The Queen, the Lover, the Huntress, and the Rogue

Fish and Birds

Westley’s POV

The goodbyes aren’t particularly emotional for me, though it does tug at my heartstrings to watch Corrin’s pretty, gray eyes tear up as she hugs her brother and best friend farewell. She doesn’t seem particularly upset to be leaving her parents, I notice. I’m not, either; I could tell from the moment I met them that they judged me, like so many others around here. As far as I’m concerned, good riddance to both of them.

I shouldn’t be quite so harsh, I suppose. It makes sense that pack wolves hate Rogues; we tend to attack and rob them at every opportunity. Plus, according to what Royce always told me, we smell like roadkill to them.

I hope I don’t smell like roadkill to Corrin. I wonder if I smell half as good to her as she does to me.

When Red hugs me goodbye, I don’t quite tear up, but I do feel a slight twinge of sadness. Is this the last time I’ll ever see Elianna’s daughter, the beautiful, fierce Queen of the Wolves who found a way to trust me when no one else would?

“Be safe,” I tell her softly as I pull away from her. I mean it.

“You as well,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Corrin’s hands one last time. “Both of you.”

Red offered us four of the finest horses from the recently relocated royal stables, but we turned her down. For one thing, their horses are in short supply already, given that most of the wolves had to escape Canis on foot or in wolf form; for another, the plodding sound of iron horseshoes against the ground and the constant snorting and huffing of the four-legged creatures would have greatly hindered our secrecy efforts.

So we shift, and we run.

I wish I could link with her. Red is the only person I’ve ever linked with, and it really is an experience like no other, hearing another’s voice in your head. Just the thought of hearing Corrin’s voice in my head, high-pitched like a song, yet as authoritative and sharp as a war general’s…

I look over at her wolf as we run, smiling to myself at the sight of her. Corrin’s wolf, like mine, is on the smaller end. Mine is brown, like most others. Hers, though, is gray—the same, misty, wintery gray as those unforgettable eyes of hers.

She notices my lingering gaze, I can tell. But she only runs faster.

Look, I’m no fool. I know how to take a hint, and what this lassie is giving me is more than just a hint. She’s already rejected me more times than I can count.

But she likes me. I know she does. And the way she kissed me back…

I’m just not ready to give up. Like… ever.

I wish this Emmett bloke hadn’t volunteered to come along. I saw the way he was looking at her during that meeting. He wants her, too.

And he’s a bloody Alpha. And cousin to the queen. The sort of tosser her parents would love to see her with, no doubt. 

The thought makes me sick.

We run south for about two hours before shifting back. We’re nearing the Canis border, and we need to make a plan.

“We should veer west, toward the Palus Swamplands,” Bentley advises. “Anywhere near the Gibbous Valley or the Umbra Badlands is too dangerous.”

“Should we not scout those areas, though?” asks Corrin. “See if perhaps Sophie and Marleigh are being kept there, rather than the Crescent Castle?”

Bentley glances at Emmett, looking hesitant.

“I’d suggest we head west, like Bentley recommends,” Emmett says, “set up a camp in the bog, and then send one or two scouts to see what they can divulge. Four is too many, and if they caught us…”

It’s easy enough to gather his meaning: at least this way, there’d still be two or three left when the first dies.

“I’ll scout,” I say immediately. Sure, it’s mostly to impress the girl, but I’ve never been one to fear a bunch of spoiled pack wolves, either. 

Corrin looks surprised. Good. “I’ll go, too.”Really good. “That way, I’ll be able to link to Bentley if anything goes wrong.”

Emmett doesn’t look thrilled by the prospect of Corrin and I going off together, but he nods. “Right. Bentley, lead the way.”

- - - - -

Emmett was right about one thing: Bentley Jackson really knows his way around Canis.

Which is good, because I certainly do not.

“What sort of game is there around here?” Emmett asks as Bentley and I get to work on setting up camp. He’s got a wrinkle to his nose; clearly this place is beneath him.

“Fish,” Corrin says cheerfully, reaching for her spear. “And birds. I’ve got it.”

He frowns. “You shouldn’t have to do the hunting. Let me—”

But she’s already gone.

I smirk to myself as I finish pitching Corrin’s tent. Like I said, she’s the best huntress I’ve ever seen; I’d like to see him try to do better.

Within twenty minutes, Corrin returns with a heap of bloody game—a stork, a duck, and two largemouth bass. Bentley takes them from her to prep him as I set up a rotisserie over the fire.

“Not bad,” I tell her with my best smug grin as Bentley hands the carved meat back to me and I start to roast it. 

She rolls her eyes, but, to my distinct pleasure, she takes the seat directly next to me.

“We should go sooner than later,” she says as I turn the stick. “Maintain full cover of darkness when we scout.”

“I’m ready when you are, lassie.”

“She’s a wolf, not a dog,” snaps Emmett at me. “Why do you call her that?”

I glance at Corrin, who looks as amused as I am. “It’s another word for lady, Emmett,” she says. “You know, like the song—she’s a right bonnie lass, with a tight, round arse?”

I can’t help but burst out laughing; hearing Corrin quote the rather raunchy folk song my mother used to sing to me before she died is both heartwarming and hilarious. Emmett, of course, seems clueless; I doubt many wolves in Canis know the song at all. 

Corrin doesn’t say much as we divvy up the food and pass it around, but I hold onto the sound of her pretty, little voice singing that song as we gear up to sneak into the Gibbous Valley.