Page 26 of The Sun King's Noon

Richard grinned. “Most generous, Chief Tavrus. Nine casks will be received with great appreciation.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Tavrus gaped at the stained glass overhead. “Oh, my. What marvellous windows. Do they always do that with the colours?”

“They do.”

“Enchanting. We have nothing like it in the groves, you see. Only fireflies.” Tavrus ambled back to his people.

“Brother.” Briony tugged at Richard’s sleeve and pointed at the black wolf, who watched the proceedings calmly. “May I pet him?”

Corwin seized her shoulder. “It is hardly a tame dog, you silly thing. Why, it may take off your arm with one bite.”

The wolf’s ears twitched before it padded forward. Kaelen and Corwin made to draw their swords, but Richard’s sharp gesture forced them to still their hands. This was no feral wolf,Richard was sure, but he nodded at Elara to be ready as the beast stopped before Briony. Her flames were swifter than any sword.

For one taut heartbeat, no one moved. Then the wolf lowered its great head and nudged Briony’s cheek with its nose.

Briony giggled and threw both arms around the wolf’s neck, burying her face in the thick fur.

“Oh!” she squealed. “You are softer than my winter blanket!”

Richard stifled a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Master Wolf,” he said gravely to the creature, “for sating my sister’s curiosity.”

The wolf gave him a slow blink. The air around it shimmered, and its fur rippled. Bones cracked and reformed, and the lupine frame unfolded, lengthened, rose—paws stretching into brawny hands, haunches rearranging into long, thick legs, the muzzle receding into a square jaw.

Where the wolf had been, now stood a man.

He was ruggedly handsome, as tall as Kaelen, broad through the shoulders, and slightly older. Bright blue eyes stared, deep-set and patient. His black hair fell past his shoulders, and a trimmed beard adorned his face. The tunic he wore was plain, and at his throat hung a fang.

Richard gawked.

A druid.

He had read of them, devoured every scrap of lore as a boy. Shapeshifters. Walkers between the skin of man and beast. Richard had traced their illustrations in manuscripts and asked tutors whether the druids truly existed or were merely myths.

None had given him an answer. And now one stood barefoot before him.

The druid bowed.

“Sun King.” His voice was low and unhurried. “I am Orric, a druid of the Greyhide pack. My Chief-Mother disapproves of my attending but granted permission. I have come partly frominterest, and partly in friendship.” He reached for Richard’s hand, his grip calloused. “I am gladdened to have made the journey. It is rare for a human to show such respect for the olden ways. It speaks well of you, Your Majesty. It speaks very well indeed.”

Richard swallowed hard, a flush climbing his neck as Orric’s steady gaze pierced through him.

“I—” His voice cracked. He coughed and tried again, though his words remained strained. “That is. I mean. The honour is yours—no, I mean—mine. The honour is mine.”

“The tales say you have a scholar’s mind and a warrior’s hands. A rare pairing.”

“I—yes. Quite.” Richard’s ears blazed hot. “Well, the journey—you must be weary from the journey. I hope the gardens we have prepared—there are trees. Many trees. In the gardens. Which is where trees—where they tend to be.”

Stop talking,a voice commanded from the back of his mind.By the gods, stop talking this instant.

“Your hands are warm,” he heard himself say.

Richard closed his eyes and willed someone to slit his throat.

“Brother!” Corwin grabbed his shoulder, wrenching him from Orric. “You have been poisoned! Someone fetch Lady Selwyn!”

“I have not been poisoned.”