Chapter 181

I managed to choke down a respectable quantity of dinner, and I was a bit sorry that I missed out on enjoying it. The roast was delicious, perfectly herbed, and juicy. We’d been served succulent vegetables and delectable desserts, all of which dried to ash on my tongue. I was eating with a monster. I was positive of it, and I was furious with him that my conviction of that was waffling.

Once dinner was over, I gratefully retreated back to my bedroom. I hadn’t once seen Theo since the mousey man had taken him away, and he still wasn’t waiting for me when I got back.

I collapsed to the bed, nearly ready to cry myself to sleep, when someone knocked on the door. I pulled myself together as best I could and went and answered, shocked to find the Dowager Luna Queen standing outside my door.

I quickly found my manners and invited the king’s mother into my room. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’ve never hosted royalty in my rooms before. I have no idea what sort of hospitality I should be offering you, aside from, ‘Please feel free to sit anywhere.’”

She gave a low chuckle. “You are truly the wide-eyed, naïve innocent my son described.”

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“My son told me that you were doing interviews for a new article that you’re writing, clearing up the truth surrounding him.”

I grit my teeth on this. I’d never agreed, but clearly, the king was used to getting his own way. I suppose a king would be, but it was irritating to be on the receiving end of it. And I wonder how his servants dealt with that all the time.

“I can take notes if you have information to tell me,” I agreed.

She gave me a strange sort of smile, one which left me with an odd feeling of wanting in my chest. It was like I wanted her to be my mother and yet was terrified to be anywhere near this woman.

“I am so glad that you are willing to tell this story for my son and do the interviews with him and me.” Her voice was soft, and it wrapped around me, coating me. Not so much like a blanket, but the way reeds curl around your toes when swimming, leaving you with a squirming sensation to run away.

I took my phone and set it on record while she made herself comfortable at the table in my room. I joined her, setting the phone between us.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what you’d most like me to hear and to relay to anyone who might read the article.” I tried to keep it as noncommittal as possible so that it didn’t sound like I was for sure going to write the article.

“And before you get started,” I added quickly, trying to squeeze it in so I wouldn’t have to interrupt. “What’s the proper way for me to refer to you?”

She gave me a patient smile. “My proper title is Dowager Queen or Dowager if you would prefer.”

“Thank you, Dowager. Now, please tell me the story in your own words.”

She clasped her hands on the top of the table, and her head drooped. “Parts of my son’s story are not pretty ones,” she confessed. “As you pointed out in your article, he can be angry at times having a temper. Having the fire to lead an entire nation comes at a cost, I’m afraid.”

The Dowager Queen went on to lay out a story in which her son had turned his back on the political marriage in favor of what he called love, but she and the late Alpha King, her husband, had known to be infatuation, with an inferior werewolf by the name of Rosemary.

As they suspected, Rosemary was unable to bear the burden of being the Luna Queen, and when she passed, the devastation and misery felt by her son left him vulnerable when Yarrow preyed upon him, setting herself up with more power than the Alpha King. And the Dowager Queen was just as appalled as her son to read about the abuses laid out in the king’s name by the current Luna Queen.

Throughout the entire interview, the Dowager Queen kept dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, bemoaning the state of her son and the abuses done to him. The only time I felt like the crocodile tears were actually real was in the few times she talked about the value of her son. Never once did I doubt that she viewed her son as a valuable commodity.

But aside from that, this woman had all the tender compassion of a cuckoo bird. I could just imagine her shoving chicks out of a nest so that she could place her own son in their spot.

Nothing about her or her son led me to believe that they could possibly be victims, especially not the way they described being so emotionally distraught over the passing of this poor Rosemary woman, who at every turn was described as absolutely worthless. No way could they let themselves be taken advantage of to the degree that they were accusing Luna Queen Yarrow of doing. To be that distraught, they’d have to be the most overly emotional and utterly gullible people on the planet.

When my thoughts started sounding insulting, I pulled myself back, scolding myself. I had been the advocate for the other alphas, and for Anthony, and for numerous people, constantly reminding those around me that we needed to wait and have all the facts before deciding that someone is guilty. And this was no different.

Perhaps the Dowager Queen and the Alpha King left such a horrible taste in my mouth because I expected them to be guilty. I wouldn’t be doing my job as a reporter If I simply let my assumptions rule rather than gathering all of the evidence, regardless of my personal feelings about the people involved or the situation. That was my duty to my readers.

At the end of her long lament, the Dowager Queen stood and dabbed her eyes one last time. “I know we can trust you to report the truth,” she said.

Was it just me, or was there clearly a threat in that?

I stood, as well, unsure whether to bow or curtsy or what to do now that she was going to be leaving my room. So, I settled for an awkward bob of my head, which she seemed to accept.

“I promise I will research the facts before publishing them,” I told her.

She gave me a swift and fierce look. “Like you did before publishing the article about my son?”

I drew myself up on my professional code, standing tall and returning her gaze. “I did my due diligence,” I said. “Even the king doesn’t disagree that these things happened. I tracked down numerous sources and verified my work before publishing it.”

“And yet you have accused my son of being the problem when he’s not.”

“The Alpha King fully admits that he is, at the very least, guilty of neglecting the affairs of his kingdom,” I countered.

“You could have interviewed the king or me and gotten the true story,” she said, her voice cold and sharp like ice chips.

“Maybe,” I said. “Or I could have called to do the interviews and either been denied because you are royalty and therefore busy, or more worryingly, you might not have understood the goal of the story and kept me from printing it in the first place, under the guise of not wanting the alpha king to look bad at the expense of setting the truth free.”

At this, she finally sighed and backed down a little. “Perhaps you’re right. My son and I will forgive it this time. Next time, be sure that you’ve done all the appropriate interviews before publishing. And we expect to see your work before it goes public.”

With that, she swept from my room, leaving behind the cloying scent of orange blossoms so strong it actually hurt my nose. Even her wolf scent was off-putting, sweet but sickening.

My urge to cry from before had been replaced with my usual drive to report. I knew who I needed to talk to. There was only one other interview that mattered in trying to settle whether or not the king was a victim and guilty only of neglect or if he were the primary player in this ring of corruption. I needed to talk to the Luna Queen. I needed to find Queen Yarrow.

Thank goodness I had built up the sort of notoriety that I had because the Luna Queen did not like to be found. It took me several hours of reaching out to contacts and pulling my newfound fame and fortune before I finally located her. She was staying across the continent in a small town called Crescentshire. Now, I was just one phone call away from the interview that would explain it all.