Contents
Dedication
The Wolf Prince
Copyright
Other Books by Claire M. Banschbach
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Winterspell
More By Claire M. Banschbach
Rise of Aredor
The Wildcat of Braeton
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Elinore Rose
Thanks for sitting on the kitchen floor with me and brainstorming this story.
The Wolf Prince
Copyright © 2018 by Claire M. Banschbach
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, places, or things, is purely coincidental.
clairembanschbach.wordpress.com
Interior formatting & by Rachael Ritchey
Cover by Magpie Designs, Ltd, 2018 http://magpie-designs.weebly.com/
Images courtesy of Pixabay
Textures by Sascha Duensing
The Rise of Aredor Series
The Rise of Aredor
The Wildcat of Braeton
The Faeries of Myrnius Series
Adela’s Curse
The Wolf Prince
Winterspell (coming soon)
Prologue
The cool chill of winter crept through the stone halls of Roskalde Castle. Killian pulled his hands further into the overlong sleeves of his tunic, eager to reach the fire in the great hall to finish thawing from the snowball fight. He’d held victory over Lars for a few glorious seconds before his older brother had thrown him into a drift.
His grin faded as the sight of the group of small children about his age clustered around the fire. They sat, entranced, by a young squire standing before the fire.
“It was a winter’s night, colder than this one by far, when a witch came knocking at the castle gate.” The squire leaned close, and the children’s eyes widened.
Killian’s feet took him into the shadows of a pillar. He’d heard bits and pieces of the story before. But the young man’s face held a smirk that he didn’t like.
“She offered to heal the old king’s daughter, who was so sick the faeries couldn’t even help.”
“What ‘appened?” A small boy wriggled forward.
The squire held a finger to his lips. “The old king let her in.”
Collective gasps rippled through his small audience.
“She healed the girl, but the king refused to pay her as they’d agreed. Instead, he turned her out into the cold and snow.”
“That wasn’t very nice.” A young girl frowned.
“No, it wasn’t. The wolves were lean and hungry that year.”
Killian curled deeper into the shadow. Not the wolves again.
“The witch cursed the king, saying wolf’s blood would run through his line until they repaid the debt.”
“And?” another boy prompted, leaning forward on his knees.
“And it has. He should have known the dark ways were not to be tampered with. They didn’t call old Prince Hugo the Mad Wolf for nothing. He could understand the wolves. He was always going on about it until the king locked him up.”
Killian’s breath caught in his chest. Uncle could understand them, too! I thought it was only me…
“And.” The young man’s voice reclaimed his attention. “They say Prince Killian is cursed, too.”
Killian stumbled a step back, narrowly avoiding a passing servant.
“The wolves howled like crazy the night he was born. He’s got the Mad Wolf’s curse, you wait and see.”
Killian froze. How did the squire know? He’d never told anyone he could understand the wolves. Sometimes he thought he could hear them when no one else could.
“Killi!” A hand descended on his shoulder and jerked him around to stare up into Lars’s blue eyes. “What are you doing over here?”
“I—” Killian half-turned back to where the squire had finished. The young man caught sight of him and smirked again. Lars followed his stare and frowned, his cheeks beginning to flush in anger.
Killian slid out of Lars’s grip and darted away before his brother could catch him. This time he noticed the glances thrown his way, how a few of the older servants or courtiers edged out of his path with surreptitious signs against evil.
His heart pounded so loud that surely the entire castle could hear it. He turned at a corner to make sure Lars hadn’t followed and saw two women standing close together, whispering to one another and glancing his direction.
He forced his feet to a run and didn’t stop until he reached the safety of his room. A wolf howled in the distance, bits of words just out of reach of his understanding. Tears pricked his eyes. He hadn’t even reached his seventh year yet.
Am I cursed?
He curled under his blankets, stifling tears until a gentle knock sounded. The door clicked open and then closed. The bed tipped under the weight of someone, and the blankets pulled back to reveal his father’s bearded features.
“Killian, what are you doing in here? You’re missing dinner.”
Killian sniffed, scrubbing a sleeve across his eyes. “Am I cursed?”
His father’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Who said that?”
Killian shrugged his shoulders. Everyone, apparently.
The king sighed, and his shoulders bowed as if under a heavy weight. Killian sat up and scooted closer. His father pulled him into his arms, ruffling his brown hair with a gentle hand.
“Lars said you overheard someone telling that story earlier.”
“Is it true?”
“The legend about the witch cursing our line is true. But the part about wolf’s blood?” His father’s chest rumbled against his ear, but his scorn didn’t quite convince Killian.
“What about Uncle Hugo? They said he was mad.”
He didn’t remember Hugo. His uncle had died in the year following his birth.
“Your uncle’s mind became sick. But it wasn’t because of some curse.”
“Did you lock him up?”
“Me?” His father pulled back to look at him. “No. But my father did. Your grandfather didn’t really understand your uncle and didn’t do anything to help him.”
“Do people think I’ll be like him?” Killian blurted, unable to keep the fear a secret.
“You’ll learn soon enough how foolish people can be.” His father tightened his hold. “But I looked after my brother as best I could, just like an older brother should. And just like the way Lars looks after you. He’ll always be there for you.”
Killian nodded. Except Lars didn’t like anyone talking about wolves.
“Do you hear the wolves, Father?”
The king shook his head
. “Killi, I want you to tell me immediately if you think you can hear or understand the wolves.”
“Yes, sir.” Killian said. But his heart clenched at the fear lurking behind his father’s stern expression. No one’s ever going to know. Not even Lars. Especially not Lars.
“Now come on. Dinner’s waiting.” His father prodded his side. Killian slid away with a laugh and tried to wriggle out of reach.
Their laughter died as two wolves called to each other across the frozen lake beyond the castle walls. Killian hadn’t ever minded the sound before, sometimes enjoying trying to figure out what they were saying. But now fear clenched his heart, wrapping around him and threatening to strangle him.
“Can—can I just stay in here? I’m not really hungry.”
“You sure?” His father fixed him with a concerned gaze.
Killian nodded, trying not to burrow deeper into the bed to escape the lonely howling.
“All right. I’m sure your mother will be around in a while to check on you.” The king ruffled Killian’s hair again and stood.
He paused at the door. “Remember what I said, Killian.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alone once again, Killian hugged his pillow tight. His father’s words hadn’t done much to ease his mind.
Cursed.
A thread of hope teased his mind. But all curses are meant to be broken. That’s what old Tanja says. Maybe when I’m older I can find a faery. They’re supposed to know everything about magic. He nodded firmly to himself, determined to ignore for the moment that faeries were rarely to be seen, or of very much help to humans.
But no one will know I’m actually cursed. I won’t tell anyone. And I won’t go mad. They won’t ever know.
Chapter 1
“Killian!”
He ignored the summons, but footsteps announced he’d been found anyway. The wall of the castle and the tower joined together in the northeast corner. The wide battlements afforded a seat to anyone brave enough to perch atop the dizzyingly high wall and lean against the tower behind them.
“Finally! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Lars pretended to shove him off the wall and Killian swatted his hand away. “What are you doing up here?”
“I wanted some peace and quiet.” Killian flung his older brother a pointed glance.
“Who disappears for some peace and quiet on their birthday?”
“Why did Father have to throw a party? I told him I didn’t want one.” Killian picked at a thread of embroidery that had come unraveled from his sleeve.
He never wanted a party. The wolves would howl, and a party just mean more people to hear and more whispered speculation on whether the royal curse—or worse, his uncle’s sickness—had passed to him.
“Killi, you’re seventeen. It’s your coming-of-age party!” Lars raised an eyebrow.
“Why does it matter?” Killian shrugged. “I’m not the heir. No one cares about my age.”
“You’d be a better heir than me.” Lars kicked at the battlement.
“Maybe if you stuck around and listened to Father, instead of running off hunting and drinking whenever you want…”
Lars sighed. “It’s better than sitting around all day listening to the old councilors drone on and signing your name on long, boring documents.”
“Wait, you know how to sign your name?” Killian widened his eyes in mock surprise. Lars punched his arm and they both laughed.
Lars crossed his arms on the battlement and rested his chin atop them.
“How did you know I was here?” Killian tilted his head to glance down at his brother.
“I know all your hiding spots.”
Killian hid a wince. The constant whispers and rumors drove him to keep mostly to himself.
It was easier to avoid people than face the obvious suspicion in their eyes. He’d learned early on that pretending not to be cursed didn’t mean everyone else thought he was normal. Lars, and the very few people he counted as friends, were the only reason he ventured beyond his room.
He tried to be friendly, but most days were harder than others.
“Only this one is not in danger of being overrun by guests.”
I’d be perfectly happy if they left.
Lars glanced over at him and smirked. “And it’s a better view than cousin Dorete.”
Killian couldn’t hold back his snicker, considering the comparison. Definitely better than cousin Dorete. The view was the reason he often came up to this perch.
The castle sat atop a ridge overlooking a wide lake that stretched out for miles, inlets reaching out into the low hills like grasping fingers. A forest bordered the western side, sweeping down over the eastern hills in rippling waves. A wide river threaded through the hills to pour its crystalline waters into Lagarah Lake, its origin a tall mountain in the eastern reaches of the kingdom, from which flowed an endless waterfall.
Legend had long claimed that the waterfall was the seat of the faeries of Calvyrn, who inhabited the waterways of the kingdom. But faeries were rarely seen, the last notable sighting during the dark war over fifty years ago.
Killian pulled one knee up to his chest, his gaze falling to the rugged stone of the battlement. “If you could be anyone or anything else, what would you be?”
“A travelling knight. Or a highwayman.” Lars knocked his boot against the wall.
Killian snickered. “Interesting choices.”
“Shut up. Just anyone who doesn’t have to follow stupid rules.” Lars glanced sideways. “What about you?”
Killian tipped his head back against the wall and stared out over the forest. He thought about changing his answer, but it slipped out anyway.
“I’d be a—a wolf.”
“A wolf?” Lars tilted an amused grin. “Have you been thinking about those ridiculous tales again?”
“Do you ever wonder if they’re true?” Killian watched Lars out of the corner of his eye.
“The one about the witch? Hogwash.” Lars snorted. “It’s just stories for children and superstitious people.”
“But what about uncle?” Killian pressed.
“He was a brilliant fighter and probably took too many hits to the head in the tilting yard.”
Killian wished he shared his brother’s confidence. Anyone could look at them and know they were brothers. He and Lars shared the same brown hair and broad-shouldered build, but Lars’s eyes were the same light blue as the lake, and Killian’s were amber and flecked with gold.
“Wolf’s eyes,” an old huntsman had once said and spat meaningfully.
Lars nudged him. “You can’t listen to what people say. They don’t know you like I do. You’re not cursed.”
If only you knew. Killian kept the thought to himself. Lars wouldn’t listen if he tried to explain.
“Why did you come looking for me anyway?”
“Oh! Father has your present.”
“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” Killian scrambled down from his perch.
“Well, you seemed set on ignoring that it was your birthday…” Lars shrugged.
Killian shoved him and ran down the stairs.
“He’s out in the courtyard!” Lars shouted, leaping down the stairs after him.
Taking the stairs two at a time and ignoring the startled glances as he ran through the great hall, Killian skidded to a halt in the wide courtyard of the castle. His father waited in the company of another knight, Killian’s uncle.
“Killian, finally! I hope you weren’t hiding somewhere.” King Jonas half-smiled.
“Who? Him? Never!” Lars smirked, coming to a standstill behind Killian.
Their uncle chuckled. “Happy Birthday, lad.”
“Thanks, Uncle Einar.” Killian flashed a smile. He’d always been a little in awe of Einar, whose scarred face and limp were hard won in battles with the Baedons of the southern plains.
“I think he has waited long enough.”
Jonas signaled the head groomsman, who led forward
a magnificent black-and-white spotted charger outfitted with Killian’s own saddle and bridle. Killian gaped at the stallion, strong enough to bear a knight in full armor and brave enough to charge a Wyvern. The horse blew out through his nostrils, taking in Killian’s scent, and lowered his head as Killian rubbed the stallion’s broad forehead.
“Well, son, what do you think of your first warhorse?”
“He’s amazing, Father. Thank you!” Killian ran his hand over the stallion’s rippling muscles in awe.
“Thank your uncle, too. I picked out the sire, but Einar trained him.”
Einar only smiled and nodded to the horse. Killian grinned and stuck his foot in the stirrup, mounting and gathering up the reins as the horse arched his neck and stamped an enormous hoof against the cobbles.
Killian urged the stallion to a walk around the courtyard. Every step of the horse’s smooth gait held raw power waiting for him to signal its release. The stallion pulled at the bit as they passed the open gates, and Killian almost gave into the urge to run him down the path. Stifling a sigh, he turned back to the group.
“Can I take him out?”
“I’d say yes, but the guest of honor should stay in the castle, don’t you think?” Jonas raised an eyebrow.
Killian’s shoulders slumped, and he dismounted. “Tomorrow, then. Want to come?” He glanced at Lars.
“Sure, want to see if you can finally keep up with me and Jeppe?” Lars smirked.
Killian rolled his eyes and the stallion snorted, as if offended at the challenge.
“You’re sitting in court with me tomorrow, young man, and you will be there.” King Jonas frowned at his oldest son. Lars’s shoulders slumped.
“Early morning, then,” Killian said.
“Morning?” Lars’s voice held his distaste for the time he didn’t often see. “I suppose.”
Killian turned to Einar. “What’s his name?”
“Leifr.” Einar reached to rub the stallion’s broad neck.
Killian clasped his uncle’s hand and thanked him again. Einar only smiled and clapped his shoulder.
“I want a full report after your ride tomorrow,” he said.
The Wolf Prince Page 1
