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She’d returned to her human form, her dark
hair tangled, bundled in a Crochan cloak. As if
one of them had taken pity on her. Not
realizing the hunger in Cyrene’s eyes wasn’t
for the goat stew.
“Where does the shifting come from?”
Dorian asked as he paused before her, a hand
on Damaris. “Inside you?”
The spider-shifter blinked up at him, then
stood. Someone had given her a worn brown
tunic, pants, and boots, too. “That was a great
feat of magic you performed.” She smiled,
revealing sharp little teeth. “What a king it
might make you. Unchallenged, unrivaled.”
Dorian didn’t feel like saying he wasn’t
entirely sure what manner of king he wished
to be, should he live long enough to reclaim
his throne. Anyone and anything but his father
seemed like a good place to start.
Dorian kept his stance relaxed, even as he