The Princess Who Howled Too Loud
The sky had not yet decided what color it wanted to be. It hung somewhere between ink and ash, that uncertain hour when the stars began packing up for the night but the sun hadn't bothered to show its face. Rae loved this hour best of all. It belonged to no one—not to her mother, not to the pack, not even to the forest itself, which seemed to hold its breath in the gray hush before morning truly arrived.
She lay still in the royal den, listening.
Around her, the great cavern of woven roots and packed earth breathed with the slow rhythm of sleeping wolves. She could hear Bramble's familiar rumbling snore from the alcove by the entrance—a sound like a cart wheel grinding over gravel—and farther back, the softer wheeze of Juniper curled against the warm stones near the firepit. Good. Still asleep. Still dreaming of whatever pregnant guardian wolves dreamed about, which Rae suspected was mostly food and the blessed relief of not being pregnant anymore.
She eased herself up onto her paws, careful not to let her claws click against the stone floor. Her muscles hummed with the particular restlessness that had been building in her chest for days now, a storm looking for a door. If she…