Amelia
Every head at the encampment turns to the north, to where Prince Owen shoulders his way through the crowd with a limp body in his arms – human or werewolf, I’m not sure. In my peripheral vision, the guard’s hand slowly retreats away from the stool I’m on as he rises to his feet. My heart beats quickly, throbbing against the rope tied tightly around my neck.
“What is this?” the king practically spits as my second guard rushes to help the prince with the body in his arms. They lower the body to the ground together, that same respect the guards held for me present in how he handles the body.
The guard checks the pulse on the body, then looks up at the prince with sympathy and maybe a little confusion. “She’s dead,” the guard announces.
“I know,” the prince answers solemnly.
“Ex
