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Chapter 1
I awoke with a pounding head.
What did you do to us?Esme whined.You drank way too much of the falling-down juice.
Another time I would have laughed at her description of alcohol, but she wasn’t wrong. I had gone far too hard at Jess’s hen do. The world was a littletoospinn-y, like way more than usual. I let out a low groan.
It had been a brilliant night and we’d done Jess proud but this morning, with my body shouting at me for all the drinking, I definitely had regrets. Why did that last shot always seem like a good idea? Because it wasn’t: it was a fucking stupid idea.
I pried open my eyes and slammed them closed again. Oof, it was bright! Way too bright.
Let’s shift,Esme urged urgently.It’ll make us feel better.
I agreed instantly and stripped with difficulty out of the burlesque clothes I had accidentally slept in. I felt ham-fisted as I tried to undo the hook-and-eye clasps by myself and I was tempted to just say fuck it and shift – but how would I explain the missing clothes to the rental company? That wouldn’t be fair on them, so I persevered with gritted teeth.
When I was finally naked the shift rolled over us, making our toes curl with pleasure. Shifting wasgood,not just because it felt nice but because it kickstarted our healing, healing that was sorely needed today. Little broken neural pathways were being fixed, serotonin was swamping my brain and the hammering headache was fading. My fast metabolism kicked up a gear as it started to burn away the remaining traces of alcohol in my blood.
Run?Esme suggested hopefully.
Why not?I agreed now that the pounding in my skull was starting to abate. Like shifting, the exercise would help.
We struggled to open the heavy wooden door; on my sharper days, I opened the doorbeforeshifting. Clearly, today wasn’t going to be one of my sharper days. We pawed at the handle for a moment, trying to drag it open with our weight, but the heavy door wasn’t playing ball. Eventually Esme resorted to using her mouth on the doorhandle and dragging backwards. The door opened under her full-frontal assault and she crowed in triumph. Success was sweet.
I totally forgot to open the door on purpose just so we could start our day with a victory,I lied.
Uh-huh,Esme replied sarcastically.I am not buying the excrement that you are pushing.
You’re not buying the shit that I’m peddling. It doesn’t work when you change the words.
Why not?she huffed.It means the same thing.
And yet … somehow it really doesn’t.
With the door finally open, we focused on our purpose: to go for a run. We trotted out into the castle’s hallway. Caernarfon Castle was old and incredibly cool – Emory’s home made my mansion look like a shoe box.
A queen really should have a castle,I mused. Maybe Emory could point me in the direction of a derelict one. Castles were a dime a dozen in the UK and with more than four thousand to choose from, surely I could findsomeonewho wanted to get rid of their draughty ancestral home. Still, there were pack territories to consider: buying a castle in the wrong place would be awkward to say the least. It also occurred to me that the sentient seat of power might not love that. Nina’s nose might be out of joint if I bought another residence. Something toconsider.
The castle grounds were eerily quiet as we ran, and I let my thoughts wander. We’d been trying to find information about the lost orb for days. I’d already torn through my whole personal library but so far found nothing of relevance – though I had learned a host of useless facts. I’d promised Nina I’d find it, but I was beginning to feel like I’d been hasty in my vow, and I was sick of dead ends. I hated research problems without an easy answer; numbers were so much easier.
Jess’s hen do couldn’t have come at a better time because I’d needed a break from constantly thinking about the orb, and yet here I was thinking about it all over again. Gah! Maybe I could ask Emory to look in his dragon library or book hoard? I bet he’d have aBeauty and the Beaststyle library with a rolling ladder and every good book under the sun.
As I looked around again, unease filled me.Whereiseveryone?I asked Esme. She gave a mental shrug and we loped onwards.
Abruptly, I connected the dots.Oh my God, Esme! It’s Emory’s trial! Quick! Back to the room. We need to be there!
Fuck my life, I was a bad friend. A bad, hungover friend.
We hastened back to our room to shift and get dressed. I rifled hastily through my suitcase and retrieved the smartest outfit that I could cobble together from the weakofferings of my wardrobe – I didn’t really do smart – and pulled on jeans, a white tank top and a bright pink jacket.
Back on two legs, everything was still a little too bright. The jackhammering in my skull had ceased but instead it felt like my brain was pulsing in my skull, a low and steady thrum of discomfort.
I downed a pint glass of water but it didn’t help, at least not immediately. In another half an hour or so the shift would have healed me completely but for now I was going to have to grin and bear it. I grabbed my sunglasses and dragged them onto my face. Everything was better when it was muted.
I swiped on some lip gloss and was good to go. I jogged down the stairs towards the hall. Brethren soldiers lined the hallway, solemn and serious. ‘Can I go in?’ I asked the man closest to the main double doors.
‘Technically no, ma’am.’ He paused. ‘You’re Manners’ missus?’
On another day the feminist part of me might have railed against his use of the possessive, but today I’d take anything that got me into the room. Besides, if I was Manners’, he was mine.
