He recognized her scent, and it made the fur on the back of his neck stand straight up in a thrill of what might have been actual fear. No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. And yet, even when Kershov threw his head back and sucked in one more desperate breath, the scent did not go away. This wasn’t a dream. Truffle-whatsit had returned. Dear god.

The King’s ears flattened harshly against his crown as his hackles spiked, irritation already sizzling through his blood at the mere thought of the talkative imp that had made his life hell every time she opened her mouth. Cocoa—Truffle—WHATEVER her name was—held the sole ability to annoy Ker beyond all reason. He did not know what strange power she possessed, but it was dangerous, because with merely one run-on sentence she could drive Kershov over the steep cliff of shrieking insanity. He . . . he despised the earth-colored creature. She was the bane of his existence.

And she had apparently been waiting for him.

Astonishingly, the alabaster knight stumbled upon her by complete accident, ripping through Abendrot’s undergrowth until he saw her patiently reposed by a copse of young trees. Kershov valiantly bit back a savage snarl. He parted his maw, ready to interrogate Truffle about her latest disappearance . . . but he could not bring himself to utter the scathing words his tongue so dearly wanted to throw. The chocolate-toned girl seemed different somehow, her energy more intensely contained that it was before. Something glittered in the background of her sweet blue eyes like the scales of a serpent before it struck. Could it be? Was the gregarious gal finally growing up? Into somebody deadly?

“You’ll have to remind me of your name, because I have you labeled as ‘insufferable urchin’ in my mind,” Kershov growled by way of greeting. “Where ever have you been, young one?”