I stared at the opulent man-made city and felt the thoughts war inside of me. The wolf part of me thought the large lavish stone castle with sparkling gold inlay was a mockery to our kind. We were animals, we slept on dirt, not silk sheets. But the human part of me saw the desire for such necessities. We did spend half the time in these human bodies and they thrived with such luxuries.
The entire front entrance was packed with tents from travelers that had come in from the outlying cities and villages. We had left the wolf sled at the base of the mountain and hiked up together as a pack of eight, all representing the Mud Flats.
Some wolves came out of their tents to assess the newcomers and I made sure to stare each and every one of them down so that they knew their place.
Submissives quickly looked away while fellow dominants held my gaze for longer.
The smell of campfires and cooking meat hit my nose and my stomach growled.
Cyrus looked to the rest of our pack representatives. “Find a place for our tent and set up camp. I have to register Zara inside.”
They nodded and one of the more dominant females, Sasha, reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Make us proud,” she told me in serious tone.
I nodded, trying not to let her words have an effect on me. Representing the Mud Flat pack in the Queen Trials was a huge honor.
Some would say we were the least likely to belong in a palace. We lived off the land, without running water or toilets, like they had in the city and other large towns. We hunted our food, we didn’t buy it from market stalls. But I would argue that made me the most likely to win a challenge of this kind. I was hardened by life and I fought every day to keep my place of third in a large pack of ambitious wolves.
As Cyrus and I weaved in and out of the tent city on the large grassy lawn of the palace, people stared and pointed at me. Some even held cards in their hands and marked things on them.
I peered closer at the cards as we passed and my stomach tied into knots.
Betting cards. On who would die first. At first glance it looked like over two dozen names.
Cyrus snapped, causing me to pull my attention to his hands and then he started to speak with his fingers.
Are you nervous to see the king? My brother used hand language to speak to me so that others nearby couldn’t understand. One of our packmate’s children was born without hearing, which was extremely rare for a wolf, but Tig couldn’t even hear the wind rustle. We designed the language in the Mud Flat pack so that we could communicate with him. It also proved useful at festivals and events where we didn’t want other packs to hear us with their sensitive ears. In wolf form we could share thoughts, but as humans, this was the best we’d come up with when unable to speak.
No. Why would I be? We were kids when I saw him last. A stupid crush. I moved my fingers quickly and my brother gave me a look that said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ To be honest I wasn’t sure I believed myself.
Just don’t let anything show on your face. I don’t want a weakness exploited by other contestants, he motioned with his fingers.
I nodded once but his words hit me hard.
I wouldn’t be affected by seeing Axil Moon … would I?
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The Royal Moon castle was everything I thought a castle would be. Full of servants and electricity and fancy tapestries and more food than I’d ever seen in my life. Cyrus and I had just checked in with the royal wolven advisors who were making sure we followed the rules during the Queen Trials.
“Enjoy tonight. Tomorrow morning the first trial starts,” one of the king’s advisors said to us.
The advisors were eight in total and descended from a long line of guides to the king. They were easy to spot as they all had shaved heads and wore the red robe that signified their status. Axil was the alpha king, but he did nothing without these men’s input.
I nodded curtly and then the advisor looked down at my clothing. “Would you like to be shown to your rooms? You can change before dinner.”
Cyrus spoke before I had a chance. “No, we’d like to eat now. It’s been a long journey and we aren’t concerned with fashion.”
The advisor seemed like he’d been slapped and I had to suppress a grin. The psychological warfare had begun. Cyrus was in his element.
“Of course.” The man in the red robe gestured to a pair of open doors.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Here is your champion number, Zara.” The man handed me a handwritten ticket and I glanced down at it to see the number one written in a big blocky style. There was a pin lanced through it.
The man looked at my chest as if indicating I wear the number. I pinned it on and he nodded in satisfaction.
Judging by the bustling room full of people, I was one of the last women to show up, but had still been given a number one ticket. Interesting. What did it mean? Were we ranked in our rumored abilities or was it just random? Mud Flats didn’t get much fanfare and although I was the most dominant female in our pack, I doubted I was the most dominant here.
It would take all the skills my brother had taught me to survive this thing.
As soon as we entered the room, I knew Cyrus had been right to demand I fight our alpha this morning. And to insist we not change our clothes.
The room was full of women in pretty silk dresses that kissed the floor. Their hair was tied up in glossy strands and their combat coaches, whether male or female, were dressed to impress as well.
Every single head turned in our direction when we entered and fear washed over at least half of their faces. Their wild stares ran the length of my blood-encrusted clothing, to the yellowing bruises on my face and stomach, and then to my brother who looked just as hardened from the trip.
Without a word of introduction or nicety we stepped over to a long table and stacked our plates high with meats, potatoes and bread rolls. I tried to take some sweets but my brother swatted my hand.
Fight tomorrow. No sweets, he hand signed.
I wanted to protest, but he was right. My body didn’t really like sweets: they felt good going down but always made me sluggish afterward and thirsty the next day if I had too much. We lived off the land in the Mud Flats and other than some wild berries, we didn’t have the kind of sweets they had here like cakes and cookies and things they sold at markets in the outlying villages. My body wasn’t used to them.
Passing through the crowd which had fallen silent, Cyrus and I looked for an empty table.
As we were walking by, a woman in a green dress with the number three pinned to her top plugged her nose.
“Pee yew, look what the Mud Flats dragged in,” she said in a nasal tone. “Clearly she didn’t get the memo about—”
I didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence; instead I snapped out with a jab to the side of her temple with my free hand and knocked her out cold. Her body crumpled to the floor like a bag of rocks. I looked up at the smartly dressed man who’d been standing next to her as a growl built in his throat. Her combat coach.
“Control your wolf or next time I’ll take her arm,” I told him.
Fur rippled down the side of his face but he didn’t move. I was well within my rights to shut that disrespect down.
Some of the other women gasped in shock at my behavior, but not all of them. One woman, wearing the number two pinned to her gold gown, merely watched me like a hunter watched prey. I needed to set a precedent that I would not take ridicule from anyone, but I realized I had also revealed to the others who their main competition was. Now they would have it out for me.