Chapter 1
At night, sometimes, with the salt-sweet red taste running through my mouth, I still dream of spears and the hunt with relief, not fear.
Sometimes I dream it even when I remain human. Like the memories of blood, it never quite goes away. I have lived with both blood and dreams for a very long time.
In the mornings, or in the depths of night, or when he notices my mood, Andreas puts arms around me and makes me laugh or offers a gift of the newest copy of a broadside Robin o’ the Green ballad. He knows me so well. Better than I once believed possible. The worst, the best, the ordinary.
I do love the ordinary. Porridge and cream. A plunge into the lake, shedding shapes like lead for both of us: my wolf’s heritage, and his King’s crown.
He’s still young to be a king. He’s younge
