I look at Pa, who watches me with a blank gaze, but his eyes are in turmoil.

"I took out those who were watching from the woods, but then, I could've missed someone," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

A grin tightens Pa's lips for a mere moment. "No, you did not miss someone, boy. That would be against your being. No, this is a check-in, right, Miss June?"

Miss June nods, her mouth opening but no words coming out.

"You need to make it convincing," Pa says, his lips turning down at the corners.

I throw over the desk, scattering the few papers, and I punch a hole in the wall. "Convincing enough?" I ask, my eyes grinning.

He shakes his head, gesturing with his cleft chin as a smile begrudgingly tugs at his lips. "Might as well make the other side match, son of mine."

A laugh catches in my throat as shouts arise from outside, and I punch another hole in the opposite wall. "That work?"

He nods. "Very nice. Now I may put my twin paintings from Juthra up."

We share a grin, knowing Frida hates the two paintings of blue and green abstract art. Now he has a reason to put the things up to cover the holes in the walls.

Miss June apologetically holds up a syringe, and the terrible scent of Wolfsbane rises from within.

I hold out my arm, and her hand shakes as she dispenses the substance into my system just as boots pound against the wooden floor just outside the door.

I stagger, going down to my knees, feeling the hot and stinging pain from the substance and gritting my teeth to prevent crying out as it feels like it's burning my arm from the inside out. I don't want Miss June to know how much she's hurt me.

"Look for golden eyes, son. They'll be coming for you." Is the last thing I hear before everything grows fuzzy and hot, then cold, and then blissfully dark.

~~~

Once again, I wake to the torturous touch of a silver laced wooden prison rolling through potholes. My head aches something fierce and weakness once again takes me. I can barely raise my head with the combined effects of the Wolfsbane and the silver.

I lay back with a smile, content for the first time in a long time, in spite of my current predicament.

Then I wince. I sure hope the boys aren't getting into too much trouble. I wasn't expecting... this.

It isn’t long before we stop for the night. The bright moon overhead shines through the gaps of wood and bar. But my wolf is silent, hardly there, weakened deeply. I mentally congratulate myself on being able to put myself in the most terrifying positions so often that I no longer panic. Perhaps I’m becoming accustomed to it. Heh, as if. I would be scared out of my fur… but just don’t have the strength.

It takes me a couple moments before I’m able to stand on shaky legs. The jingoist are taking no chances. The silver threading through this cage is the purest I have ever felt. Meaning it saps the strength from my bones like a man sucking tobacco from a pipe.

More so than even that is the silver collar around my neck. It burns, threatening to peel away the skin back to the muscle. I rip strips from my shirt to stuff between it and my skin.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Better.

I am once again given stale, cold bread and some type of icky gruel. I down it anyway, unsure when my next meal will be. Then I settle back for a long, cold night.

Just before dawn, I’m awakened. I peer through slats, unsure of what made me suddenly aware. I try to scent the air, but I can only make out the tangy, burning scent of pure silver and the meadows of wildflowers and rain from where the wood was harvested.

There. A shadow, almost as black as the dark of the night, but moving. A sentry stands guard, alert and on edge, as if he too can sense a vague hint of the supernatural. I go to the other side, the shadows easier to spot now that I know what I am looking for. The moon is bright up above, highlighting the eyes.

Golden eyes. Eyes of a wolf. The twin pinpricks of light blink when they meet my own. He nods. It’s my turn to blink in surprise. It’s been many years since I’ve seen my own kind, besides Heather.

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He turns, and the sentries silently go down at a bark too low for human ears. There were at least three or four on that side. Then keys jangle and the lock turns with a near silent hiss.

I meet shining gold eyes set in a well defined and stern face. The face is familiar. I squint, trying to remember the face beneath the grey beard and piercing eyes.

“Your Highness, we must go.” He glances behind him as he whispers, taking in the sleeping camp.

His scent hits me, and I almost stagger a step back. He smells of woods that are so high they hold a hint of the ozone scent of lightening. He smells of rolling hills and cold streams that are the purest water one can find.

He smells like my old home from long, long ago.

“Sir Rey?”

He smiles, a hint of the steel creeping from his eyes and softening his expression. “We’ve searched long and hard for you, your highness. Let’s get you out of here.”

I take the hand of the man who put my first wooden sword in my hand and taught me everything I knew until I was sent to the Master’s.

He helps me up out of the cage, catching me when my knees threaten to buckle.

I tread lightly, but still manage to make enough noise to wake the dead. Sir Rey winces every time I shuffle a leaf or stumble over a briar.

Somehow, we make it out of the prison camp and into the fresh night air.

Shadows drift in and out of the trees on either side of us. A couple times a cold nose would press up against my hand in greeting, accompanied with a tail wag. I would smile at the wolf and continue my slow trek on, hoping against hope that my childhood friend won’t be the next to betray me.

It's been many years since I've seen him, and I don't know exactly what has happened since I last saw him.

A cave materializes out of the darkness. A wide black maw indented into the side of a hill. Sir Rey guides me inside, and I immediately sit on an offered rock. It’s not soft, but it’s a luxury after the cage.

A hiss of breath draws me back to the present. I realize I’d dozed off sitting up and shake myself. Sir Rey quickly pulls back his hand after touching the silver collar.

“I could’ve told you it was silver,” I say dryly.

He shakes his head with a slightly wry grin. “Didn’t want to ask. You need to rest.”

“How did you know?”

“That it was silver? Just touched it.”

I almost roll my eyes. It’s a close thing. “How did you know where to find me?” I bite out the words through clenched teeth. Humor swims in his gaze along with a worried compassion.

“A man by the name of Dan Errol discretely made a few inquiries as to your past a while back.”

My heart clenches at the name, and my throat becomes clogged.

Sir Rey nods as if that was expected. He goes to set a hand on my shoulder, but it just hovers there in awkward silence for a moment. Then he sets it down.

“He is a good man. Many jingoists were waiting to take you out. He saved your life by handing you over, then giving me your whereabouts.”

My eyes snap to his. I clench both my hands into fists as his words float around in my mind. "Is he alright?" I ask, unsure if I want to know. We set a ruse... I hope against hope they took it and that the Allfather is faithful to Pa to allow him to keep his secrets for a bit longer.

Sir Rey squeezes my shoulder, ignoring my flinch. "Aye. He's fine, your highness. All they wanted was you."

I sag in momentary relief, thankful beyond words.

“Easy. Easy Your Highness.” I feel consciousness slipping from me like sand through fingers. “Help me over here!” he shouts.

Hands grip my shoulders to keep me upright and my chin shouts with pain as it lands on the collar. I jerk my head up, the pain a jolting reminder that we aren’t far from the jingoist who held me captive.

Hands support me on all sides. I look around to see varying ages of shifters, from younger than me to old enough to be my father. All are watching me with concern.

“I haven’t died yet,” I croak, trying to calm my raging nerves at being so close to so many without a good way out. A few crack smiles. A shifter on my left passes me a canteen.

I sniff it as unobtrusively as possible, then wet my lips, waiting. They all continue to watch me, making me think I have something on my face. When I’m sure there is no poison or drug, I gulp it down.

I wipe my mouth and pass it back. “Thanks.” He nods, green-grey eyes just to the left of my own to not challenge me.

I look to Sir Rey, uncertain what to do from here.

“Can you ride?” he asks.

I picture flying on a dragon, and a grin crosses my face. “I can, but I might have something better in mind. Do you mind telling me where we are and where we are going?”

He purses his lips, as if unsure of giving me our destination. He crosses his arms, but gives in. “We are currently between the Capitol and the West Plains that are just below Fortress Jeryld. We have a camp set in the desert between Vralar and the Emperor's Nation. Your cousin,” he scowls, his eyes flashing, “is hunting down any and all who had a connection with you. Even strung up a family, children and all, for daring to question where you are.” His eyes speak of untold horrors seen, and pain. I know. I’ve been there.

I knew my cousin was a bastard, but this... this is much worse. “Did he murder the king?”

Sir Rey pierces me with dead eyes that hide his true thoughts. “I think you already know the answer.”

I breathe out a forceful breath and close my eyes. I did already know. I knew as soon as I heard that I was supposedly the one who killed my father. Practically no one knows I am the famous assassin, but it sounds like just the sort of twisted, cruel political game my cousin always used to play. He’s just taken it to the next level.

“Then we must get him off the throne.”

Sir Rey nods, a slight amusement shining in his gaze. “Hence the reason we rescued you.”

“Is this everyone from your camp?”

He shakes his head, his grey streaked, sweaty hair swishing with the movement. “No.”

I figured as much. I see only warriors here, or those training to be warriors. They must have left their families behind at the camp.

“Are you very attached to the place you are currently at?” I ask innocently.

He cocks his head at me. “Not really. We have jingoists on one side and the Vralar mages are not exactly peaceful to our kind. They’re getting closer. We just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

I nod. That settles it. “Alright, take me back to my father's house. I left something there that should be of help.” I give a wry grin, thinking of my cranky but sweet dragon. She needs a name. I can’t keep calling her She-Dragon.

“You heard our Prince! Pack up, we move out in two hours.”