Page 92 of Reign

“Your Highness!” Mr. Bednot stammered, fumbling over to us. “My apologies. We’re closed, but for a prince, we’re always open.”

As Mr. Bednot began listing everything he could offer Fitzroy, bright-eyed Emma emerged from behind the curtain. She skipped toward the yellow-tinged man, lifting her purple palms.

“Sleepe waescan ofer heo, dragan heo oe’th deop. Niman heo hwaer deorc, ponne sendan heo oe sleepe.” Slumber wash over him, drag him to the deep. Take him someplace dark, then send him to sleep, she said softly.

Mr. Bednot seized up as stiff as a board, then floated backward—as light as a feather—landing among the sawdust and straw covering the floorboards.

“Sleeping incantation,” Emma explained, playing with her pretty plaits. “The old lecher will be away with the fairies for hours.”

Fletcher nudged Mr. Bednot’s limp leg with his boot. “Does he not realize when he’s been knocked out?” he asked.

Emma giggled with a sprightly shake of her head. “He’s a drunkard. I doubt he remembers much of anything. He’ll wake up groggy, thinking he downed one too many tankards.”

A sudden, frantic scratching at the door drew all of our attention away from a snoozing Mr. Bednot.

“That’ll be Dog,” I said, knowing she hated being left alone. “Can she come in? She’s well trained.”

Margaret narrowed her piercing blue eyes, suspicion etched into every wrinkle. “Fine…” she drawled, as if questioning my sanity.

I opened the door, and Dog bounded inside the Anchor.

“Gods,” Margaret said, stepping back warily. “Is that the Black Shuck?”

I slowly nodded.

“The beast from the wanted poster!” Jane gasped, flicking her hand out toward the bar.

“In tou palma thee’ll wesan, be’th tid thou tally oe prie.” In my palm you will be, by the time I count to three, she intoned.

“An.” One.

The parchment peeled from the bar like shedding bark, then drifted through the air like it was caught on a strong breeze.

“Twa.” Two.

As if it had a will of its own, the parchment glided toward Jane’s outstretched hand.

“Prie.” Three, she said—and the paper crumbled into her grip.

Emma’s brow furrowed. “The what?” she asked, pinching the poster from Jane and studying the caricature.

Margaret’s head shook, ever so slightly, but her eyes widened in utter disbelief.

“When I was a child, I was told a tale,” she began, her voice heavy as she delved into folklore. “The first wizard to call Lyonesse home was a wandering man. Lonely in his solitary exploration, he crafted a spell to manifest a traveling companion. After many moons spent perfecting the incantation, he performed it, and the Black Shuck appeared—a keen hunter, fiercely loyal, and unwavering.”

Margaret’s gaze fell upon Dog, who sat quietly before her—amber irises burning brighter than the fireplace.

“For many years, they lived together, just the two of them, until the wizard encountered a fair maiden—a fairy from the Isle of Annwn. He instantly fell in love and flew off with her, vowing to return to his loyal companion the next day.”

She paused to quickly give Dog a sympathetic smile before continuing her tale.

“But years passed, and the wizard never returned. The Black Shuck, created to be a devoted companion, was abandoned, and resentment took root in her heart. When the wizard finally returned with his new family, intent on creating his very own kingdom, the Black Shuck hunted him down and ended his life with a single fatal bite to the neck.”

She folded her arms and shifted onto one hip, taking in the sight of Dog.

“The tale of the wizard and the Shuck warns of the importance of loyalty. But now, seeing this beast before me, I wonder if it’s more truth than fable.”

“Even if she slew her creator, she’s never hurt me,” I murmured, crouching to tussle Dog’s thick fur as she licked my face.