Maurice offered the villager a smile, but the man still seemed to be fretting over trampling royalty.
“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” the man breathed as he turned back to Etienne. “I didn’t—”
“Please do not apologize for being busy,” Etienne insisted, smiling. “It’s quite all right.”
The man returned Etienne’s smile. “A pleasant day to you, Your Highness.”
“And to you as well.”
His attention finally torn from the woman in the lake, Etienne returned his focus to the reason for today’s trip into the village. The bell over the door jingled merrily as he entered the shop. The scents of a hundred herbs and spices tickled his nose and Etienne sneezed. He took a handkerchief from his waistcoat, fully expecting a second sneeze.
“Welcome, your highness. I’ve been expecting you.”
Following the sound of the voice, Etienne found an old woman sitting in the corner of the shop, half hidden behind a gargantuan plant. Her silver hair fell just past her shoulders, framing a face worn with time. Her pale blue eyes seemed to glow from the slight shadow of her plant. She was a small woman, so frail that Etienne took a step forward, his lips parting to ask if she was well.
She waved a hand at him before he could speak. “Such a look of concern on your face. More concern, I dare say, than I deserve from you.”
Etienne held his breath through the swell of rage that flowed through him. It sizzled over his nerves, pushing a flood of adrenaline through his veins. The power of the emotion never failed to unnerve him. He was still able to keep a lid on it, but he would have been lying if he’d claimed it didn’t disturb him. And it was only growing worse. Ever since the witch’s…blessing.
When he was certain he could speak without growling, he let out the breath he’d been holding. “I have long since given up blaming you.” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “You were only trying to help.”
Judging by the witch’s wince, the tightness in his voice had not gone unnoticed. “I’ve been a witch longer than your father has been alive,” the old woman argued ruefully. “I should have known better than to cast a spell on someone without his permission, even if I did believe I was doing right.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Your family is not from Sanguenay. I should have learned more about the land you came from before interfering.” She shrugged helplessly. “I had no idea that there were such fundamental differences between the loup garou of my homeland and the lycanthropes of yours.”
There was such guilt in her voice already that Etienne hated to add to it. But he’d come here for a reason and putting it off wouldn’t change anything.
“It’s getting worse,” he admitted quietly. “I’m all but human now. My senses have dulled, my strength has waned, and look.” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a cut on his forearm. “This cut should have healed days ago, and yet it remains.” He pulled his sleeve back down, trying to keep the majority of his frustration off his face. “I cannot even change my form at will anymore, only during the full moon. Is there nothing you can do?”
The witch stared at him, her regret etched into every line in her aged face. “I’m so sorry, your highness. The spell I cast was a blessing, it is not meant to be broken or lifted.” She rubbed her hands over her face.
“If it is a blessing, is there not a curse that could counter it?” As much as Etienne didn’t want to berate the woman, he could not afford to be too lenient. The fact of the matter was that he needed to be a werewolf—a true werewolf. The consequences of becoming human were far too great to even contemplate.
For a second the witch actually looked offended. “Your highness, I may have made a mistake, but I assure you that I am a very powerful witch. When I give a blessing, it sticks. No witch could lay a curse on you strong enough to…”
She trailed off and hope spiked inside Etienne. “You have thought of something?”
The witch tapped a finger on her chin, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “I have been studying werewolves since I…made my mistake. You are not a loup garou as I first believed you were. You are a lycanthrope.”
Etienne waved a hand to dismiss any further explanation. He knew the difference between a human cursed to take on the form of a wolf during the full moon, and his own kin who were born with a dual nature and the ability to change their shape. Had the witch known the difference, none of this would be happening. He tamped down on the second swell of rage that threatened to overwhelm him, breathing calmly through his nose until it passed. “Yes, but what good does that knowledge do us?”
If the witch noticed his inner turmoil, she didn’t show it. “Well, if you were to be bitten by a loup garou…it is possible that it would reverse the blessing.”
Etienne paused. He knew that the bite of a lycanthrope would not turn a person into a lycanthrope, but he’d forgotten that the curse of a loup garou was passed through a bite or a scratch. He straightened his spine. It had possibilities. “But if I were bitten by such a creature, would I be a loup garou or a lycanthrope?” Etienne asked uncertainly.
“It depends,” the witch hedged. “If the cursed werewolf bit you before you became completely human, I believe you would simply become as you were, a full-blooded werewolf. However, if you are bitten after the blessing has run its course—after you are, in fact, human—then you will be as a cursed werewolf.”
“That is unacceptable!” The words barreled through the room, Etienne’s voice just shy of a roar. The rage he’d been trying to hold onto fought to tunnel out of him on the back of his voice. Etienne sucked in a breath and held it. A tendril of desperation and fear curled around his heart as he searched inside himself. A month ago this rage would have rested in his beast, waiting until he changed to a wolf to be released in a flurry of claws and fangs. Back then his rages had been useful for hunting and protecting his kingdom from those who sought to do harm. Now it had nowhere to go. His wolf was fading. All because of this witch.
He used every shred of his self-control to force the rage down. “A loup garou cannot produce a lycanthrope child,” he continued, his voice blessedly calmer. He forced himself to concentrate on explaining the facts to the witch. “I am heir to this kingdom, I must be able to produce a suitable child.”
“A simple scratch is all it would take—”
“No,” Etienne said firmly, relieved to feel his anger dying under the intellectual demands of the conversation. “Don’t you see? Werewolves should not have the power to turn someone into a werewolf. Throughout our history there have been those who spoke of finding a way to turn humans, to increase our numbers. But that is not the way nature created us. I cannot take the responsibility that my children may grow to agree with that rogue faction, that they may turn humans, with or without their consent. I must find a cursed werewolf before I am human. If that is the only way to become exactly as I once was, then that is the way it must be.”
“I fear the next full moon will be your last chance.”
Etienne’s heart seized. He stared at the witch who sat looking down at her feet. “Only one more?” he whispered.
The witch nodded sadly. “If things are progressing as you say they are, then yes. At most you will have three more nights, those when the moon is at its fullest. Then you will be human.”
Etienne locked his knees to prevent collapsing to the floor under this new information. Nausea rose inside him. “How will I protect my people? My family has fought tooth and nail for this kingdom—literally—since its beginning. We roam the village every night, keeping the peace and making sure our subjects are safe in their sleep.” He pointed at her and he was only vaguely surprised to find his hand trembled. “If I hadn’t been a werewolf, I never could have protected you and that family the night you were attacked in the forest. It would have been your blood spilled all over the forest floor, not the thieves’.”
“I do have an idea, Your Highness,” she hedged.
A tiny spark of hope leapt to life inside Etienne. �
��Yes?”
The witch straightened her spine and schooled her face into a mask of composure. Etienne narrowed his eyes. It seemed she had some concern over how he would react to her “idea.” Suspicion wormed through his gut. Still, desperate times…
“You must throw a grand ball.”
Doubt fell like a lead blanket on Etienne’s shoulders. “A ball?” he echoed. “Surely you jest?”
The witch held up a hand. “I am quite serious. On the night of the full moon you must throw a ball. Invite everyone in the kingdom.”
“The night of the full moon?” Etienne stared at her, certain she was losing her mind. “Cursed werewolves have no control over their shift the night of the full moon. If there is a cursed werewolf in my kingdom, certainly they would not venture out, knowing what would happen?”
“They would come if you demanded their attendance, they would simply leave before midnight,” the witch corrected him. “It is only when the moon reaches its peak that the change happens.”
Still not quite convinced, Etienne stared at her. “What if the cursed werewolf is a servant? Shall I invite them as well?”
“Some servants will come with their masters, but I believe your best chance at finding a cursed werewolf is among the nobility. I think you’ll find that the lower classes tend to be more superstitious, and quicker to spot a werewolf. After all, no one who has to work everyday can be permitted to sleep off the exhaustion that follows a cursed werewolf’s nighttime run. If there is a loup garou in your kingdom, he will show up at the ball. Your father and mother were not affected by my blessing, and their senses should be more than sharp enough to detect the scent of wolf coming from one of their subjects.”
“The night of the full moon, my senses will be sharp enough as well,” Etienne growled. He shoved a hand through his hair. His agitation crawled over his skin like marching ants. His wolf should be dancing inside him in the face of such frustration, yet Etienne could feel nothing but a faint stirring. Never had he felt so alone in his own body.
“Very well,” Etienne snapped finally, jerking away from the witch. “I will throw the grand ball. And for your sake it had better work.”
The threat rolled off his tongue, but left a sour taste behind. He shoved open the door to the shop and stormed out before his mother’s influence convinced him to turn and apologize. He slapped a hand against the carriage before climbing in, a minor acknowledgment of the anger roiling inside him. The plan was so far-fetched, so hopeless. But if all hope was gone, what was there left?
Maurice wisely didn’t comment on Etienne’s mood, instead choosing to remain silent as he urged the horse into motion. Etienne stared out the window at his village as they drove back to the palace. He inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it. A deep breath used to bring a myriad of scents to his nose, alerting him to subtle changes in his kingdom. Now all he could smell was the faint clean scent of the trees underneath the aroma of baking bread coming from a nearby bakery—scents any human would smell.
He was still fighting a losing battle against despair when the carriage stopped at the front of the palace. Etienne flung himself from his seat and swept up the wide white stone steps. The guards at the front opened the door for him so he could stalk inside.
Though he truly wanted nothing more than to go to his own chambers and mull over the direness of his situation, Etienne knew that would be a coward’s action. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and turned in the direction of his father’s study.
It didn’t surprise him to find his father already looking up as he came into the room. His senses had been that sharp once, before the witch’s “blessing” had dulled them.
“Etienne.” His father’s voice held so much hope that Etienne had to smother a wince. His mother rose from where she’d been seated at her loom weaving her latest tapestry. Her long pale green skirt swept the floor as she strode to stand by her husband.
“What did she say?” his mother asked, her quiet voice soothing as if no matter what his answer was, everything would be all right.
Despite the assurance in her tone, she clutched at his father’s hand. It pained him to see his mother so worried. He was glad to see his father squeeze her hand. Even though his father’s concerns were perhaps even greater than his mother’s, the king would always be strong for his wife.
“We are to throw a grand ball on the night of the next full moon,” Etienne said, trying to infuse his voice with something resembling confidence. “All three of us are to keep our senses peeled for a loup garou.”
“A loup garou?” his mother echoed, confusion knitting her brow.
“Etienne,” his father said, his eyes sad despite his firm tone. “You can’t intend to become a loup garou? That is not the answer, you know that we cannot—”
Etienne held up a hand. “I have no intention of becoming a loup garou. However, the witch believes that the bite of a cursed werewolf could reverse the effect her blessing is having on me. As long as it can be arranged before I am fully human, I will be a lycanthrope once again.” He paused then finished with, “But that means it must be done before the next full moon wanes.”
His father pressed his lips together in a firm line. Etienne could practically see his father’s mind working. Though he was over eighty years old, his father didn’t look a day over forty. Their family had started a rumor in the village that there was fey blood in the royal family’s lineage somewhere to explain their youthful appearance after so many years.
Despite the fact that the kingdom had been made what it was today on the backs of lycanthropes, the people of the village clung to memories of the loup garou. Any werewolf was believed to be an evil, ravenous monster, incapable of human thought. Etienne’s family had realized from the beginning that it would be a mistake to reveal their true nature to the people of the kingdom. Only the highest ranking members of the royal guard knew their secret.
“Etienne, there is nothing in this world that I would not do for you,” his father said quietly. “If you believe a ball is the key to our salvation, then so be it.” He took a steadying breath. “But if this does not work, then we must face the possibility that you will be human—for good.”
His mother sobbed, clapping a hand over her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes.
Etienne’s heart clenched and he took a step toward her, his hand out in supplication. “Mother, please don’t cry,” he begged. “Everything will be all right, I swear it.”
Etienne infused his voice with every ounce of conviction his body and spirit had to offer. The vehemence in his tone seemed to soothe his mother, and his father’s shoulders relaxed visibly.
“There is one other possibility,” the king spoke up.
The hesitancy in his father’s voice tied Etienne’s stomach into knots. He knew what his father was about to suggest.
“I am not sending away for a werewolf to rut with just to father a child,” he said stiffly.
“Etienne!” his mother gasped.
“You will not use such language in front of your mother!” his father snapped. “And there’s no need for such coarseness anyway. I am not speaking only of producing an heir, I am speaking of marriage. You are old enough—”
“You cannot be serious,” Etienne sputtered. “What good will it do me to produce a lycanthrope heir if I am not still lycanthrope enough to raise him?”
“The child’s mother can—”
“You want to invite another lycanthrope clan into our kingdom? You know how that has turned out in the past. There cannot be two alphas in one kingdom.” He forked a hand through his hair. “Besides, only one parent has to be a lycanthrope to produce a lycanthrope child. I—”
“You may not be lycanthrope enough after this full moon to guarantee that,” his father said quietly.
Etienne jerked back as if he’d been slapped. He stared at his father, frustration and anger twisting his insides until he thought he’d be sick. He clenched his hands into fists, struggling to control a sudde
n surge in temper.
“If I do not find a loup garou at the ball,” he ground out hoarsely, “then I will choose a woman to fuck for the duration of the second night of the full moon and we will not leave the bed until you have your heir.”
“Etienne!” his father bellowed. His mother’s eyes opened so wide Etienne feared they would pop out of her skull entirely.
He curled his lip in disgust and swept out of his father’s study, ignoring the shouts from behind him. Shame ate at him as the shock on his mother’s face lingered in his mind, but Etienne shoved it away, too angry to care.
He arrived at his own room and dismissed his manservant with a jerk of his hand. The man didn’t even flinch as he left. Unfortunately, it wasn’t unusual for a lycanthrope to have bouts of temper and all the servants were used to the royal family’s…mood swings.
Before Midnight (Book 1) (Blood Prince Series) Page 4
