Her Wolf King

As they were eating dinner that night, a horse thundered into the house.

Lenore, who was by now expecting wild animals to traipse in and out at all hours, had no objection. Everett, however, saw matters differently. He cursed, nearly dropping his knife and fork. “That is your horse, darling wife, not mine. Get it under control.”

“Simply because it fled every time it saw you for half a century and is eating out of my hand now... doesn’t make the horse mine,” she said weakly. She really had no excuses in this scenario. “Or, rather... I haven’t even named the thing.”

“Perhaps that’s why it’s come crashing into our dining room,” Everett said drily.

“Watch your tone or you’ll be sleeping in the doghouse,” she said, half-joking.

He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing as she took a carrot from the selection of vegetables on the table, offering one to the horse flat on her palm. The horse ate out of her hand, but as she was feeding it, she noticed something different about it. Its bridle looked more ornate, with gold and jewels set into the leather. She trailed her hand along the leather, finding an envelope attached to the bridle. Then she looked into the horse’s eyes and realized it wasn’t her horse at all.

“This isn’t the horse I found in the woods,” she said, taking a step back, eyes wide. The remnant of the carrot rolled off of her palm, landing on the floor. This horse was not hers. This horse smelled... strange, not like horseflesh or hay, but like rotting apples and dried roses. Dead and dying things.

The horse neighed, pawing the marble. She plucked the envelope from the bridle, about to open it.

“Then whose is it?” Everett tossed his dinner napkin onto the chair and joined her at the horse’s side. When he saw the horse, he dragged her away from it, his forearm pressing against her collar. She gripped his arm, confused.

“What are you doing?” Lenore tried to tug at his grip, but he was too strong, his body unyielding.

“That is no ordinary horse,” he hissed. “That horse belongs to the Queen of Curses.”

They both stared at the horse. Aside from its lavish bridle, it looked completely normal. But when she gazed into its eyes... A strong sense of darkness, of coldness, washed over her. She was reminded of the depths of the ocean, unexplored and for good reason.

“Why would she send us a horse?” Lenore opened the envelope.

Everett read it aloud over her shoulder. ”Congratulations on your wedding day. Warmest regards, Marya.”

“Is this horse going to stampede over us in our sleep?” she said. Perhaps this marriage would not be all that she had thought it would be. Not, of course, that she had thought it would be much of anything at all.

“Possibly.”

Lenore turned the card over and read the scrolling script on the backside. ”Consider this horse my wedding gift to you. I tried to tame it but failed. Perhaps you will succeed where I have not."

The horse whinnied. It sounded like it was in pain. Everett’s arm dropped from her throat, and she ran over to it. The horse was bleeding, its flanks glossy with sweat, its mane matted and lash marks marred its white fur. Blood dripped onto the floor. At first, she thought it was merely a trick of the light, that the droplets seemed to be black.

But when they hit the stone floor, the liquid hissed, like acid.

“That’s not just a wild stallion she tried to break,” Everett said darkly. “It is turned.”

“Turned?” she repeated, pivoting away from the horse to look at him.

Without warning, he pulled a knife from his belt and sliced the back of his hand. The blood that dripped from it was black. “Yes. Turned, as I was. From good to evil, from human to beast--it matters not. That’s what her curses do to you. They preserve you, perhaps, but they also leach all the goodness out of you, all the vitality, all the things that truly make life worth living. With time, you become just as wicked and spiteful as she is.”

“But... why would she do that to a horse?” Lenore said aloud.

“For the pure, untrammelled pleasure of it,” Everett said. “Or to right some wrong that she perceived. This horse could likely be a former citizen who dared speak up against her tyranny.”

“And you’ve lived like this for half a century?” She gazed at him.

The wound on his hand had healed at supernatural speeds. He looked like a man, dishevelled from a hard day’s work, his dark hair rumpled, the top buttons of his linen shirt open. He looked like her husband. Normal. Not deadly, not evil, not cursed.

But nothing was ever as it seemed.

Not in her life.

“Yes,” he said. “I was twenty-five when I was... turned. I’ve been frozen at that age ever since.”

“If you were to break the curse... what would happen to you? would you remain as you are, or take on the appearance of an old man?”

“No one has ever broken one of her curses, Lenore. Not as far as I know.” His expression was dour, resigned. “I’ve been trying to find a cure for fifty years.”

“That may be true,” she said. “But that was also when you did not have me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Lenore Abrahams... I must say, I’ve never met a woman like you.”

“I’m not sure you’ve met many women at all, being locked up in a drafty old castle for half a century, but I will accept that as a compliment.” She stared at the horse, unable to meet his gaze.

She was struck with the thought that his words might have a hidden meaning, and she didn’t know if she wanted to explore them.

***

The horse having been stabled, its wounds tended to by Everett, Lenore curled up in her bed, unable to sleep. She pulled out the letter from the bodice of her gown, the one she had taken from the hut in the woods.

Blowing the few specks of dust off of it, she felt as if to open it was to slip into another world, another life, a past she had never lived. Yet she read the words on the page anyway.

My dearest Everett,

Reading Marya’s handwriting made her stomach curdle. She should have left the letter there. Or better yet, burned it.

You have been away for months.

I know you will argue and say that you have truly been present at this cottage for weeks now. But every time you return from another business trip, it is as if you were not there at all. You are distracted, consumed by thoughts of gold, by thoughts of acquiring a larger house, moving into a better part of town, or getting better livestock, more land... I cannot even think of love when I look at you, for I see none in your eyes. Where is the man I married? I see nothing more than a money-hungry beast, bent on consuming all that lies around him.

This is not the man I love. You are not the man I love. Will you not return to me? My love, I am worried for you.

Your wife,

Marya Dunstan

The words made her sick. Was that really how Everett had behaved? Even if it was a half-century ago, how much could a man change? Or a wolf, for that matter?

A knock sounded at the door. She changed quickly into a simple shift and tucked the letter under her pillow. “Come in, please.”

It was Everett. Who else had she expected?

“I was thinking of your brother,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Are you sure he’ll be safe? I wish we could go with him... to watch over him...”

Something melted in her heart, something soft breaking. “I... He is a highly capable young man, and you outfitted him with enough food and weapons to serve an entire garrison of soldiers, Everett. He should be fine. He’s... he’s not a child anymore.”

“I remember being young and headstrong and foolish at his age.” Everett sat on the bed, and she sucked in a breath.

Husbands and wives behaved in this manner all the time. There was nothing unusual about his position, in her chamber.

“Do you remember being his age? Wasn’t that sixty years ago?” she joked.

He cast a dark look at her. “You’re too witty for your own good, girl.”

“So I’ve been told.” She smoothed out the skirt of her shift, trying to cover her legs. “I appreciate your concern for my brother... and all that you did for him today. It means a great deal to me. Timothy is all the family that I have.”

“We swore vows, did we not? He’s my family now, too, even if he does seem rather frightened of me.”

“I thought that was intentional on your part.”

“It was rather humorous to see his expression, but I assure you, scaring away my in-laws is not a good strategy.”

“No?” she smiled. “Here I thought you were the king of poor decisions.”

“You were my worst,” he said, rising from the bed as a shadow passed over his face. “And my best.”

She folded her hands in her lap, feeling strangely empty. “Good night, Everett.”