49

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to will away the spins. The nausea worsened even when I was sitting down. How had this happened? I’d only had one glass of wine! Sure, I’d drunk it a bit quickly, but it was still just a single glass!

But, I realized through the haze, it had been the only glass on the servant’s platter. Had he tampered with it in some way? Given me something to make me dizzy? But why would he do that?

Why would a servant have stakes in this Choice? Someone else must’ve given it to him.

“Lady Reyna?” a cold voice asked.

That was not Cyran. I took a breath and looked up.

Lady Glennis glared down at me impassively, looking as terrifying as ever in her dark dress gown. “Lady Reyna? Your initial trial will now begin.” “Initial?” I asked.

Her expression only soured further. “Are you drunk?”

“No!” I staggered to my feet, and Lady Glennis had to steady me with a hand on my upper arm. She did not look pleased about it. “I’m fine. I’m ready to begin.”

She did not look convinced in the slightest, but she guided me not to the center of the room, where the dais was empty, but to a side door just to the right of the empty platform. She opened it and pushed me unceremoniously over the threshold.

Inside, the king, the duchess, and the four council members sat in plain hard-backed chairs, facing a chair in the center of the room. My head still spinning, I made my way to the chair and sat down hard.

“Too much to drink?” Lord Elfriede asked with one brow elegantly arched.

“I only had a single glass,” I stammered. “Something—I think something is wrong—” “I am not interested in excuses,” the duchess snapped.

The disdain in her voice made hot tears prick behind my eyes. Usually, it wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest, and I would’ve met her gaze fearlessly, but I still felt so dizzy and terrible. Internally, my wolf whined in misery, ears back. She wanted me to run to the king’s side.

The king. The king, who was staring at me with his elbow propped on the arm of his chair and his elbow and his forefinger tapping his chin. He had said no harm would come to me—why wasn’t he doing anything about this?

“Are you attempting to forgo this challenge?” the duchess asked. “To do so would disgrace your pack’s name.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. I blinked hard, exhaled, and straightened up in my chair. I met the duchess’ eyes steadily, ignoring my wolf begging me to submit. “I’m ready to begin.” As ready as I ever would be, I guessed.

“Then we’ll begin,” the duchess said.

“Lady Reyna of Daybreak,” Lady Marin said, “when you shift, do you receive any other powers while in your wolf form?”

I furrowed my brow. It took a moment for the question to process. “None,” I said curtly. “Though —I don’t shift often enough to pay close attention.” My wolf moved restlessly inside as if irritated by this admission.

Lord Nylander leaned to Lady Marin, and they murmured to each other, gazes still on me.

“For what reason do you not shift?” Lord Nylander asked.

“I…” My head pounded. “I’m not in control when I shift, and it isn’t becoming of a lady to be out of control.”

The duchess’ expression soured impossibly further. Why had I said that? The words had fallen off my tongue as if forcibly pulled out of me—the same way they had when Cyran had spun me on the dance floor. The council members murmured among themselves, looking just as horrified as the duchess did. I swallowed hard. I shouldn’t have confessed that—least of all to wolves of Nightfall, who shifted as easily as breathing. Not shifting often was one thing, but admitting I didn’t have a symbiotic relationship with my wolf was another.

The king didn’t look upset like the council did, though. He looked curious. Like he was beginning to put together a puzzle. I didn’t like being subjected to that gaze—it made me feel like he could see right through me. Right to my soul, to my wolf, who so desperately wanted to be seen by him.

“Lady Reyna of Daybreak.” Lady Oleta folded gnarled hands together in her lap, and the room went silent when she spoke in a hushed, scratchy voice. “Is it true that in the arena, you drew the king’s blood?”

I blinked. Why was she asking about the sparring session? And why did she need me to confirm it? “Um, yes,” I said. “But it was barely a scratch, barely a drop of blood. I hadn’t intended to scratch the king at all.”

“And your mother is of the Stardust pack?” Lady Oleta asked.

“Yes.” I didn’t understand the order of these questions at all. It was like a mental sparring session, where Lady Oleta had a sword, and I had a big stick, and my boots stuck in molasses. My wolf was beginning to demand more and more of my attention. She knew I was failing here, and she thought her way would be better. And she was beginning to get tired of me ignoring her.

“I look like my mother,” I said, “but my father raised me. My mother is no longer with us.”

“You see?” Lord Nylander murmured aside to Lady Marin. “She is a wolf of Starcrest. The prophecy stands.”

“Not fully,” Lady Marin said. “Until we know for sure.”

Prophecy? My head spun. Why did the council care about that? Barion had mentioned it—but with my head pounding I couldn’t remember what he had said. The thought slipped away like a leaf on a stream, focused as I was on not vomiting up my guts in front of the council.

“Hm,” Lady Oleta said. “And your father, did he ever speak of your mother’s lineage?”

“He didn’t speak about her at all,” I said. My wolf howled internally. “I think—I think he avoids me because I remind him of her.” I closed my eyes. Why did I say that?

The council nodded, then again began to speak among themselves, too low for me to hear. Not that I could focus on their voices at all, even if I’d wanted to.