Chapter 82

I spend most of the day exploring the castle. As far as I go, wolves stop when they see my approach and bow until I have passed. An hour later, I barely notice it anymore. I stop in front of a large painting taking up half the wall. It tells a story of hate and fear. On one side, humans are marching through a forest towards a werewolf settlement with torches and pitchforks in hand.

It’s a horror story waiting to unfold, but the beauty of the work draws me in, the minute details the artist included. The humans on one side, mothers clutching their babies, terrified. The werewolves on the other, the mothers clutching their babies, equally terrified. It depicts the similarities between the two enemies and the dichotomy superficial differences can cause. “Excuse me, your majesty?” one of the guards asks.

“Yes?” I mutter, still staring at the painting.

“It’s time for you to head back to your apartments.”

“Why?”

“On Wednesdays, the king dines with hi