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new country. Or maybe there was a settlement there before, and the refugees added to it? Again, I wonder how

much more knowledge we could account for if we explored more beyond the high walls of the City. One census every

40 years does not seem adequate enough to capture the geography of Erewen or its people.

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 59 of Ber's First Reign

It was the morning of the sixth day since Haron fled Gilamorst. Almost a whole moon phase of not knowing where she was or if she was even still alive had me almost frothing at the mouth in fear and anxiety. Even the maids were too afraid to enter my quarters now, sending my food in with the guard instead to avoid my foul mood. Every question was answered with a snarl, every report that didn’t involve finding her was waved off. Never in my thirty years of life had I ever cared about the wellbeing of another person to this degree. And I may never again.

This was more extreme than concern. This was an obsession. One that I would gladly entertain as long as it brought Haron back to me in one piece. Currently, Sett was facing the brunt of my tirade as I stormed down the hallway from our original meeting place in the war room toward the main hall.

“Gather a whole battalion, whoever can mobilize by sunset. If we ride through the night, we may be able to catch Haron close to the Julran border.”

“Prince Irin, I think we should—” Sett began.

Half out of my mind with rage and panic, I whirled on my most competent soldier beside Beolf and roared in his face. Somewhere along the way, I had partially shifted, fangs growing enough to crowd my mouth and pull my lips back in a snarl. Parts of my body twitched spastically as I tried to hold the rest of the transition back. Maids scattered and butlers pressed theirbacks up against the wall as I swept past. The guards may have been the least fazed, but they still shot uneasy glances at their next-in-command, as if silently asking if he needed help. Sett waved them off, just barely catching up to me as I rounded the corner from the hall toward the palace entrance. He was the only one brave enough—or maybe dumb enough—to grab onto my arm that was slowly sprouting thick black fur.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think right now, Sett! Get the soldiers together, or I’m riding out on my own!”The words were garbled, hardly human, but still clear enough to get the message across. Behar panted at my side, obviously distressed at my frantic state of mind. I knew, in the rational part of my brain, that this was completely unhinged behavior for a prince. Even for me, who barely toed the line of etiquette. This was probably the first time I’d showed my beast form to anyone beyond Beolf. And Sett seemed rightfully disturbed by the violent outburst.

“PrinceIrin,” he bit out my title, more of a reprimand than anything. “Could you please collect yourself enough to not run off with not even half of a plan? It will take a few hours to gather supplies, map a route, organize the troops—”

“Then do it.”

Sett huffed a heavy sigh through his nose. His infinite amount of composure seemed to have finally thinned. “Can you at least pull yourself together a little bit? You’re scaring the staff.”

The beastly part of me did not like that idea at all.She’s mine, mine, mine.

His strong grip latched onto my arm and dragged me into an empty room, one of the many receiving rooms scattered throughout the main hallway of the castle for private meetings. Sett kicked the door shut behind him and shoved me further into the room, leaning against the door with his arms crossed as I turned on him with a vicious snarl. Claws were growing fromwhere they’d pushed my fingernails out, and fur began to sprout from my skin and rub uncomfortably against my clothes.

“This is coming from a sense of self-preservation, but I’d say going after Haron would be akin to running straight into a trebegnon’s maw. Easily avoidable, and completely stupid if you do it anyway.” Sett stabbed a finger in my face, and I snapped my teeth mere inches from it. “Get Dayer on a scrying glass first, see if he and Beolf caught up to her before tearing out the gate like you’re possessed. The womanjumped from a fucking second-story windowinstead of being taken into custody, so I doubt you coming after her as a feral beast walker will convince her to return to Gilamorst with you.”

My very bones vibrated with the need to sprint from this room and chase Haron down. Even being who I suspected she was, every fiber of my body screamed at me to go protect her from anyone who even looked at her wrong. The rational part of me knew Sett was right. But that part was currently being cornered in the back of my mind, hunkering and hiding from the beast currently taking charge.

“Get… Dayer…Now.” Every word was a struggle to speak through the partially elongated snout trying to erupt from my face.

Sett simply nodded. “If I leave to get a hand mirror and water, can I trust you to stay and keep calm?”

A deafening roar ripped from my chest, loud enough to make the delicate crystals hanging from a small chandelier above us rattle slightly. That must have been answer enough, since he heaved a great sigh and slipped through the smallest possible crack in the door. Restless energy charged me, setting my feet to pacing back and forth from one wall to the opposite, hands flexing in an attempt to focus on anything besides sprinting from this room to go after Haron.

Suspecting what I did now about her Julran heritage, I could see why she didn't want to divulge her past. The Clifftombs held untold riches and invaluable tomes, and if anyone knew she could access them they would try to exploit her. Just like the fake Nebold and Gennel, maybe one in the same. My stomach still churned after finally getting the patrol's report after she was gone, validating her claims of being wrongfully attacked under the pretense of meeting the guildmaster. She had been right there in my grasp, sitting in my study, and I let her slip through my fingers.

It was a monumental effort, but slowly I regained more of my humanity with every slow, deep breath I used to center myself again. The process of reverting back to a human-shaped Irin was more difficult, but mentally I was more sound when Sett returned. Instead, I had taken to pacing anxiously in front of the study's unlit fireplace.

“Thank you for your patience, Your Highness.” His hands were full, one with a plain silver hand mirror and the other a pitcher gathering condensation on its metal surface, so he leaned back to bump the door shut again.

My eyes narrowed at his expressionless face as he moved through the room to the small couch. “I don’t need you patronizing me, Sett. People have lost their heads for less.”

While it wasn’t a lie, we both knew Sett was safe. He was much too valuable as a spymaster and substitute rational thinker when Beolf was away. I tried not to brood too much when I took the seat beside him on the uncomfortably hard couch, where Sett already laid the mirror flat and poured a thin layer of water on its reflective surface. It must be his personal scrying mirror; there was a slight lip along the rim to hold the water within the frame.

My knee bounced impatiently as Sett pricked his finger with a small blade and squeezed a few drops of blood into the water to activate the mirror. Admittedly, I didn’t know much abouthydromancy to recognize when the receiving mirror would respond, so it only took a few heartbeats for me to lose my composure.

“Are you able to contact Dayer?”

Sett shot me the side-eye of a tolerant older sibling, not a subordinate. “He is likely not holding his mirror, waiting for someone to contact him. But if he is able, Dayer will sense the connection and activate his own, so we may speak to him.”

I was about to snap back at him when the mirror flashed a bright blue and the water’s surface rippled. Sett leaned forward to look into it. “Dayer, can you hear me? Are you able to speak now?”

The image shifted, briefly showing what seemed to be the inside of his satchel before a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors blurred in the mirror as he pulled it out. Then his youthful face showed in the frame, his jaw covered with a light brown scruff from several days of not shaving. For someone who was very meticulous with his appearance, it was a testament to how intently they had been searching for Haron without rest. Even his hair looked a bit askew, usually tamed into a braid draped across his shoulder. Now strands flew in every direction, the majority of what used to be tied back loose and fluttering in the wind.