There was one of two ways this could go.

One possibility Kershov almost instantly acted upon—because his nature was neither a patient nor a forgiving one—was that of the righteously offended Monarch. His muzzle reflexively tensed in time with his throat, preparing to snarl; moon-white hackles quivered with the need to stand at attention along neck and shoulders; it was only through some miracle of self-control that the massive dragon refrained from narrowing his bottomless black eyes into twin scimitars, ferocious and ready to slice. Did Little Miss Magic honestly think that Kershov would believe her lie? Her posit that any unruly member or enemy of her pack simply meandered into his territory was insulting enough; that she assumed any wolf in Abendrot—convict of Aurora or not—was under the jurisdiction of Aurora and therefore reason enough for the she-wolves to want to search his kingdom in the first place rose as another unacceptable affront. If Kershov had given asylum to any wolf on the lamb, then that was his business and no one else’s. Any creature that he welcomed past the invisible wall became his. Disregard the fact that Ker felt positive no warriors had crossed his path bearing Aurora’s stamp—he wanted to take Magic and Chenzii by the throat and throttle them for so making up such a stupid story and possessing the gall to want to peek into his territory, supervised or not. Did they think him foolish? Vain enough to accept their desire to search his forests as long as he acted as escort? Neither was flattering. Kershov wanted to call them out so badly his jaws ached from the effort of staying closed.

On the other paw . . . the pale Ruler could play along. Act just as the faes expected him to. The worst thing that could happen is that they’d glimpse a few hallways only Abendrot fighters had ever traversed . . . and then be trapped like cornered geese in a kingdom they were completely unfamiliar with. Kershov smiled inwardly, a subtle curl of his feathery banner the only outward sign of his vicious cunning delight. So the two dark ladies wanted to see the innards of Abendrot? Very well. He’d get them to spill their guts on their true purpose very soon.

The midnight-gazing phantom offered the similar sheilas a gracious grin, his royal crown dipping in acknowledgement to their “crisis.” “I understand your predicament. I shall be glad to escort you into Abendrot.” Kershov did not give them time to gather their wits in the wake of his apparently open and welcoming acceptance of their request. If he’d had an honest reason to allow outsiders into his kingdom to search it, he would have kept them waiting longer, establishing rules and boundaries, telling them where they’d be permitted to go and which areas were off-limits. He would have summoned his own wolves and demanded border reports to verify if any of them had so much as sniffed the faintest trace of a trespasser. But Kershov knew bullshit when he smelled it—and he’d be damned if he were going to follow the protocol of a real emergency. He’d accompany them, all right . . . he’d guide them straight toward admitting their own ridiculous reasons for disturbing him.

Without missing a beat Kershov circled around the girls and positioned himself just behind them, ready to escort them past the border. The teeth permanently exposed on the right half of his muzzle glittered dangerously in the eerie light of night. “After you, mademoiselles.”