Page 2

And then she spots me.

It’s too late. She’s going to run, and that’s the last I’m going to see of her. I’m going to end up sitting in the frigid field again tonight.

But she doesn’t run. No…

Shegrows.

I blink at her, and my mouth falls open. As the jacquesalaupe becomes larger, wicked fangs descend from her mouth. Talons sprout on her once dainty front paws, and her awkward antlers become deadly weapons glinting in the starlight, ready to impale the idiot soldier who dared interrupt her feasting.

I’m just wondering why no one thought to mention the monster’s affinity for shiftingbeforethey sent me to sit in the field when she charges. Or rather,leaps.

Tossing the worthless bow on the ground, I grab the hilt of my sword and run toward the demon rabbit, preparing to finish the battle before it has a chance to begin. Satisfaction swells in me as I realize my first assumption was wrong—slaying this jacquesalaupe might be enough to earn my seal after all.

But just as I lunge, the jacquesalaupe leaps back and bounds away. I circle with her, watching as she bounces about on muscular hind legs, studying her moves. Several times, the beast leaps forward, meaning to gore me with her antlers. Every chance I have to stab the creature, she hops to safety.

Several minutes pass, and then several more. The jacquesalaupe continues to evade me, and I realize her game. She’s toying with me—playing cat and mouse, hoping to finish me with one deadly attack of her sharp antlers the moment I tire.

Breathing hard, no longer bothered by the chill of the early morning, I watch as she lines up for another attack. Her wild eyes meet mine, and I sense the finality in her gaze.

This is it.

I tighten the grip on my sword and lower into a crouch, preparing for her to charge. My breath steams in front of me, joining with the shifting fog. I wait, fighting for patience. One, two, three…

Just as she leaps, I heave myself back upon the cold, prickly ground, avoiding her antlers. My shoulders press into the dirt and frost-covered weeds, and I thrust upward, into the jacquesalaupe’s soft, unprotected belly.

She lets out a piercing, shrill cry that echoes throughout the night, and then she stumbles forward, eventually falling to the ground. Her leg twitches for several seconds before she goes completely still.

A nearby cow bellows, disturbed by the sound of the creature’s death, and then silence falls over the valley.

After a moment, I pull myself up, satisfied with the outcome of the fight but irritated it took as long as it did. I scowl at my blade, which is now slick with demon bunny blood, and step forward to wipe it on the creature’s hide. I’m just about to commence the unpleasant task of skinning the beast when it begins to shrink.

Toshrink.

Before my eyes, the jacquesalaupe returns to its original, harmless size. Her fangs disappear, as do her claws. The only remnants of her grotesque appearance are the antlers, but even they look less than impressive on the rabbit-sized creature.

I prod the beast with the toe of my boot, hoping it will miraculously turn back. But the creature’s magic has faded and sunken into the earth, leaving nothing but its lifeless, harmless,and most unimpressive self behind.

My hopes of trading the beast’s hide for my seal blow away in the frozen breeze.

Growling, I sheath my blade and toss the rabbit over my shoulder, wondering how much a person can hope to fetch for a rack of jacquesalaupe antlers.

2

Clover

Henrik’s handsome in a brawny,beautiful sort of way. He’s a head taller than the average man, with broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist and a way of moving that humbly proclaims his graceful strength. With his dark hair, steel blue eyes, and controlled demeanor, he’s a favorite with the female members of the court.

The soldier strides into the throne room, carrying what appears to be a limp rabbit and a large set of antlers. Around me, the ladies giggle. I scoff under my breath, tired of hearing the girls’ breathless sighs every time the blacksmith’s son makes an appearance.

Mind you, I don’t hold any ill-will toward the soldier—I don’t hold anywilltoward him at all. Perhaps I admire his perseverance and his skill with a sword, but my heart certainly doesn’t beat faster the moment he walks into the room.

Despite that, like everyone else, my gaze stays firmly on the man.

What is that thing?

Inarrow my eyes at the strange creature in Henrik’s arms. It isn’t a rabbitanda set of antlers; it’s a rabbitwearinga set of antlers.

The soldier’s face is stone, and he looks very much like he’s trying to veil his emotions. With his chiseled jaw clenched, he carries his chin slightly tilted in the air. It’s an almost indignant look, one that intrigues me.