Page 14 of Queen of Rebels (Shifters of Sherwood #3)

For a bombshell revelation, I find myself strangely...calm after we’ve laid it all out.

“It’s almost too simple,” I say. Will’s uncorked another bottle of wine—or maybe two?—and I’m lying on the floor, hair spread around me, watching the ceiling juuuust start to tilt on its axis. “Like, cartoon-villain simple.”

“I’ve always thought of him as a simple man,” Will says drily.

LJ hmphs. “Not me.”

“Yeah, I’m with LJ,” Rob says. “He’s gotta have some kind of deep dark secret.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Please. He wishes.”

"Ooh.” In my wine-hazed state, I feel like a giggly twelve year old. “Speaking of family secrets..." I roll over onto my stomach and all but army-crawl over to the stack of books. "Who wants to see what our friend's been studying about shifters?"

Tuck’s head perks up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“What’s that?” Rob says, leaning forward with interest.

“Remember how I told you Guy had that weird old book at his house?” I say, pulling a few out of the stack. “Well, we decided to nab them.”

“Old book?” Will asks.

“About shifters,” Tuck answers, practically vibrating with excitement as I hand over the first volume. The ancient tome looks even more impressive in the dim light of our hideout, its strange symbols catching the fire. “He’s some kind of obsessed researcher. And for me to say something, that’s...something.”

An unnamed emotional, fleeting and electric, flickers over Will’s eyes.

“Let me see.”

He draws briskly to Tuck’s side.

"Careful with that," I caution as Tuck eagerly opens it. "Some of those pages look old enough to crumble."

“And they could be worth good money,” Rob adds. Tuck gives us both a dirty look.

"I know how to handle rare books," he mutters, but he takes an even more delicate touch as he turns the pages. LJ takes a few silent steps towards us, too, and together we huddle over the book, peering at the pages.

“Well?” Will says impatiently. “What does it say?”

“Can you give me a second?” Tuck says. “It’s Old French—no, Middle French. I’m not exactly fluent.” He traces a finger along the words, lips moving silently, a furrow in his brow.

“Pirates,” he says at last.

LJ grunts. “Come again?”

“Pirates,” Tuck repeats. “It’s a legal account of a trial, from the early colonial days. Something about a band of men on a ship with the power to turn into sea monsters...”

“What, like Jack Fuckin’ Sparrow?” LJ chortles.

“No,” Tuck says pointedly. “I mean, kind of. Anyway, they seem to have commandeered a lot of shipments of sugarcane down in the islands. The plantation owners were pissed.”

“Hmm.” LJ’s still gruff, but sounds satisfied this time.

“What else?” Will says, gripping Tuck’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay!” Tuck gestures for me to hand him another book. “Gimme a minute.” Another long stretch of silence as he skims and frowns. “The Spanish Inquisition. Something about safe houses, hiding people from the church...”

“Yawn,” Rob says. “Go back to the pirates.”

“Or,” I offer, and hold up the edge of a scroll that unfurls almost all the way to my feet, covered in vertical lines of characters. “Want a challenge?”

Tuck grimaces. “It’s been a long time since I’ve practiced Japanese, but—”

“Aw, c’mon,” Will goads him, swigging the last of his wine and going for a fresh pour. “The Tuck I know isn’t a quitter.”

Tuck heaves a sigh. “Fine...”

That one turns out to be an account of kitsune —fox shifters—fighting against the British in Meiji-era Japan, which piques Rob’s interest until Tuck starts getting into the details of political hierarchies.

They go on from there. Smugglers along the Silk Road. Stations on the Underground Railroad. Even—

“Prohibition-era bootlegging operations.” Tuck looks up, his voice tinged with the excited pitch it does when he's discovering something fascinating. "There's a whole network of producers documented here, stretching from Canada down through—"

"The Eastern seaboard," Rob cuts in casually. “Everyone knows that.”

We all turn to stare at him. He's still sprawled in his chair, looking supremely unbothered.

“What?” I’m genuinely confused—and a little tipsy. I cock my head.

Rob shrugs, a fluid motion that reminds me of his fox form. "Well, yeah. That’s kind of a thing for our kind, isn’t it? Specially around here." His eyes sweep the cramped cabin. "You think it’s a coincidence there’s an illegal still operation this close to my property?”

"You knew about this?" Will demands.

“Not this house,” Rob clarifies. “Not per se. But yeah. Family stories, that kind of thing.”

"And you never thought to mention it?" Will’s voice snaps with irritation, but if Rob notices, he doesn’t show it.

"Never came up." Rob takes another sip of wine. "Besides, most folks prefer to figure things out for themselves. Right, Tuck?"

Tuck flushes but doesn't look up from the book. "There's more here – detailed accounts of how shifter communities organized themselves. Protected their own." His fingers trace the aged text. "They weren't just hiding – they were helping . Creating networks, safe passages..."

"Makes sense," I say slowly. "If you can literally change form, you'd be perfect for that kind of work. Hiding people, moving supplies..."

"Running moonshine," Rob adds with a wicked grin.

"Dragons for aerial reconnaissance," Tuck points out eagerly. "Wolves for ground navigation, bears for muscle..."

"And foxes," I glance at Rob, "for causing trouble and looking innocent?"

His grin widens. "Family tradition. Me and the Japanese branch of the Locksleys, I suppose.” He laughs, and I do too—until I see Will.

He’s gone very still, not even sipping from his wine. "You knew." His voice has that deadly quiet tone that's worse than shouting.

Rob's casual posture shifts slightly. "Will—"

"No." Will sets his cup down with precise control. “Stop right there. All this time, you knew there was more to our history, our heritage, and you just... what? Decided to keep it to yourself?"

Rob swallows, the reality of his friend’s tone sinking in. “It genuinely never occurred to me, Scarlet. I’m sorry if you think I was lying to you, or something—“

“If?” Will says. “You were. By omission.”

“Hey, hey, whoa.” Rob gets to his feet, spreading palms wide. “I can see why you feel left out, but—“

“Left out,” Will repeats, a mirthless chuckle in his throat. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“Will.” This from Tuck, rising to touch Will’s arm. “I’m sure he didn’t—“

"Do you have any idea what it was like?” Will cries. His cup slips from his fingers, splattering on the weathered ground. “What it was like growing up thinking you were broken? Alone? "

The temperature in the room seems to drop. I've never seen Will like this – raw, volatile.

He looks around the room at each of them, and for a moment, I wonder if LJ’s going to say something, chime in with his own agreement from his own past, but when I catch a glimpse of him he’s only glowering, arms folded. Anyone’s guess if he feels the same as Will.

“Well, I do,” Will says with another laugh. “So allow me to enlighten you. “My parents..." His voice breaks off. "God, they tried everything. Doctors, psychiatrists, specialists – anyone who might 'fix' their broken son who kept insisting he could turn into a dragon. They were so ashamed ." His Yanked accent slips, Boston Brahmin giving way to something more vulnerable. "Do you know what it's like, being thirteen and having your own mother look at you like you're some kind of monster?"

Rob takes a step for him, face stricken and serious. "Scarlet—"

"Don't." Will's voice cracks. "Don't you dare try to explain this away. You had answers . Real, tangible proof that we weren't alone, that this was normal for us. But you kept it locked up in family stories while the rest of us stumbled around in the dark?"

Tuck's hands have gone still on the book. LJ's watching with his good eye, tension radiating from his massive frame.

"I spent years ," Will continues, "thinking I was crazy. Hiding what I was, hating myself, while you had an entire family history of—" He breaks off, running a hand through his silver hair. "Christ, Rob. Why wouldn't you share this?"

"It wasn't—“ Rob starts, but Will cuts him off with a hand sliced through the air.

"Save it. You just didn't trust us enough." He stands, all fluid grace even in anger. "Or maybe you just liked being the only one with answers. Our fearless leader, always one step ahead."

"Will," I say softly, but he's already moving toward the door.

"I need some air." The words come out clipped, precise. But I catch the slight tremor in his hands, the way his shoulders are too straight. "Don't follow me."

The door doesn't slam – Will would never be so crass – but somehow the quiet click is worse.

#

The silence he leaves behind feels like a physical weight.

Rob starts to rise, but LJ's voice stops him. "Let him go. Man needs space."

I look at the ancient book still open in Tuck's lap, at the secret history that could have changed lives. Changed Will's life. "Rob," I say carefully. "Why didn't you tell them?"

“I mean, I dunno.” He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired. "It didn’t really seem like a big deal, I guess? It’s not like I grew up having dinner table conversations about it or nothing like that. It's complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it," LJ rumbles. "Because Scarlet isn’t wrong."

"We're your family ," Tuck says softly, and the hurt in his voice makes my chest ache.

“Yeah, but not—” Rob stops himself.

“Not what?” LJ says. “Not blood? That all that matters to you people around here? Bloodlines, heritage?” He swaggers forward, his good eye gleaming. “How exactly does that make you any different than the assholes down at that damn Fox Hunt Club?”

Rob works his jaw. “I’m the fox, for one.”

“Don’t you even—”

“Stop it,” I say, flinging a hand into LJ’s chest. “All of you. You were wrong, Rob. And if you really think blood matters more than this family”—I gesture around us—“then I suggest you remember who broke you out of fucking jail. ” My anger’s burning dragonfire hot, and I don’t care. “And you, ” I turn on LJ, “don’t provoke him. The last thing we need right now is to fall apart.” I swivel around, looking for anyone else who needs chewing out from my wine-soaked righteous fury, but, seeing only Tuck, I just lift my chin.

“I’m going out.”

#

I find Will perched on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing, silhouetted against the moon. Even angry, he manages to look elegant – back straight, long legs crossed at the ankle. But I catch the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drum against his thigh.

"If you're here to defend him," he says without turning, "save your breath."

"Nope." I settle beside him on the log. "Just thought you might want company while you brood magnificently."

That gets me the ghost of a smile. "I do not brood. I contemplate with appropriate gravitas."

"Of course. My mistake." I bump his shoulder with mine. "Want to contemplate out loud?"

He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice has lost its usual sharp edges. "Do you know what the de Mornays are to Sherwood?"

"Old money, old power," I say, thinking of Guy's endless lectures about 'proper' families.

"Exactly. And the Scarlets are to Boston what the de Mornays are to Sherwood." His laugh is hollow. "There were plans for me, greasemonkey. Law school, politics – the whole cursed legacy. Instead..." He gestures at himself. "Here I am, hiding in the woods with a bunch of criminals."

"Really excellent criminals, though."

"Not the point." He sighs, a half-smile on his lips.

I study his profile, thinking. For all the time we've spent together, I don't know much about his life back...then. Back before Rob, before any of this.

“Little Will Scarlet, heir to the throne,” I murmur, just loud enough for him to overhear me.

He snorts. "Hardly little. I was an awkward, gangly thing. All elbows and expensive orthodontia."

"Now this I need to hear more about."

"What, my tragic origin story as a poor little rich boy?" His voice drips sarcasm, but I wait him out. Finally, he sighs. "It was... pristine. Everything carefully curated – the right schools, the right clothes, the right activities. Even the right way to be wrong. If you're going to rebel, do it at the correct prep school where the scandal can be properly managed."

"Sounds exhausting."

"You have no idea." He picks up a leaf, turning it over in those elegant hands. "The parties were the worst. All these children dressed up like miniature adults, learning to network before we could drive. I used to hide in the library and read about dragons." His mouth twists. "Ironic, really."

"When did you first..." I gesture vaguely. "You know. Shift?"

"Thirteen. During a garden party, of all things." He lets out a harsh laugh. "Nothing quite like turning into a dragon in the middle of your mother's prized rose garden while the entire Boston social register looks on in horror."

"Jesus."

"Oh, it gets better. They managed to convince everyone it was a gas leak hallucination. Sent me to seven different psychiatrists. The last one..." He stops, swallows. "He specialized in 'troubled youth with persistent fantasies.' Wanted to put me on antipsychotics."

My hand finds his on the log. "Will..."

"The truly ridiculous part?" His voice stays light, but his fingers tighten on mine. "Even after they caught me shifting in the conservatory, shredding those hideous imported silk drapes, they were more concerned about appearances than about me. Mother's exact words were 'Couldn't you at least have been something dignified, like a lion?'"

The bitterness in his tone makes my chest ache. "What did you do?"

"Oh, you know. The usual teenage rebellion. Got expelled. Started wearing black. Trying smoking—ironic, I guess." His smile is sharp. "Then I made the terrible mistake of actually trying to tell someone. My best friend at the time – Alexander Whitmore the Third, if you can believe it. Thought he'd understand."

I can already tell this story doesn't end well. "What happened?"

"His parents had him transferred to boarding school in Switzerland. Apparently, I was 'disturbing his healthy social development.'" Will's laugh is hollow. "After that... well. I snapped out of it.”

“Snapped out of it?”

“I got very good at pretending,” he clarifies. “Perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect life. All while feeling like I was going to claw my way out of my own skin."

"Until Rob found you?"

"Until Rob found me." His voice softens slightly. "I'd run away – again – after another argument about my 'delusions.' Steal the credit card, hole up in a hotel. Then one time I ended up in some dive bar on Brighton, drunk on absolutely terrible whiskey, trying to pick fights with Harvard kids by bragging about how I could breathe fire.” He winces. “And there he was, this...crazy fucking Southern boy who said he’d punch my lights out if I didn’t stop blowing my own cover like that.” He shakes his head. "First person who ever made me feel like I wasn't crazy. And the whole time, he knew...”

He sucks in a breath, looks to the sky.

I wait, letting him work through it.

"You know what the worst part is?" His voice drops lower. "I can't even properly hate him for it. Don’t think I could hate him for anything.”

My mind flashes back to what seems like a lifetime ago—when I was freshly escaped, freshly back. When Will got me that...apology from Rob. How he’d looked at him, tying Rob’s wrists behind his back...

“You love him?” I ask.

"Not like that." Will glances at me, moonlight catching his sharp features. "Or not exactly. It's...more. Or it’s different. I don’t know.” His hands move in frustrated circles. "English is a wretchedly limited language sometimes." He's quiet again, gathering thoughts. "It's like...Rob’s the axis my world turns on. Not romantically, but..." Another frustrated gesture. "He gave me a home when my family cast me out. Showed me I wasn't broken.”

“I know that feeling,” I murmur. “From all of you.”

That catches Will’s attention. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” I say, a little crossly. “What did you think?”

“I don’t...know what I thought,” Will says slowly. “I never really put two and two together. That you and I had that in common.”

“We’ve got a lot in common,” I reply. “Right down to a Rob Locksley betrayal.”

“Hah.” There’s no humor in his laugh. “Feels a little unfair to call this a betrayal. Rob had reasons, didn’t he? He always has reasons." Will laughs, but it catches in his throat. "God, I'm a mess."

"You're allowed to be angry and still love him," I say softly. "It's not either-or."

He turns to look at me fully then, and something in his gaze makes my breath catch. "When did you get so wise, greasemonkey?"

"Probably around the time I started hanging out with pretentious Yankees.”

“Pretentious?” The moonlight glows in his silver hair, matching the dragon-scale gleam of his eyes. “Please. You love me.”

“I do.”

It’s a simple truth, easy to say—easier than I would’ve thought.

Will smiles, beams, almost, and something shifts in the air between us, that familiar electricity humming to life.

"Will..." I start, not sure what I'm going to say.

"You know," he cuts in, voice soft, as his hand finds mine on the log, elegant fingers threading through my callused ones. “You’re the only one I've ever..." He stops, swallows. "Well. You know."

My heart thunders against my ribs. "Say it anyway."

He looks at our joined hands, then back to my face. "The only one I've ever loved. Really loved, not like Rob, not like family, but..." His free hand comes up to cup my cheek. "Like this."

The kiss, when it comes, tastes like expensive wine and fire.

SPICE TK