The wench sat arrogantly in the seat she had stolen. A heavily jeweled gown that should have made movement impossible hindered her not at all as she languidly gestured across the room. Arrayed around her were her minions, lounging as if they too belonged in that hallowed place, predator eyes watching, watching. The court was absolutely silent. The reason for this lay on the floor. Bleeding and broken, the body of the king lay silent on the floor. None were allowed near it, and all dreaded what might happen next.

Would happen next. For she was the Queen of the wolves, and they had certain… rites to observe. Even as people began to stir, to make their quiet ways to the exits, the wolves shed their human skins and began to feed. The only sounds were the ripping and wet tearing of flesh. Under it all, muffled by the sounds of eating, were the weak screams of the still-alive king. The Reign of Wolves had begun.

Those in the hall were finally allowed to escape, making for the doors with speed proportional to their valor. A few lagged behind, gazing at the wolves and their queen with hatred or speculation or a mingling of both. The queen of the wolves was seeking a suitor for her new throne, and while the king had been much loved by his inner circle, he was most irrevocably gone. Now the wise were contemplating their new ruler, already plotting what position they would hold in the new court and the downfall of any who might be in the way. Already, the court was failing. It was only a matter of time, Ander supposed, before they too became the wolves that She was accustomed to ruling. Only a matter of time. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest, waiting, outwardly patient as the crowd filed out. He had a clear view of the king as he waited for the last of them to leave.

He kept his eyes carefully schooled, betraying none of his anger. His posture and gaze were only as respectful as was required, not a bit more as he stared at the remains of his king and beloved friend. He waited until the last of the ambitious had filed out before turning on his heel and making his slow way to the exit. It was his only show of anger that he did not bow.

"Wait." The queen's voice was smooth, but not in an oily way. Seductive. His back turned to her, Ander smiled. He continued walking. "I command you to wait!" Her voice climbed lightly up the scale, ending on a sharp note that made Ander wince. A wolf should know better. He stopped, turning slowly enough that he could feel the slow scrape of dirt through his thin-soled shoes, slowly enough that he was able to steady his expression to new heights of the bored indifference he most certainly did not feel.

He looked up at the queen with bland eyes. The hall was small enough that even a the back of it he could see that one fine drop of blood still perched on her pale cheek. One of her wolves gazed adoringly at that cheek. "What is it that you need?" He sighed internally as the queen somehow managed to take offense. This was why humans were the ones to rule them all; Wolves were too impulsive, just as dragons were too long-sighted. This rein boded poorly for them all. A human ruler was a stabilizer for all of the different factors moving in the Court of Nirron. Even now he could feel the unease pricking across his skin, ruffling hard-won control. The queen stared down at him, and it was her impatience, her… lust the throne spread like a blanket across the castle. Even now her influence was throwing the precious balance off.

She leaned closer, dress creaking with the effort. The top of it dug sharply into her barely-contained chest. She meant it to be attractive. Ander found it only discomforting. "I wish to speak with you. No, I command it," she corrected. "You will come sit at my feet and speak with me." She smiled.

"Court is over. The time of orders has passed. You may not command me outside it. Even you cannot change that much in one day, Hrodwulf Iole."

She snarled at his use of her old title, but when she spoke again her voice remained warm, seductive. "I could force you. I prevented you from stepping in to save the weak one, held you immobile in your weak human form. I can force you to come to me, to do my bidding. But I would have you willingly." She smiled, and it was not a nice smile.

"I don't believe you did, Iole. I believe you may have some powerful artifact on your side, but that does not make you powerful, nor any more fit to rule the Court of Nirron. I will notify you when Redan stirs from her rest. Until then—" He gave a curt bow and left the room. He could feel her pale violet eyes boring into his back, and knew he had perhaps made the wrong enemy this time. Once in the hall, he was surrounded by those who cared enough to think he might be dead. He smiled at them all, but it held none of its usual warmth.

"Iole will bring disaster to a court that has lasted for a thousand years. We must remove her." Ander looked sharply at the speaker, one of the fey from the far north. Her fine, pale blue fur was bristling, appearing out of place on her otherwise human form.

"On any other day, Livia, such words would be disastrous for you and all who heard you. We would all be dishonored or killed for even listening to such a thing without striking you down." He glared at her, trying to make her understand with the sheer weight of his gaze. But she and everyone else were waiting to hear the rest of his words. "But, indeed, Hrodwulf Iole must not be allowed to hold the Throne of Balance. Even now her influence spreads across the court like an ill wind. Without a human to steady it, the Court will fall apart." Everyone was quiet, in their own way contemplating regicide and the alternative—war unending, as had always been before. Ander would have preferred that people react, do something, but it was the result of his own unique heritage.

If he could find any human suitable it would simply be a matter of investing them with the powers of that which he carried. Most believed that it was the throne itself that held the power over court, and indeed it was a powerful tool. But it was Ander himself who bore the Investiture, the power to control all who put themselves under the throne. "I must leave court," he said, beginning to move down the hall and away from the body of his friend—later, when I am clear of this place, I will grieve later—and toward the courtyard. There would be no time to gather his things, not even the most precious of them, but the thought did not cripple him as it may have a dragon. He was a wyrm, and treasures were luxury, not necessity.

The crowd stayed behind, not wanting to go with him, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near the Investiture Wyrm. They probably believed that he was going to his rest, returning to wherever he slept while his sister woke and advised the next ruler. They took turns, sleeping and waking, and each time they woke their lives from before were a distant dream. Thus they had survived the long ages for the thousand years of the court's life—perhaps longer. Neither he nor his sister truly knew how old they were.

If things had happened as they should, Ander would be on his way to his rest. His sister Redan would be waking, feeling the call of some new soul destined to rule. But Ander did not feel the weight of sleep that meant his time was done. Redan did not stir from her little death. Something had gone horribly wrong. The proper order of things had been disturbed, and Ander didn't know how to set it right again. All he could do was take himself far away from this place so that Iole could not be sealed to the throne. He could no more stand against this than fly. It was not only Iole who had staged this coup; there were those in every race who grew impatient with human rulers, feeling that their own race would do better. One of them must be providing the power to do this.

The courtyard loomed ahead. The gates were sealed, but Ander had expected that. He had not expected the array of draconic guards waiting in the courtyard, metallic claws marring the earth. The lead hissed, her red scales dull in the half-light. Ander sighed, wanting nothing more than to thrash Shonan for her arrogance. But Shonan was Ryu. For better or worse, where she led, the Bright dragons followed. He could not fight all the dragons here. Reaching for his true form, finding it still sealed, he wasn't entirely certain he could take Shonan herself. The thought shook him.

There was only one thing for it, then. He sighed. He had not moved through the earth in human form in this lifetime, but he knew it could be done. The instincts were still there. He reached down, and the earth opened her arms to him.

It was not so much a feeling of sinking as one of falling. Overhead he could feel Shonan tearing at the earth, but she would never reach him that way. It was almost physical pain not to take his true form here, with the earth's heart blood singing in his veins, but it remained sealed even in this holy place. He traveled miles in the space of a few breaths, but they were the breaths of the earth itself, slow and steady. Dusk had given way to dawn it what seemed like seconds, and Ander had moved farther than any dragon could fly.

The terrain was rolling hills here, not rocky like the land around the palace. It was no place he had ever been. Silence and the early light of morning pressed down on him, and suddenly he was tired, so tired he couldn't stand. He sat awkwardly before his legs could crumple under him. He had fought the binding with all he had, but by the time he knew it was there it was too late.

How long had it been there? It had been days before Iole's coup since he had taken true form. The bindings could have been placed on him any time in the span, and he would never have noticed. He blamed himself. The bodyguards had died protecting their king. He was supposed to be the last line of defense. He had failed in that, as he now failed to bring justice on Iole's head. He was honest enough to realize that the best he could do was take himself and his powers far away from Iole's mysterious influence. But it galled.

He sighed. The grass prickled through his house clothes; Ander hadn't dressed for a short walk, let alone a trek through the wilderness. He thought back to the Iole's costume and let out a bemused sound; he'd never seen the huntress wear clothing like that. Perhaps she considered it just another sort of camouflage. He fell to a tired sort of staring, taking in the green-gold hills, dotted with dark volcanic stone, as if he were waiting for something to happen. He was tired, but it was bone-deep weariness from the events of the day, not the need to rest so his sister could start her work. He felt no pull to be anywhere, as he would if the next ruler were waiting for his call. Perhaps Iole had sealed that along with his true form, hoping that he'd come whimpering back to her.

But why allow him any of his powers, if she could deny that? No, it didn't make sense. Before, when the ruler had been assassinated, the dragon (in that case, it had been his sister) had immediately fallen into the earth. Ander had arrived scant days later with a new leader, and all had progressed as if the Queen had simply died of old age. What made this time so different?

 
He shook his head and shifted in the grass, pulling his thin coat off to protect his face from the prickly grass. The sky was blue through the scarred branches of the oak, but not the clear, almost painful blue of the court. He wanted to be home, arguing with the king over some matter of philosophy. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Truth be told, he wanted Sleep to take him so his sister would deal with this mess, but it didn't appear that whatever governed their lives wasn't going to make it that easy.

 
It felt like he'd just drifted off to sleep when the sound of muffled sniffling brought him awake. The sun was well on its way to setting now; he'd managed to sleep the day around, which was more an testament to his exhaustion than to his ability to sleep when he was troubled. His back was stiff, his skin prickly, and it seemed to take forever to blink his eyes clear to see who was crying.

 
Two rabbit children were hiding their faces against the trunk of the tree he'd taken shelter under. The choice could not have been co-incidental; rabbits had an uncanny knack for detecting both strength and generosity, and they were utterly ruthless in playing on the latter. These two were particularly pathetic, stifling their sniffles on each other's shoulders, which meant they undoubtedly wanted something from him. Ander sighed. He'd never been able to deny the little things, even though he knew they were far from helpless; four of them had claimed his protection at court, where (luckily) it was little more than a formality. But out here it would be a weighty task, and Ander didn't even have the resources to fend for himself. If they were seeking a protector, he would have to turn them down.

 
Once he pushed himself up on his elbows, however, they pounced. Without any of the usual show of weakness, they clung to him, shivering in the particularly frantic way only rabbit children seemed capable of. "Please, please! Help our protector, our master, Bad Men came and took her away!" The female sobbed. Her thin ears were tight against her scalp; not the courtly white, but a nut-brown like her hair. Her overlarge eyes filled and overflowed, making Ander's insides clench helplessly. "We are so alone now, and they're going to kill her, we just know it!"

 
The younger and more timid male nodded his head emphatically, too-long hair spilling into his eyes. Ander shifted, arms out, and hesitantly patted them on the shoulders. He knew offering any consolation would only encourage them, he knew he was in no shape to rescue anyone two rabbits considered powerful enough to be their Protector—but he just couldn't help himself.

 
Their crying stilled quickly. The shivering took longer, but it was still far sooner than he expected when the eldest picked up her head, indulged in a sniffle, and—with remarkable steel—stared up at him. "You are going to help, aren't you? You must. She's such a good and wonderful person, always a perfect protector even though we've only known her a few weeks. And they jumped on her and knocked her out, but Jekob couldn't help because she told him—"

 
The younger one gave her a sharp jab in her ribs, gave Ander a significant look, and stared back at his elder. The meaning was clear; we can't trust him with that. Ander extracted himself while they glared at each other, so unlike the timid, wilting things he'd known at court.

The younger one seemed to take this as a sign that he was trying to leave, and cried out in protest. "Please don't do! You're powerful, you can save her!"

Ander sighed, brushing the grass off his pants. He stooped to retrieve his jacket. "I don't know what I can do. Much of my power has been sealed, and there many problems I have to deal with." He looked down. Groaned. Gods, he should have known better than to try and argue this point. "An entire kingdom is at stake, may hinge on what I do!" He tried anyway, but those eyes stabbed at him. It wasn't fair that there were four of them; two accusing eyes were bad enough, but two rabbit children were too much even for his will. He sighed, admitting defeat in his posture, and the twin looks of adoration made his face warm. "All right. We'll sneak up and take a look, and if it doesn't look like I can deal with it we'll try to find a town to help." Inwardly he didn't have much hope. With his true form sealed, he was only a passable mage; even bandits would probably be too much for him.