Her Wolf King

Lenore couldn’t sleep.

Since coming to the castle, that had been a frequent occurrence for her. But after all the excitement and exhaustion of the Court of Curses, she would’ve thought that slumber would come easier to her, if not a completely peaceful rest.

But after her argument with Everett—and his complete dismissal of her suggestions—she wasn’t so sure she would ever sleep again. Her mind raced, her anger peaked to a fever pitch, and she could only try to shut her eyes and remember more peaceful days of old.

Searching the castle at this hour did not seem like a welcome idea. No, it was far easier and more appealing to lie back on her four-poster bed and stare up at the fireflies that flickered and danced in the leafy canopy above her head.

The sight of them reminded her of the dream she used to have every night. The one that had haunted her with its elusiveness as she raced across the meadow, night after night. Since coming to the castle, she had had no such dreams at all. She missed the vision, almost, despite its dissatisfying ending. Missed the familiarity of it all, of knowing what to expect when she lay her head on the pillow.

Now, she had no idea what she would see when she woke—or which version of her husband she would receive.

The thought irritated her. She shut her eyes against the warm, faint glow of the fireflies and cast her mind to her childhood. To the fairy stories her mother had told her.

Interestingly enough, despite the great fear of wolves in their sleepy village, her mother had always told an altered version of Little Red Riding Hood, claiming it was a story she’d heard from her own mother and her grandmother’s mother before her.

“Once upon a time…” she would say. “There was a little girl who went off in the woods to visit her grandmother. During that time, the leaves were falling, and the air was changing. The little girl knew it was autumn, but she didn’t care. She enjoyed dawdling along the path, even though her mother told her to hurry. She stopped to leap into every pile of leaves, to dance with the swaying trees, and to twirl around, showing off her new red dress.

By the time she reached her grandmother’s cottage, the woods were covered in snow, and she couldn’t see which house belonged to her grandmother. She wandered through the small village, but she became hopelessly lost. The little girl grew scared, and began to cry. As she was crying, her tears turned to ice. One of them struck the ground at her feet, and out of her frozen tears sprang a path.

The path was covered in roses, and the roses led her through the village. She thought perhaps they were her grandmother’s roses, and that her grandmother had sent a sign to show her which house belonged to her. But as she followed the roses, she didn’t make it to her grandmother’s house. Instead, she made it to a cave, and in that cave, was a wolf.

The little girl was very scared, because she thought she had been lured into the wolf’s cave and that he was going to eat her. So she fainted dead away. But when she woke up, the wolf had brought her something to eat.”

Then, Lenore had always interrupted her mother. “But how did the wolf cook the food?”

Her mother had always smiled, that tender, amused expression lighting her face in a golden glow. “Oh, Lenna, why, he brought her some potatoes he had dug up from someone’s cellar.”

“She ate raw potatoes?” Lenore made a face. “Blech!”

Her mother chuckled. “May I continue the story, Lenore>?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, the wolf brought her something to eat, and he covered her with the skin of one of the animals he had killed, a deer. So, she wore that deer skin and stayed all warm and cozy in the cave with the wolf. He would hunt for them or bring her food, and she would share with him the lovely red apples she had brought with her to give to her grandmother.”

“Wolves like apples? I’ve never seen a wolf eat an apple.”

“Lenore, really. That’s because wolves can’t climb high enough up the tree to get the apples.” Her mother beamed, patting her head. “So, the little girl stayed cozily in the cave all winter long and passed her time with her friend, the wolf. But when spring came, the villagers began looking for her, especially her grandmother, who had been expecting her to arrive. They hunted all through the village, looking for her, and then they found her, curled up, sleeping, next to the wolf.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, the townspeople were very scared, because they thought the wolf was going to kill her.”

“What did they do to the wolf?”

“They slit its throat.” Her mother’s expression grew somber. “And the little girl woke up, bathed in a pool of blood.”

In the dancing firelight from the crackling brazier, her mother’s face was bathed in ghostly shadows.

“That’s a sad ending, Mama,” she said softly, nudging her mother’s side. “Tell me a happier one.”

Her mother laughed. “Should I tell you the one about the princess?”

She yawned. “Yes, please.”

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a beautiful princess. Many men wanted to marry her, and came to her father, the king, to ask for her hand in marriage. But she was waiting for the love of her life to come and sweep her off her feet…”

“With a broom?” Lenore asked.

“No, Lenna, in a dance!” her mother said, shaking her head at her daughter’s questions. “Her father did not want just anyone to marry his daughter, so he waited. One day, a magician arrived at the castle. He wore a long, dark cloak, and carried a magic wand. He cast a spell over the whole kingdom, and managed to get her father to agree to let the princess marry him. But the princess didn’t like this man. She didn’t trust him.”

“Then why did she go with him? This isn’t a very happy story.”

“Don’t worry, my child. It will all end happily enough.” Her mother smoothed her hand over Lenore’s hair. “The magician whisked the princess away to his home in the mountains. But it turned out that he didn’t want to marry her because he loved her, or even because of her great beauty. He wanted to marry her for her magic.”

“Magic?” Lenore repeated. “What magic?”

“This princess was not just beautiful, she could also do a great many things. She could spin straw into gold, create life out of inanimate objects–”

“What does inanimate mean, Mama?”

“Things that don’t move by themselves. Like a book, or a spoon.”

Lenore nodded, mouthing the word to herself.

“The princess had magic, and this magician and his mother wanted to seize her magic for themselves. She knew about their tricks, though, so the beautiful princess told them that the source of her magic was in the sparkling diamond necklace she wore around her neck, and that whoever wore the necklace would wield all her magic. So one night, when she was sleeping, the magician stole her necklace and gave it to his mother.”

“Then what happened? Did she get the princess’s magical powers?”

“No, of course not. The princess was very smart, and she enchanted the necklace so that only the purest of heart could wear it. So when the magician’s mother put it on–for she was a witch, you see–she immediately burned to ash, leaving only the diamond necklace behind.”

“Wasn’t the magician angry that she had killed his mother?”

No, because once his mother died, it turned out that all of his powers had come from her. He wasn’t an evil man, really. It was only that his mother had him under her spell. So the princess and her husband lived happily ever after.”

Lenore gave another gaping yawn. “I wish I had a diamond necklace like that.”

Her mother smiled, and got up from the bed. “Go to sleep, my child, and perhaps one day, you’ll have a necklace just like that.”

Lenore bolted upright against the pillows.

Why did the fairytales bother her so much? They were mere folk tales, ones her own mother had embellished if not made up entirely. Why should they be important ot her or even make any sense at all? Wouldn’t the happiest of endings for the little girl and the wolf she’d befriended be for the girl to live in the woods forever? Why would the princess accept marrying a man so weak-willed as to be completely controlled by his witch of a mother?

She took a deep breath, trying to cam her racing thoughts. It didn’t matter what she thought of the tales. They were simply that–tales. Meant to entertain more than they were meant to inspire. After all, what were the morals of any of them? Not to steal other people’s possessions? Not to waste one’s time so that when one made it to their grandmother’s house, an entire season hadn’t passed?

Lenore shook her head. You’ve been in this cursed castle too long. Soon enough, you’ll be telling these tales to the ghosts.

Yet why did she feel like the memory of her mother was speaking to her?

What if the treasure Marya had hidden–if there was one at all–was a diamond necklace? Or something like that? An amplifier, to enhance one’s magical abilities?

She sighed, flopping back down and pulling the duvet snug under her chin. She was a child no longer.

The tales of childhood ought to hold no more significance to her. Yet as she stared at the ceiling, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, she could only hope that the wolf she had allied herself with would not drown her in a pool of blood.