wolf had seen enough, she sent a glance at Daivad as if to ask, What the hell is that?

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“What do you name her?” Belle looked up at Daivad.

He stared down at her, dark brows furrowed with what she initially thought was concern but then decided was actually more akin to the look Jac gave her whenever she started saying too much weird shit. He asked, “Were you crying?”

Belle’s fingers floated up to her cheeks and they came away wet. It wasn’t unheard of by any means for her to start crying when lost in magic.

“Ah, yeah. The fumes from that rag were making my eyes burn,” she said with a smirk as she swiped her cheeks. “What do you name her?”

That look still on his face, he absentmindedly answered, “Maxea.”

Belle lit up, surprised. “After the leader of the Ferox?” She grinned. “You’ve read L’Oro?”

It was yet another point for Daivad.

Belle would have loved to run her fingers through Maxea’s fur and examine her from every angle, but she didn’t want to be rude, especially since Maxea showed no interest in being touched. So instead she just looked. And in case Daivad might insist she put the blindfold back on, Belle took the opportunity to examine the other one as well—a russet-colored Wolf with curious, chocolate brown eyes. When she smiled at him, he lifted his head slightly.

“That’s enough.”

Even as Daivad dragged her away, Belle waved at the russet Wolf, and his tail brushed the forest floor in a subtle wag.

At first glance, this looked to be an area of the forest just like any other. Massive trees and tangled undergrowth blocked out anything but their immediate surroundings. It was quiet, save for the frogs and cicadas—she didn’t even hear the chittering of any nightbeasts. But, hidden in the dark canopy overhead, Belle sensed the magic of a whole village woven in the branches. Daivad took her under and past the village, to a massive tree stump, more than twice Belle’s height, that had been hollowed out with a barred gate over the opening. It must be the village’s version of a prison.

Belle leaned forward and peered inside. The forest was dark enough, but inside the stump was even darker. Belle had to rely mostly on her magic to discern anything within. There was a wooden cot with a bedroll tied up on one end, a few barred windows thoughtfully set into the sides of the stump, and even what Belle assumed was a convenient shitbucket. The iron gate was set directly into the wood—it wouldn’t open without magic. And it was a magic Belle recognized.

“I’m guessing this is for me?” Belle asked.

In reply, Daivad knocked against the bars, waking the runes, then gripped the gate and pulled. He made it look effortless, but Belle knew from experience it wasn’t. The gate warped, bending open with an enormous creaking noise. Oh, so that’s how he practiced Metalwork. She’d have to try that technique. Maybe it was as effortless as he’d made it look.

Once inside, Daivad left the gate warped open and knocked on the wall. The glowstones inlaid in the walls blinked on. The light from these was more like the warm orange glow of a fire. He finally released Belle and faced her.

Every bit the prince he denied being, he pointed at the cot and ordered, “Sit.”

Belle sat.

“Convince me,” he crossed his thick, scarred arms over his wide, scarred chest, “that I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”