Page 51 of Their Rejected Queen

“It does if you try to kill me for something that’s not even within my control,” I state.

Ulara glances at me. “I’ve never tried to kill you.”

I don’t break her eerie gaze. Backing down feels like the kind of move that would only earn me disrespect from the shifter. “Then who sent that feral wolf after me? Who stood by while someone tried to kill me, not once but twice?”

Ulara considers me for a moment. “Sometimes what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Now look at you. You’re in one of the most protected positions in the pack. I’d say if anyone was responsible for that, you’d owe them a favor.”

I balk at her as she crosses the path. It takes me a few heartbeats before I scamper to follow.

Ulara thinks she’s done me some sort of damn favor?

“You’re all insane,” I growl.

Ulara actually laughs.

Then she abruptly goes silent, and I see why when there’s an unusual crowd around what I presume to be the training grounds.

“Those aren’t shifters,” I observe.

A huge group of them look to be refined men and women straight out of the Elite City, except their fashion is more in line with Monster Isle’s aesthetics of velvet and flowy fabrics. A plethora of silver jewelry and glittering gems bedazzles each one, making them stand out from the rugged shifters at their back.

Godric is also there and doesn’t look amused. I’m guessing this wasn’t a planned visit.

I’ve grown so used to the leather braids, the tattoos, and the furs that I’m taken aback by the clash of cultures.

Then I spot one who towers above all the rest. A massive black crown of horns seems to sprout from his head. The rest of him drips with silver, but it’s the swirling shadows that dance around him that make me feel unsettled.

“That’s the king,” Ulara informs me in a low voice threaded with warning. “Don’t attract his attention.”

My eyes widen.

“King Njord?” I squeak. “The one who’s an Undertaker monster and eats the souls of women and children for breakfast?”

That had been the nighttime tale, anyway, to keep Elite children in line. If we misbehaved, the big bad King Njord was one of the monsters who would make us pay the price.

Except he wasn’t a fairy tale my mother had made up to scare her children. He was real.

“The very same,” Ulara says as she leads me toward the crowd instead of away from it.

She doesn’t deny the fairy tale at all. The blood drains from my face as I feel like a coward and fall behind her shadow.

I’m so not getting eaten today.

As we step onto the training grounds, I spot the wooden mannequins and racks of practice swords. There’s also an archery section, and a sandpit that I can only assume is for hand-to-hand combat.

A number of girls are lined up in two neat rows. They’re all wearing the same outfit as I am—pants, a shirt, and the outline of tight fabric underneath, which seems to strain against Violet’s ample bosom.

How are those tonic enhancements treating you now? I think with a sense of satisfaction.

Any smugness I might have had drops from my brain as the king himself drags his bloodshot gaze directly to me.

I freeze.

“Your Majesty,” a smooth voice says, and I realize Arwan is here.

Thank the Gods.

I never thought I’d be glad to see the magic wielder, but I am. He’s beautiful, of course. He’s wearing a robe with the fabric open at his arms, revealing the dark veins that carry his magic. A beaded band collects the material at his wrist, and I find myself looking at his fingers.