Chapter 15: Enemies Closer

Before I can gape at him-or laugh, my first impulse-Piers drapes his arm around my shoulders with casual nonchalance. Caine glares up at him, his pack rumbling growls my sorcerer friend ignores.

"Your Majesty," Piers goes on in his bright, brittle tone, "imagine my dismay when I discovered you had unwelcome guests from abroad in your house." He must have been watching the palace to discover the arrival of Caine and his pack. Either that, or Piers has been spying on me. We will talk about his indiscretion at a later date. Right now, I could kiss him.

"Indeed," Oleksander says. "Though this is the purview of the werenation."

"Naturally," Piers says, bowing as best he can with his arm around me. "I am merely here as the voice of the Steam Union, your faithful and trusted allies, to offer what assistance I might in times of discord."

"The werenation is grateful for the friendship of the Steam Union," my grandfather says, a gleam of good humor escaping his cold eyes. "How timely your arrival."

Piers waves his free hand, a dark shadow rising from his feet, tickling the edge of my power. "We are greatly concerned with the wellbeing of our friends and associates," Piers says, eyes now locked on Caine. "And will do everything in our power to ensure your continued autonomy. In all things."

Caine flashes his teeth but doesn't comment. I feel him sizing up my friend, his power reaching for the young sorcerer. But Caine seems wary, too, and I wonder how much experience he's had with the users of the devouring magic to be so cautious.

"I can see," Caine says at last, "we aren't welcome here, by my fault." My eyes narrowed as I looked for the treachery in him. "I ask your forgiveness, wereking. We aren't exactly versed in the ways of court."

Oleksander nodded. "Forgiven," he says, while spitefulness bites me.

"If you would accept my apology," Caine says, smile softer and less animalistic, "I would beseech you to allow me to prove my worth to you and to Princess Sharlotta." It must be killing him, this posing, this show of weakness. I see it in his eyes, feel the thrum of his resentment, though I don't know if I'm the only one.

My grandfather seems to ponder, though his mind closes off to me when I try to insist he kick this ridiculously vile werewolf and his mangy pack out of our territory.

"I may have been hasty," Oleksander finally says. "Very well. But bear in mind, the new laws stand. You must prove to Sharlotta your worthiness."

Caine bows to me, a real one this time, tongue slipping over his lips as he smiles at me.

"I can assure you," he says, "I will do everything in my power to do just that."

Viveca's dark and bitter expression tells me she plans to see to it I suffer for his choice.

Oleksander gestures at some of the guards lining the center aisle. "Escort the Caine pack to quarters," he says. "And clear the room."

No one moves as four of the guards lead Caine and his people out. It's not until the foreign pack is gone the rest of the weres file out, as though unwilling to face them alone. I spin on my grandfather with a hiss, shaking free of Piers's protective arm.

"You're an old fool with a soft spot for a head." I would never speak to him like this unless we were alone. And even then, the times I've challenged him have been rare. But I can't bring myself to believe he's actually accepted Caine and his pack into the palace.

Oleksander sighs, pulls me toward him, holds my hand. "Sharlotta," he says. "Keep your loved ones close, my darling girl. And keep your enemies closer."

"To what purpose?" I'm almost spitting I'm so angry.

"To watch them," Piers says, soft words surprising me. I turn on him, this time.

"I'd rather do so from a continent away," I say. "Send them back where they came from. Nothing good will come from this." I'm certain I'm right. My wolf can feel it, warns me, even as my grandfather sits back on his throne with a sad expression.

"Piers," he says, ignoring me while I seethe in frustration and the need to act. "Your impressions?"

My sorcerer friend's face flickers with concern and then a hint of distaste. "They feel off," he says. "I don't know how else to say it."

"They didn't know about the healing." Oleksander's head comes up sharply, Piers focused on me. "They seemed confused about it."

Piers nods slowly. "It's possible, I suppose," he says. "Syd might have missed a few. That could account for the difference."

"What difference?" I shiver and hug myself, forcing my arms down the moment I lift them. I will not show weakness, not even alone with my grandfather and Piers.

"They feel like sorcery," he says. "Only not completely. As if the healing didn't quite finish the job."

Oleksander is troubled, his beard bristling as he taps his fingers on the arm rests of his throne. "Can we have Sydlynn come, to complete their freedom?"

They don't deserve it. I snort and look away, crossing my arms over my chest as Piers shrugs.

"Maybe," he says. "We can ask her."

"It doesn't matter what we do," I snap. "You can't heal evil." So much evil in so few people. The residue of them lingers, allowing me to finally feel what it is troubled me the most about them. "Sociopaths are sociopaths, regardless of the power that made them."

Piers nods while my grandfather lets out a gusty sigh.

"You're right, Sharlotta," he says in his deep voice. "I can no longer be swayed by my need to ensure the safety of all packs, of all weres." He shakes his big head, steel gray hair shining in the light of the giant chandeliers overhead. "There are those who deserve our help and pity."

"And there are those who deserve to be wiped out." I drop my arms. "I'll take care of it personally." It will bring me great joy to cleanse our race of these foul werewolves.

Oleksander takes my hand again. "My darling child," he says. "So blood thirsty. Despite their darkness, they deserve your pity first."

I shake my own head, face tickled by a few strands of hair escaping my ponytail. I wish I could impress on him just how wrong these werewolves are.

"Pity is reserved for those who deserve it," I snarl. "Now, Piers, if you don't mind, I could use some back up."

He looks eager, and I know he will do everything he can to give me what I want. It makes me suddenly nervous about our possible mating if he is so easily manipulated.

Oleksander stands, a scowl on his face. "I forbid it," he says. "I am wereking. They are mine to deal with."

I've never been so angry with my grandfather. "You must act," I say. "Or I promise you, Grandfather, I will."

"I hope we're not interrupting?"

I spin, cold fury at the source of the voice turning to terror as my past flashes before me in the face of the smiling Andre Dumont and his two sons, walking the aisle toward us.

***