He pushed aside the intrusive thoughts of Bartholomew as a young man, and walked away from the sitting room, heading toward the East Wing where his suite was located. According to his father, the human village he was supposed to go to would be a two-week trek on horse. He was to go there, find the girl named Lola Tarnvol, kill her, and then leave just as quickly. That was the extent of the orders. If he got himself captured, he would only say that he acted under his own free will, not under any sort of crown authority. He would also be branded a traitor and publicly sentenced to death if it came down to it. Under no circumstance was he to mention his father or any involvement from him.

Pretty straightforward, Russel thought to himself. Get in. Kill a girl. Get out. What could go wrong?

As it turned out, a lot. A lot could go wrong.

He finally got to his room and threw a few things into his traveler’s pack. Some clothes, carefully packed. A few blankets to sleep on. A compass his mother had given him when he was three and a current map. It showed the three kingdoms, the Oclan Werewolves, the Harvenk Werewolves, and the human kingdom of Alscroft. The village he wanted, a tiny one not even represented on the map, was called Gloucester. It was, according to his father, on the foothills of the Edcaeran Mountain Range. It would be a long, grueling journey but looking on the brighter side of things, he would be out from under his father’s direct control for almost a month. He needed a vacation away from that man.

Before he left the palace, he stopped by the kitchen and stocked up on bread, cheese, dried meat, water, and some mead for good measure. After he was done, he left. He didn’t say anything to his brothers, yet another stipulation from his father, but that was fine with him. They didn’t get along most of the time anyway.

Once outside, he threw on a heavy cloak with the hood pulled low over his face to hide his features. He stuck to back alleys and dark roads, making sure not to draw attention to himself. It took much longer to get out of the city than it normally would have if he had used a more direct route but at the end of the day, the extra care and time he took paid off. Going the normal way would put him at risk of running into someone he knew. They would have questions and he really didn’t want to answer those questions.

A little less than an hour later, he was through the city’s gate and on his way. There was a stable just outside the gate where he bought a horse with a white and brown spotted coat he promptly named Serk. The horse didn’t like him at first but after he fed him a few apples, he became more amenable.

The rest of the journey was mostly uneventful. There were a few highwaymen, thieves, and others who came to the incorrect conclusion that he was an easy mark. They soon found out how wrong they were when Russel left them bloody, broken, and in some cases, in pieces. He didn’t kill if he didn’t have to, but in his mind thieves and murderers only out for themselves got what they deserved. They were scum and didn’t deserve to take up his kingdom’s resources. Disposing of them would only help his people, he reasoned.

And so he continued on his trek. Word of a lone werewolf, a dangerous one at that, spread through the surrounding towns and villages. Suddenly, the roads became almost completely devoid of all criminals, as if by some magical spell.

He spent the rest of the time alone, save for Serk who he occasionally talked to as if the horse could talk back. He quietly contemplated things as he traveled. Things like what was he even doing out this far anyway? What purpose did this mission actually serve?

And the most important question.

Who the hell was Lola Tarnvol?