Page 13 of Beast and Remedy (The Last of the Heirs #2)

The Ember

W e departed Palaena, making it home in time for my magic beckoning at the winter month’s new moon.

Another three-day shift. And it was grueling .

As a beast, a pang of unbalance tightened in my ribs, unease coursed through my veins, and my posture stooped from the tension straining so deep in my muscles.

I patrolled Haliver Woods, relying on the pull of my gifts from my chest to guide me. Snow piled up for the cold season, and the decaying trees and covered shrubbery made me wish for a cave—wish for hibernation like most bears do.

But I was no average bear.

I was a humble servant of Leander, ensuring peace. But the peace wasn’t here .

Restlessness clung to me on the second day with each step as I scouted for the disruption, steering my power into following my own intellect and suspicion.

Creatures bowed as I strode past, not one challenging my reign and presence. Many would evoke emotions I could interpret, aiding me in a direction, but the trails I followed led nowhere.

I scoured the woods, not bothering with food or sleep, frustration building in my throat, enough for roars and growls to escape.

I sensed—no, I knew —something changed. But my magic couldn’t pinpoint it, and the beasts I ruled over couldn’t help me.

And the gnawing distress taunted me—endlessly clawing its way around my mind.

I couldn’t find a reprieve.

Marian and I considered more theories, more tonics to experiment with for my next shift once the majority of my ingredient shelf was restored. But I couldn’t remove the news of an animal attack while we were away along with the unrest in the wild.

Each night, I lay in bed, agitated and alert. The impending fear crept along my skin in a tantalizing caress, making me revisit the events leading up to the wolf lunging out my study’s window. And every morning when I would bring it up to my sister, Marian would reassure me everything was fine.

Jean and Pierre told us they handled the animal attack, but why couldn’t I banish this festering torment in my heart?

Today, we are holding court and need to attend a meeting before held by Papa, Jean, and Pierre. The discussions prior to visiting with our people have varied based off the latest updates of Belmur, reported by bannermen, nobles, citizens, and Pierre’s hired spies.

The kingdom’s business often turns into lessons for Marian and me on how Belmur should be run. Regardless of whether I inherited the magic, it is expected that my sister and I know the ins and outs of running our territory.

We were all surprised magic was not bestowed on both of us, and I’ll never forget the conversation we had when I came into my power.

Marian promised to never stray from my side, knowing if the roles were reversed, I would offer her the same. We vowed to be there for one another and take our positions seriously, understanding our elders’ time would eventually run out and our people would need a united front.

So, Marian trained to be my royal advisor as I prepared to fill the role of queen.

But today, Pierre’s offhanded comments about needing to be more strategic is not something I want to hear. And I especially do not appreciate him shifting topics toward marriage.

“ Must you bring this up again, Pierre?” I mumble through an annoyed breath as we exit the meeting chambers, heading toward the throne room.

Pierre drags a hand through his short brown hair, his tolerance already thin. “You are the future of the crown,” he reminds me, and I roll my eyes.

The guards open the tall wooden doors, and my sister nudges me, reminding me of the audience waiting.

I square my shoulders, old habits clicking into place as we pass through the entryway, the crowd parting a path and bowing.

The deep russet-stained wooden floors match the walls covered in golden framed paintings and ancestral portraits. Maroon curtains are drawn back, fastened to the sides of each window, sunlight casting light amongst the lifeless stares trailing after my family.

Shadows hug the ceiling where the chandelier above rests immovable, the chains holding it gathered and coiled behind the dais. And ahead of me lie two thrones, carved from oakwood, featuring high arched backs fastened into the foundation.

Jean and Pierre stand to the right, while Marian and I take our places on the small bench to the left. The diadem I wear weighs heavy as we sit, and I adjust it before digging at the skin between my nails as my father takes his seat and beckons the first person to speak.

Lomburg citizens come forward, one by one, many of their homes and loved ones lost from defending their town from the animal attack while we were in Palaena.

And with each one, Papa wants to grant them their heart’s desire. He’s always been generous, but Pierre is constantly at his side, reminding him of what we can and cannot offer.

Even if Pierre was right, I would never admit it to him.

We grant lodgings and care with the lords of Lomburg, ensuring food and other assistance will be provided until homes can be rebuilt. And with one of the last townsfolk pleased, I shift my hips, my backside aching.

“Me too,” Marian mutters, and I suppress my smirk as the next citizen comes forward.

A petite woman with sunken features, slightly visible through long copper curls clouding over her forehead, hides her face as she approaches. The woman’s blue eyes dart up, filled with an unreadable emotion, and the protocol I maintain slips.

I want to brave a glance at my family, but my gut churns, forcing my attention to remain on the lady.

She lowers into a curtsy, then crumples when she dips her head.

Guardsmen rush to her, and alarm prickles up my spine as I observe her mannerisms for any clues to her abrupt collapse. Her sobs echo, and the silence sweeping over the room draws forth goose bumps along my skin.

Jean steps forward and catches Papa, restraining him from speaking before padding down the dais. His tall, slender frame sinks to a knee, and he clasps her hands.

“Can you tell us your name and where you ventured from?” he asks, his words barely audible.

“I-I’m from C-C’eaux, my lord.” She sniffs, and her chest rises and falls through her choked sob. “M-My n-name is Ann. Annie Flandin.”

I try to recollect her family name but come up short. But I’m sure Marian knows. She always knows.

Jean’s deep voice grows as he addresses the woman and the crowd. “Annie, we are grateful for your travels, and the crown wishes to hear all burdens. Are you able to share with us and your king what brings you such sorrow?”

The tenderness of Jean’s voice reminds me of the countless occasions when he would educate Marian and me when we were children. But the gentleness he offers does nothing to soothe me as the woman twists to my father.

“M-M-My village…” She pauses, stuttered breaths escaping. “Th-Th-They’re all gone.”

Gasps and quiet conversations explode as my stomach plummets.

Annie’s tear-stricken gaze meets mine.

“I-I-I don’t know how many animals there were, but”—her eyes fill with more tears before she looks to her king, devastation and grief speaking through her—“they… they killed them all. My-my family, my friends—” She sniffs.

“They all died, and I almost did, too. I-I-I barely escaped with scratches.” Annie’s sobs ricochet off the walls, accompanied by other citizens raising their voices.

“There was already an animal attack in Lomburg,” a feminine voice whispers.

“And now C’eaux?” a man with noble rank tsk s.

I find Marian’s hand, and she squeezes it twice, a silent understanding of the unease brimming from the suspicion pouring into the room.

“Silence!” Papa booms.

Everyone turns as he rises from his throne, a stern expression furrowing across his freckled, aged skin as he walks to the woman and Jean.

My heart wrenches when he leans in, speaking to Annie. “What kind of animal?”

Annie trembles, and Jean touches her shoulder in encouragement. She swallows, mouth opening and stuttering, “W-W-Wolves, Your Majesty.”

My father glances back, my heartbeat tripling with his grimace.

We received confirmation that the first attack in Lomburg was by wolves today from Pierre’s spies, but there was another in C’eaux?

Sweat protrudes along Annie’s temple, and she wipes it away, fatigue and exhaustion dragging her down. “Th-Th-There was a pack of them. We tried to fight them off, but—” She shudders, rubbing her arm and revealing it is bandaged. “B-B-But there were so many, and w-w-we didn’t have a chance.”

My grip on Marian tightens, a lifeline, as my panicked breaths increase from Annie’s words, sending me on the verge of collapsing.

Tremors rack through me, magic thrumming in my blood, in my chest, in my heart. A vicious growl teeters on the edge of escape, rumbling low in my throat.

Marian whispers, “It’s okay, Vi.”

I know she is trying to calm me, but my breaths turn ragged, the scrutinizing stares stifling and suffocating me as the walls close in.

A surge of power thrashes in my veins, my knee wobbling to control it. My thoughts comb through every possibility, every outcome, every logical reason, trying to find out why and how this could have happened.

An entire village… gone.

“You know how,” a somber voice whispers on my right, and I look toward the window, dusk peeking through, and a familiar floating shimmer twinkles.

Trepidation flickers in my mind as I squint, a thought in my mind. “I know how?”

The shimmer sharpens into an ember, and its flame sparks with a flourish before vanishing from sight.

Turmoil crashes against me, and my mouth slackens.

Wait… not one wolf. But a pack .

Shit.

“Do you know where they went?” Papa asks Annie, tears soaking her flushed cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, my king. I-I-I don’t know where they went.” She pants, clutching her hand and trying to catch her breath.

Jean pulls her into an embrace and stiffens. Glancing at us, he frowns as he mouths, I think she’s sick.

My eyes widen, and I peer toward Pierre, surprised he hasn’t spoken.