YENA

It had been weeks since I’d drawn anything. Once I started again, I couldn’t stop.

Maybe it wasn’t ideal to be doing schoolwork on our honeymoon. But it felt like Nolan had faith in me. In my talent.

And I wanted to live up to his expectations. Come up with something great that showcased my talent.

I stayed up late every night drawing, drafting designs of the same garments over and over again, tweaking and perfecting them.

We traveled like tourists, making occasional stops on our way across the country to see the sights. The prince made sure we went to all the art galleries and museums. I knew that was for my sake, though he never pointed it out.

Some of the exhibitions we saw were mind-blowing. I had never seen work in these mediums before. It was inspiring.

Looking at paintings, photographs, and installations made by human artists, I suddenly came to understand just how small my world had been before.

The werewolf nation was an older society, with a single dominant culture that ruled the population.

It was a world of order and tradition. And gloomy weather.

Yes, we had art, beauty, and invention there.

But human art was different. There was an individuality in every work that gave it a life of its own.

I’d never been more motivated to create my own original work.

Nolan had opened up the world for me. I was grateful.

He’d been keeping busy with his own business tasks and respected the time I needed for my project. We developed a habit of lying in bed together at night, each working on our own laptops, doing our own things.

I got into a bad habit of spreading my drawings out all over the bed, so I could squint at them and imagine all the garments together. Thinking about how they contrast and which order I’d put them in for a runway show. It made a big mess.

I was surprised Nolan never minded when I did this. He liked to come and look at the drawings. And I could see in his eyes he was sincere when he complimented my designs.

He’d pick out his favorites, and they were always the best ones. He had a good eye for which pieces would catch attention the most attention.

I started asking him to look over some drafts for me, because it helped to have another perspective.

“Have you ever tried drawing yourself?” I asked him one night. “Or painting, or photography? I bet you’d be a great artist.”

He shook his head and smiled.

“Not me,” he said. “Some people are born artists. I am not one of them.”

“I think you have some talent, though,” I said. “It’d be a shame to waste it.”

“No,” he replied, giving me a serious look. “Everyone is born with one true purpose for their life. You, for example, are destined to be a great designer.”

“Like you are destined,” I asked, “to be a great king?”

NOLAN

The tavern they stopped at on the last night of their trip was a local haunt.

The place was poorly lit and smelled like wood rot and mildew.

But that only made it feel familiar, like one of the centuries-old taverns tucked away in the forest towns of the werewolf kingdom.

Nolan hoped this might be the one night of their honeymoon that they could get away with not being photographed.

The place was supposed to be secluded. A hidden gem.

As luck would have it, the tavern had an unfortunate gimmick.

An entire wall, the longest one in the building, was lined with little blurry photographs of people sitting at the bar, all tacked up into the drywall with beaded pushpins. They were printed on small, white plastic rectangles, some with handwriting scribbled in an empty space at the bottom.

For whatever reason, Yena found this delightful.

She insisted they participate and called out to the bartender to inquire about it before he could open his mouth to protest.

He shrugged it off.

Yena had a right to get her photo taken tonight.

Because the princess was looking good.

She might have lost a little weight during the trip. Maybe she was just looking more toned.

Something about the resolved look in her eye, too… the way she smiled and the way she was carrying herself. She was looking even more beautiful than before, and that was saying something.

They had been keeping very busy. Yena had her school project, and Nolan was trying to support her as much as he could.

She was so focused lately. So alive and inspired.

At times, it felt like she was becoming more confident. More regal, even. It impressed him.

But he saw so much uncertainty and self-doubt in her, too.

She did not understand how truly beautiful she was. How charming. How talented.

The bartender returned to the couple with a small, square camera and stood with his face behind it. He told them to smile, then pushed a big red button on the camera that triggered a click and a flash of light.

The camera whirred and one of the white plastic rectangles slipped out of the device.

The bartender handed it to Yena. She watched patiently with a big smile as the photo developed before her eyes.

It was pretty much the same as all the other photos. A blurry portrait of people seated at the bar.

The bartender gave Yena a push pin and sent them over to a spot on the wall where there was room for new pictures.

“Oh my Goddess,” Yena said, extending her hand out to the photo wall as they approached.

She put her index finger on a photo of a couple.

“That man,” Yena said, “looks so familiar. He looks so much like you!”

She looked from Nolan to the photo and back again.

Nolan got closer.

He recognized the man in the photo.

It was his half-brother. Adan.

He did not recognize the woman, though.

As the two stood looking at the picture in awe, a man rose from his seat at the bar and walked over to them.

“You know them?” he asked.

The prince and princess turned and looked at the man.

Nolan said nothing.

“No,” Yena answered helpfully. “I just thought that handsome man right there looked a lot like my handsome husband. Doesn’t he?”

The man did not look amused. He looked a little traumatized, actually.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just had to ask. I own this tavern, you see.”

Nolan stole a glance back at the photo.

His brother’s charming smile beamed back at him. The picture was blurry, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was Adan.

“A lot of the folks up here,” the man continued, waving his arm at the photo wall. “They’re folks I know. And that picture there… that’s my dearly departed sister.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Yena said. She put her hand lightly on the man’s shoulder.

“How did she die?” she asked, “if you don’t mind?”

“She died beside that man there,” the tavern owner said, pointing to Adan in the photo. “He was her lover. They would’ve been married too, if they could’ve, but they weren’t allowed on account of him being a werewolf, you see.”

Nolan and Yena exchanged a glance.

The man did not notice. He cleared his throat.

“They met an unfortunate fate, I’m sorry to say. They died together, the both of them murdered.”

Yena gasped and clasped her hands to her mouth.

“I’m so very sorry,” she told the man again.

He nodded at her with a weak smile. Then gave Nolan a polite nod and went back to his seat at the bar.

Yena had tears in her eyes. Nolan reached out and wiped them away before they could roll down her cheeks.

Something about this was not right.

Nolan’s mother told him Adan had returned home just a few weeks ago.

So why would this human man think he had been murdered?