Kirastasia had expected to feel sadder when Carnival usurped her mother’s throne. Her barren heart had anticipated a little stab of grief like the one that had struck her when she passed over Malignant’s silent borders, just a little squeeze of pain . . . but nothing. Not even a whisper-bite of misery, or depression, nothing bleak or defeated or despairing. It simply was. Queens was not present to lift her kingdom out of the coffin it had steadily sunk into beneath the unfeeling moon, and so Carnival had stepped up and claimed Malignant’s crumbling bones for herself. No one materialized from the oily shadows to stand in the challenger’s way. There were none left to oppose such a coup, anyway, much less support it—except young Kira herself. And let’s face it: the princess existed to enchant, not to rule. She found no reason to stop the wolfess with the feverish eyes. As long as Kirastasia kept her freedom, she could not force herself to care.

Still . . . not even a tiny bit upset? Hmm. That didn’t seem right . . .

With her pretty face set in an attractive scowl, the fishnet punkette wandered through her castle’s velvet-dark hallways. A steady muttering burbled from her maw like the chatter of irritated songbirds. Her feathery plume stirred the air behind her in an agitated manner, snapping to and fro as she tried to gather her thoughts and craft some sort of heartfelt response to the unexpected direction her life had veered. She was a frustrated actress—glamorous, talented, but completely at a loss without her lines. Already Kira imagined what Kavik would say when she saw him again, not that the independent lass particularly troubled herself with her brother’s opinions. He’d probably break down like the badly manufactured toy he was, and Kirastasia would have to explain to his defective mind that these things happened (she guessed) and the adult thing to do was accept them and adapt (she assumed). Oh, but this would be easier if she only knew how to FEEL! Was this really how the dawn of a new Malignant Felicity would sweep in? With no more than a supportive whimper on her part?

A dramatic sigh swooned from the stunning lady’s maw. “I’m bored!” she cried to the canopy of lacy branches above. “Why is it whenever I go somewhere, nothing happens?” From birth Queens had sequestered her away in a dim prison, far from spying eyes; then Saw Tooth had snatched her away, only to discard her like old jewelry; now the kingdom she’d grown up in lay comatose all around her and nobody even had the decency to cause a scene! Goodness! What she wouldn’t do for a siege, or a natural disaster, or—

The girl’s body froze in place at the haunting, jarring sound that suddenly split the sky. Her thoughts crashed to an immediate halt. Her ears rang with the reverberations of agony skimming under the clouds like a circling murder of crows, all blackness and pain, the noise of someone without hope or love or life. Kirastasia wasn’t sure she could ever replicate such a call unless someone reached down her throat and physically ripped her voice from her chest. The fine ice-white hairs of her nape stood straight at attention. That . . . that was what she needed!

Tiger-striped limbs churned in graceful rhythm as Kira sprinted toward the border, sweet maple eyes aflame with excitement. She smelled the male before she saw him: a musk unlike any she’d ever tasted, and when she finally saw the fire-colored prince, he was unlike any wolf she’d ever seen. A creature so tall she had to look up into his . . . oh, but wait, the poor dear had no eyes. Just a Halloween mask of scars stitched raggedly across each eye socket. Who had done that to him? She would definitely ask. Eventually.

For now, the alabaster damsel trotted neatly to a halt just a few body-lengths away from her tormented guest. She was happy that he couldn’t see the fascinated grin dancing over her lips like sunlight on water; it might be awkward to clarify why she felt so elated at the prospect of interacting with someone who was so obviously miserable. “Did you step on a thorn, mister?” Kirastasia crooned gently, scuffing her forepaw in the lush carpet of leaves a bit so that he would know where to turn his head. She continued in a somewhat motherly voice, barely able to restrain herself from leaping over the invisible wall and inspecting those scars closer. “You’re near packlands now. We might be able to help you, if you need it.”