Lola woke up in the middle of the night gasping, sweating, and with her entire body flush with fear. Nightmares she already couldn’t remember all that well drifted through her mind like spider silk on the wind. She was glad the nightmares were indistinct and were already being forgotten. Judging by the way she was breathing heavily, her skin soaked with sweat, and her fear making her blood run icy cold, she was sure she didn’t want to remember them anyway.

She looked over at Russel and found him still sleeping. He barely moved and she would’ve been terrified something was wrong but she heard soft snoring. He was so still, even the steady rising and falling of his chest was barely perceptible. Without the sounds of his snores, she might have completely freaked out.

Reassured that he was okay, more than okay really considering most of the damage done by his father had fully healed now, she got out of the bed and walked over to the fireplace. The logs were a dim, sullen red color. The fire had long since gone out which could also be said of the torches on the walls. It made the room almost pitch black. At first, she couldn't see anything at all but as her eyes adjusted a little, the room started to slowly gain some definition.

Her body felt exhausted beyond belief from all the stress and the traveling they’d done but despite wanting to go back to sleep, she found she couldn’t. There was too much going on inside her head and she was scared the nightmares that woke her would come back. Instead of getting back in bed with Russel, she decided to take a walk. It was the only thing she could think of that might make her tired enough for her brain to shut down.

She remembered seeing an elaborately carved wardrobe in the bathroom so she went inside to check it out, hoping to find something she might be able to use to ward off the night’s chill. Once she opened the doors, she realized how much of a mistake that had been. She forgot that werewolves, in addition to having the ability to grow fur, were naturally warm and didn't need thick cloaks or outerwear to protect them from cold. Undeterred, she kept up her search until finally, buried underneath some spare blankets, she found an old cloak that must have belonged to Russel’s father. She put it on and suppressed a weird desire to giggle. The thing was comically large on her and practically swallowed her whole but it would get the job done at least.

She walked back into the main bedroom, leaned down toward Russel’s sleeping form, and gave him a very small kiss on his forehead. He moved a little, but didn’t wake up.

“Rest,” she whispered quietly. “And heal.”

She turned from the bed and walked through his room to the front door. She hesitated there for a moment, wondering if she would get in trouble for walking out alone.

Just outside, standing at attention was a lone guard with a grim, serious look on his face. He kept an eye on the hallway in both directions as well as the door to the new king’s rooms. As soon as the door started to creak and he realized it was about to open, he made sure to stand more firmly and lose any traces of sleepiness he might’ve been feeling.

The door started to open and he wondered if it was King Russel coming out. A few seconds later, however, the person stood there and he realized it wasn’t him. It was just a woman. A woman in a cloak about five or six times bigger than her. Who was she? A concubine?