Prologue

The air crackled with lightning, thunder shaking the very battlements of the Kingship of the Danes. The townsfolk stayed in their homes, afraid of the thunder but more afraid of the King. Daroque, King of the Danes, was smiling on his throne as he heard the thunder shake the outside of the castle. He knew it wouldn't be too long now. Evanora sat in her tower doing the last-minute traces of her spell, jabbering Latin. She knew that what she did would bring the castle into a legion of darkness, but she also knew that Daroque was her master, and she lived to serve him.

In a forest near the battlements of the city, Freya Dane, the rightful ruler of the Danes, fell to her feet trembling with pain. Her usually pale hands were even paler as she gripped the floor hard enough to crack her nails. Wilhelm the white, her most favored Knight of the rebellion ran into her tent horrified at what he saw.

"Lady Dane, what can I do?" He said going down on his knees so he could speak to her. She looked up at him even as her eyes turned silver, washing out the blue in them. "You need to leave." She said through gritted teeth. "Take the men and get out of here."

"We cannot leave you here," Wilhelm said, his eyes wide. "You must. Protect my people. You will need to lead them in my stead." Freya said, gripping and digging deeper into the mud as her nails turned into claws.

"There is dark magic afoot here," Freya said. "Get out of here before it's too late."

Wilhelm put a hand on his chest. "I will protect your people until my dying day. And until that day comes, I will never stop looking for a way to undo whatever afoul curse this is. I swear to you." He said, leaving Freya to her fate.

Despite, that her very body seemed to burn with some unknown curse, she forced herself up and ran. She ran through the forest mindful to keep away from her people, and as she ran, her feet became paws and she fell into a hulking dark form of a wolf. She ran up and up into the mountains, her roar filling the air and drowning the endless thunder.

In the castle, her uncle laughed triumphantly, finally, triumphant. Nothing could stop his rule.