Queen Nokomis's legs are almost as long as Orion's.
"After I heard that Orion and Alaric would be leaving," Queen Nokomis says as we walk down an echoing hall, "I considered changing our plans, but then I thought it would be best for us to work on this while Orion and the King are gone."
I'm slightly breathless with my attempt to keep up with her. When she mentions Orion's leaving, I feel a small pang of longing in my chest. He had left so early this morning that I hadn't had a chance to tell him goodbye. He's only been gone for a few hours.
But I miss him.
"What is it we're doing, Majesty?" I ask, shaking myself out of my thoughts.
We take a left turn. I look at her - her expression is hesitant.
"It is something I have been thinking about for some time," she begins semi-reluctantly, "A new program for those that . . . find themselves in need. From a situation like yours. I've gathered some individuals for us to interview this morning."
I trip.
"Oh."
The Queen nods.
"After your experience, yesterday, I began to realize how deeply this was needed. And I thought you would be suited to work with these wolves."
I promise I'm not stupid - I know I'm not the only stunted wolf alive, and that abuse happens across the world - but I can't imagine it. I can't imagine someone else like me, here, in the palace. Queen Nokomis looks at me tentatively, like she's not sure if she's offended me. I take a breath.
"No, Queen Nokomis. I don't mind. What are we doing for them?"
"Right now, we're just speaking with them to see what resources would be valuable. You'll take half, I'll take half."
She smiles at me, encouraging.
"Okay," I reply, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. I'm not much of a people person. I always say the wrong things.
Queen Nokomis leads me to a large room that I don't recognize. Within it are over a dozen people, men and women alike, some teenagers and some older than my mom, all sitting down in the chairs like a doctor's reception. The room is silent in a nervous tension.
As they notice our entrance, the people stand, bowing their heads towards Queen Nokomis. Queen Nokomis leads me towards them and I feel like running away. What could I possibly say to these people?
"Good morning," Queen Nokomis starts, calm and assured, "Thank you to all of you for coming at such short notice. Princess Lee will be helping all of those that have been assigned to room A4, and I will be helping those assigned to room A6. Delta Gibson will read your name when we are ready for you to come to the room on your meeting page."
I swallow the pulse jumping in my throat. My hands clasp together nervously. Why does it feel like this would be so much easier with Orion, here?
Room A4 is wood-paneled and comfortable. I'm sitting upon a cushioned chair, perched on the very edge, fiddling a pack of interview questions, lined papers, and information about the people I'm about to see. I can barely read any of the information.
After a moment, the door opens, and a boy enters.
A human boy.
I say "boy," but, really, he's probably older than me. He's taller than me, broad-shouldered and brown-eyed. If I saw him on the street, I wouldn't think he had anything in common with me.
"Hello," I try, but my voice shakes with nerves.
"You - you are Princess Lee?" he says in hesitant English.
I nod, and he starts moving towards me. He sits in the chair across the small table, sitting on the edge, just like me. His eyes jump to the few personnel standing in the room - only a guard and an aid, but they seem to increase his nerves.
"Yes," I tell him. "Yes, I am. What is your name?"
"I am Peter."
I swallow. Well. Going good so far.
I find his page in my packet. The only Peter - Peter Santiago.
"Peter," I begin, wincing at my awkwardness, "it's . . . unusual for a human to have a mate."
"Yes," Peter says, "yes, that is what I have heard. I do not know anyone else that has a mate." He looks at the guard again, fidgeting in his seat.
"You don't need to worry, Peter," I tell him, "what you say doesn't leave this room."
Peter nods, again, wiping his palms on his jeans.
"I want to talk to you. About my mate. She is like your father."
He says all of this quickly. Peter pins his eyes to the leg of my chair.
"Okay," I reply in the moment of silence, cringing at myself. I shift in my seat, grounding my hands on the chair. "What did you want to tell me?"
His expression changes. I thought he would look like Lucy does when she talks about Dad, all fury and vindication, but Peter looks so soft and vulnerable.
"She would get angry," he whispers, "but I did not understand. I didn't know - anything about werewolves. But I - "
He hunches inward.
"She made me feel so different. I love her." Twitches into his shoulders. "Loved her."
Folds his hands.
"She's in prison, now. I have tried to date but I, can't. I just can't. I think of her, and it is like she never hurt me. I came here today because I just - I just wanted to ask. Does it ever go away?"
Goddess. I look at him, unsure of what to say.
"Peter - can I ask - did she ever mark you?"
Peter tenses. Then, he nods.
"Can I see it?"
I know that this is an intrusion. I expect him to say no. If a person hides their mark, they have a reason. But Peter nods again, raises a hand to his shirt collar, and pulls it down to show a mark just above his left collarbone.
I call one of the assistants over and ask her to go get me a mirror. When she comes back with a handheld compact, I hold it up to Peter.
His mark is grey and pale. It is barely visible, dull and fading, only slightly darker than his skin. Peter starts, and I wonder how long he's been avoiding it in the mirror.
"Do you see that?" I ask. His eyes stare, as wide and shining as quarters. "That's what happens when a mate bond has been broken."
I hand him the compact. He takes it with shaking hands.
"It happens when a mate dies, but it also sometimes means that your body has finally rejected the mating," I continue softly, "that you're letting go."
He doesn't respond, for a moment. I look at his expression in the mirror.
Silently, tears are gathering in his eyes. He hands me back the compact.
"Thank you," he says.
The next person that comes in is a girl, around my age, with a toddler. The boy in her arms has golden hair and the same green eyes that shine in her face.
She sits down in the chair Peter had vacated, her jaw tense and her eyes leveled on mine. When she speaks, it is sudden and direct, no-business.
"When my stunting happened," she says matter-of-factly, her expression unchanging, "I thought I would never get a mate. But I found him when I was seventeen. I was told it was a trick, or something. He rejected me."
At this, she pauses. The child sitting on the floor next to her chair babbles mindlessly.
"I heard, on the news, that you were like me," she says. She brushes at the hair on her son's neck. "And that you do have a mate. It's - it's possible?"
This makes sense, finally. I remember the same sensation, the same fears the same question posed to me by Dr. Harold. For once, I know exactly what to say.
"Yes."
"I'm not," she breathes shakily, her chin trembling, "I'm not crazy? It was real?"
"You're not crazy," I assure her softly, "you're not crazy."
This is how the morning proceeds. I see a dozen people. Two are stunted and did not have mates. One girl is 15, beaten by her father because she never shifted. Most were scorned by mates or parents or siblings.
All of them, in some way, are like me.
I wonder how my life would have been different if I had had a queen like me. If I had had a queen that had escaped her own father - or a queen that couldn't transform. By the mid-afternoon, some of the people have left, but many are still in the main lobby, talking to each other, tentative but growing more confident.
And suddenly, as I look around this room full of people that I never dreamed existed, I'm not ashamed.
-
That night, I can't sleep.
My mind is buzzing with everything I've heard today. So many people that need our help. So much to be done. It seems impossible that I could have any place in that.
There is something in you that is easy to talk to. It's an incredible talent. You set people at ease.
It's what Queen Nokomis had said to me when we parted ways. She had seemed genuine, but the idea of me being easy to talk to seems fairly ridiculous. Still, those people had opened up to me. It was a long day, and I feel tired from it, but it's a good kind of tired that I haven't felt in a long time.
But even with all the exhaustion, I toss in my bed.
I worry about Orion.
That's stupid. He's - Orion. All tough and capable. He's the alpha. He's safe. But I keep worrying. He's still not back. It's almost midnight. Had something gone wrong?
We can go a day without seeing each other. We're not co-dependent. I didn't spend my entire day just waiting for him - I was doing more than I do in a normal day. I can't shake it, though, this feeling of wanting to see him, after so many weeks of seeing him every day.
This insomniac tide of thought is how I end up in the hall, creeping my way to Orion's room, in the middle of the night.
I glance around, already embarrassed that someone would find me. I take a look behind me, then to the sides, then run right into the figure walking the halls.
I jump back like I've been electrocuted. For half a second, I squint hopefully at the figure in the darkness. Orion?
"Lee?" a Georgian accent whispers, confused.
I sigh, half-disappointed and half-relieved. At least it's not a palace guard, or something.
"Joanne," I say, "I didn't know you were back."
Joanne moves in the semi-darkness, leaning up against the wall. Though I can barely see in the dark, I can tell that she's wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair framing her face in a messy wave.
"My plane landed this mornin'," she explains.
"What are you doing here so late?" I continue, concerned.
"Oh, I live here in the lower quarters. I just - couldn't sleep." Joanne's tone shifts in sudden nerves, "What about you? Is there somethin' I could do for you, Princess?"
The title makes me freeze. "Joanne, please, I'm just Lee."
I can see Joanne's nervous smile in the darkness. I wonder which change is causing such a difference in our relationship - because I'm royalty, now, or because I'm stunted, or because I lied to her?
"Can I - can I ask you a question?" she asks.
"Of course."
"Cordelia Dixon was your alpha, wasn't she?"
I jolt. "She was," I say, and the question catches me so off guard that I don't have time to prepare a defense of ambiguity. My tone is wrapped in grief.
Joanne nods. I'm surprised to find tears shining in her eyes in the low lights.
She's lost her best friend. I've lost mine.
"Hey, Joanne," I begin, thinking of the Queen's words, "you know, you can talk to me about - whatever - whenever you want to. I'm here for you."
Joanne looks up at me from under here eyelashes, reluctant.
"Thanks. Well, I can't be caught out after curfew like this. I'll - I'll just be gettin' back. You have a good night."
With that, Joanne walks away.
Maybe Queen Nokomis was wrong about my ability to set people at ease.
I glance around, worried that someone else will catch me, and then I dart down the hallway to Prince Orion's room. I closed the door slowly and carefully, walking tentatively through his dark living room like I'm going to get caught. Just a few hours of rest, I tell myself, pulling myself under the covers of his bed and allowing Orion's calming scent to swallow me. I almost sigh, my eyes already closing.