Annelise’s husband had one blue eye and one silver-gray.
Just like the wolf.
No. It could not be so.
He held her gaze steadily, as if inviting her to make the most remarkable conclusion.
“The wolf that drove me through the palace gates had eyes like yours,” she whispered, hoping he would argue with her. He did not. “And that same wolf showed me the tracks of Yves’ horse today, then led me to this tower.” She looked past his shoulder, just to be certain, but was unsurprised to see that the wolf was gone.
She understood where the wolf had gone, even though all logic fought against it. She recalled snippets of childhood tales about those who changed form. They were chilling tales, told on windswept winter nights and intended to keep children huddled in their beds.
He had confessed to be
