Chapter 41: Home At Last

Drake struggles against the hold of the stranger. He tries to slip his head through the man’s arm, but the grip is only tightened, choking him further. He reaches to his left side to grab his dagger, but he is yanked back, his arm flailing.
“I told you,” the shadow seethes, “Not to even try.”
“Unhand me,” Drake commands, annoyance bursting in his chest. Who does this man believe he is?
“You’re used to giving orders, aren’t you, Prince Drake.” The stranger’s breath is hot against Drake’s ear causing a shiver to shoot down into his stomach. He grimaces at the stirring in his chest as his name is spoken.
“Milord,” Junet gasps as she enters the tent. She opens her mouth once more, to scream, but another figure appears behind her, a long black robe enshrouding his features.
“Rowan, that is enough. I believe you have made your point,” the new stranger growls out. His teeth glint in the fire light, his eyes flashing yellow.
“Are we really going to be working for such a weakling,” the man holding Drake, Rowan, bites out before pushing the Prince away roughly.
Drake coughs, rubbing the side of his neck. “Give me one reason not to have you executed on the spot,” he demands.
The first figure chuckles under his hood, his large stature rumbling.
“Because, Prince Drake, you have asked assistance.” The figure near the entrance slowly lowers his head, releasing a pair of ebony wolf ears that twitch with the freedom.
He glances over at Rowan and watches in awe as he exposes his own pair of pale silver ears that match his hair. His eyes flash yellow before shifting to an ebony hue. Drake’s heart twists and he grits his teeth. “Werewolf,” he bites out.

>><<

“There it is,” Eliana huffs out, slowing their horse.
Finally, Zaline is in front of her. She is home.
“It is beautiful,” Alma grins, exhaustion causing her gaze to droop.
The castle is what is most noticeable, the towers looming over the entire city. The guard outposts are slightly broken, pieces of the wall missing. Although the building is not as strong as it once was, the lights within brighten the pale morning. It glistens against the sky, a small halo over the entire city.
“It is old, but it is my home,” Eliana sighs softly.
As they near the border, the hairs on the back of the princess’ neck stand on end. She surveys their surroundings. The small houses on either side of them are empty, their doors wide open.
“It is all still in good condition,” Alma says softly as she leans forward to peer into the buildings. “Even without anyone here.”
Eliana does not respond as she eyes every corner of the path. She did not trust how quiet it was.
“Is it always like this?”
“No,” is all Eliana is able to force out through the lump in her throat. She slides off the horse, wandering closer to the buildings. As she peers inside, she notices that they are completely empty, even the provisions, clothing, and everyday supplies are missing.
“Do you think the rebels have already come,” she questions.
“I do not know.” Eliana grits her teeth as she pulls on their steed to continue walking.
The entire way to the entrance of the castle is quiet. There is not a soul in sight. Eliana does not stop looking, though, hoping she will spot even one citizen.
“This is not good,” she says to herself.
There are no signs that there was a battle within the city, or even that there was a forced entry into the castle, as they cross the threshold into the courtyard. No blood on the ground, and no corpses.
“If the rebels had attacked, there would be more of a mess, right,” She sighs under her breath.
“Not necessarily,” the werebird counters, eyeing every crevice. “I am not sure we should be here alone.”
“We don’t have any other choice.” Eliana walks their hose over to a post and ties the reigns to it before looking up at the main door at the tops of the stairs. “I have to find my father.
Both women quietly ascend the steps, their shoes echoing against the material. They force the large door open, entering the dimly lit corridor.
“It is odd,” Alma whispers.
“Be careful.” There is a heavy aura within the castle that weighs down Eliana, making her movements sluggish.
“Where will we find your father?”
The prospect of seeing the King once more has joy and excitement leaping in her chest. “The throne room is closer. Let’s check there first.”
He must be there. He has to be.
It only takes a moment to reach the large doors. As they push their way in, the hinges creak, barely moving.
Eliana slips through the opening, Alma following behind.
The throne room is exceedingly large, the floor made of pristine marble. Across the floor is the dais, where the golden throne resides. There are chips on the sides of the seat, a tarnish beginning to take it over.
Alma’s mouth drops open as she twirls, reveling in the vastness of the room.
Eliana’s gaze, though, is on the figure just behind the throne, her small stature almost invisible. Her heart begins to race, her body tingling. She steps to the side to get a better view. When her eyes focus and her new feline clarity kicking in, she breathes out, “Selma.”