“Phillipa!” Margaret’s voice rang out in the distance.
Time was running out before she was summoned back to the house and asked to dress for dinner. Even if she’d ignored the Season, she wouldn’t be able to ignore the pomp and circumstance of Bernadette’s upcoming wedding. There would be a dinner tonight with the Count’s family and plans to be made.
So many plans.
Phillipa had no idea how she would get through it without seeing the ghost of her beloved everywhere.
But now she had plans of her own.
Often, she thought about what Wesley would want her to do. Home and family were of utmost importance to him. Would he want her to smile and nod through this painful dinner, or would he want her to help her new woodland friends, the ones who’d offered her comfort in his absence?
He would want her to stop the Wolven King, even if it meant defying her mother. How dare this beast take over this beautiful forest and destroy at will?
“Tell me about the Wolven King,” Phillipa said. She needed as many details as the fae could give her before Margaret intervened. “What does he look like? Why is he so angry?”
Ainslee furrowed her little brow. “He’s huge and horrible and his teeth are bigger than a fae child. Those fangs are sharp and deadly and he’s an abomination to this forest. He wants our magic, and when he can’t get it, he destroys whatever he can get his hands on, in a big wolf tantrum.”
“I know that. But what does he look like?”
Ainslee tipped her head. “Why do you want to know?”
Phillipa pulled the letter out of her pocket, carefully. The invite didn’t feel real to her yet, and neither did this plan.
“Is that from the Queen?” Ainslee gasped, her gaze was fixed on the royal seal, still beautiful even though it was broken. “Did you get news about Wesley? Do you think that maybe he succumbed to the Wolven King?”
Ainslee never had a chance to meet Wesley, but she loved listening to all the stories about their courtship, and ton society. The little fae was in love with love. To say she had an overactive imagination would be an understatement.
“Phillipa!” Margaret was coming closer. She knew exactly where to find her.
“It’s a summons to the Monsters Ball.”
“Oh, what a great honor!” Ainslee clasped her hands together. Her color brightened as she hovered over the letter, reading Her Majesty’s demand.
“It is?” Phillipa hadn’t been expecting that response, especially after her mother had made her feel shame over the invite.
“Absolutely. These creatures are nobility, recognized by the Queen. I would love an invite…but why would you go? You’re married.”
“Phillipa! Get out of the dirt, my lady. Your mother will have a fit when she sees that dress,” Margaret exclaimed once she reached the garden.
“My sentiments exactly,” Phillipa spoke in a hushed tone, so only the fae could hear her. “It doesn’t matter that I’m married. I’m going to that ball, and I’ll help you take the woodlands back.”
Ainslee’s mouth dropped. “How?”
Phillipa rose from her knees, wiping dirt away from her dress, but the damage was already done by the damp earth that had soaked into the fabric. No matter, she was done putting on airs for anyone, and she would concentrate on protecting what was important to her. “I’m not going to the Ball to find a mate. I’ll be there to get the information I need to kill the Wolven King.”
Chapter Two
Wesley
Mud splashed against the den as the horses came to an unwilling stop. They were wise to whinny in protest, for whomever their driver was had put themself in great danger. But in this strange, monstrous form, killing was no longer something he had to endure for the glory of the Crown. Now, it was a game, and he relished its mastery.
His den was rudimentary at best. Not fit for a wolven king. He didn’t plan to stay here long, only to watch over his beloved.
Soon, he would shift back to human and claim her the way she deserved. He’d been too soft as a human. Too accepting of rules that didn’t benefit him. If—when—he got a second chance, he would fix all the mistakes he made.
Phillipa would no longer be by herself in her garden, mourning a man that had barely let himself live. She’d be his Queen.
How he could not wait to take her in his arms again. Dance with her. Oh, how she loved to dance. To hear her laugh, and not from a distance, hidden in the shadows while watching her in the garden. Seeing her silhouette in the window. He wished to go to her. To dry her tears and make sure she never felt alone again.
But he couldn’t. Not like this.
Brilliantly colored fabric flashed before his eyes as delicate boots sunk into the muddy path. It had rained the past few days, and he’d hunted. Not for food, but for magic.
He rose from the spot where he’d been resting, contemplating his next move. He stretched, letting a rumble cut through the bright sunshine. But the woman was not deterred. Not afraid.
Her scent was strong, jasmine and orange blossom. It reminded him of the ton. Clean, but not soft.
Stalking toward the den’s opening, he found a grand older woman with dark skin and a purple dress that was far too fancy to be this deep in the woods. Her hat had flowers on it that matched the dress.
Was she lost, or would she just wish she was once he finished with her?
A grin spread across her face when he growled. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated, so he did it again. The smile widened. Her eyes softened.
Did this woman have the audacity to think he was cute?
He’d make her regret underestimating him. However, humans—who were the source of his rage and at the same time, what he so desperately longed to be—were tricky. If one went missing, others came looking for them. And they had a penchant for killing what they didn’t understand.
In this form, he could sympathize with that.
“Your Majesty, I was warned that your abode was humble. But I would’ve never believed quite how humble until I saw it with my own eyes.” She had the nerve to chuckle. “We must work on this. You deserve a castle worthy of a king.”
Wesley cocked a brow. Her words were laced with a heavy helping of jest, but there was something motherly about her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the Countess of Stalbridge,” she responded without acknowledging Wesley’s shock that she could understand him. No one had been able to understand him since he’d shifted into this monstrous form. It was possible she’d simply anticipated his question.
But he’d rather think that someone might finally understand him like this. Surprisingly, it gave him some comfort. He didn’t dare go as far as thinking she’d accept him. So his guard would stay up, and he would attack if needed.
“None of your beastly friends have mentioned me before?” she asked.
“Don’t have any friends.”
“I’m not sure I believe that. This virus seems to be a common affliction amongst your kind, Lord Andrew Wesley, Duke of Chelmsford.” She tapped her gloved hand against her chin. “Lord William Roth, as you knew him in his human form, has become a frost flame demon. Quite an interesting sight to behold, if I do say so myself.”