Regan couldn’t decide whether to have the fire doused was a blessing or a curse. It had soothed an agitation she hadn’t fully realized existed. She was calmer, more focused…but somehow less alive. Lonely, even. Being back on her feet had helped; still following Cassian a little too close, perhaps more so now than before. So much so that when he cut abruptly she teetered on her foot for a moment so she didn’t run into him. The wolf under her skin rumbled, and Regan’s brow furrowed.

“Hold back,” Regan said quietly to the other guard, “Keep the hall clear.” She then followed Cassian, keeping wordless step behind him as her wolfish instincts raised their head.

The agitation had been consuming. While it has been a goal of Cassian’s to avoid the shift until the moon, he found himself giving over to it already. As soon as they cleared the sight of the guard he turned his head to the side, a loud crack sounding from his neck, the shifting process beginning, though slowly, held at bay by Cassian’s current relative self control.

He went to the door of his personal room and entered, leaving it ajar for Regan to follow, knowing she’d close it behind them. Once inside he ripped off his coat, jaw hanging loose as his teeth had already turned canine.

Regan could feel Cassian’s shift before she heard the crack of his bones rearranging. Cassian’s chaos only fed her own. Her heart thundered in her ears, the wolf and human sides of her (though there was little division between them) both giddy at this turn of events.

Once inside, Regan kicked the door closed behind her as she started eagerly shucking off her clothes. She watched Cassian do the same with a little more obvious interest than she normally allowed herself. Her jacket was followed by her tunic, her boots discarded in a corner as claws and teeth started to snap into place.

They didn’t normally remove their clothing in his room, but today was different. The moon was close and the uncommon chaos in Cassian was strong.

He didn’t know where they would go. The cabin was compromised. Those woods, however, were familiar. Close by, he decided.

His shirt had followed his jacket, so as he placed his key in the door and entered through he was in his boots and pants. Though a man, his chest was still bare, as Cassian wasn’t well endowed as far as hair was concerned. He stepped into a dusty old room, a small, abandoned shop from the looks of it. His urgency to burst out the front door had him surging forward against his better judgement, and rather than emerging into a forest, he opened the door and stepped directly into what looked to be a parade.

A barefooted Regan followed closely on Cassian’s heels, dressed in her trousers and undershirt that she’d tugged free from her waistband. She didn’t question where they were going or why—she never did. Regan was simply glad to have been invited to follow. When Cassian rushed through the door, Regan flew right after him until she stumbled back in surprise.

It wasn’t a forest before them, but a spinning carnival of color and sound. People lined the streets of the quaint town, cheering and singing and making a joyful ruckus as a parade of musicians, dancing maidens and a man sat atop a glossy horse made its way down the street.

Those in the immediate vicinity turned in alarm at the sudden appearance of Cassian and Regan—one woman yelping in frightful surprise. The din of merriment was too great to capture widespread attention - for now.

Cassian was frozen in shock. His eyes fell in the celebration with resentment, his body too stiff to turn him away, his face the usual mask of neutrality. Whatever he might have chosen to do was decided for him when a young woman, no more than fourteen, approached with a multi-compartment bowl pressed between her arm and stomach.

“Not festive enough!” She declared as her hand dove into one of the compartments and produced royal blue paint which she swiped onto Cassian’s face. Two marks down the cheeks under the eyes, and a smudge for his lips. He stared at her, indignation and anger simmering under his mask of a face. She went for yellow and moved in on Regan, intending to give the woman crosses on her cheeks and a line down the center of her chin.

Regan’s heart pounded in her chest. It would be so easy. So easy to tear into the warm flesh of the festival goers who danced and twirled without an inkling there were predators in their midst. Regan’s eyes bounced from one person to another, as if she were a child before a dessert tray stunned by indecisive desire.

“Not festive enough!”

Regan’s head snapped toward the girl who was now decorating the king’s face. She drew close to Cassian in a protective posture before the girl reached for her face. Regan jerked back, but the girl who—not to be deterred—pursued her and Regan pushed her away. The force was enough to make the girl stumble back two steps but not fall.

“Watch it!” The girl snapped, as Regan’s hungry eyes narrowed on her. Instead of amber, they were a dark charcoal gray, like the blackened cinders of an extinguished fire.

It took Cassian longer than it should have to break from his shock, but he’d never encountered this sort of thing. It was so…common. He didn’t hate it, but he also wasn’t the type to delight in being shoved outside of the box.

“We can either retreat,” he said quietly, for Regan’s ears only, “or…press on…” he reached up to his face and ran a fingertip through the paint, examining the blue as if it were a strange specie.

Regan started to count in her head. The desire to break her bones, to tear through her skin was so powerful it was almost painful. But the threat that it carried was not enough to give her pause. The wheels of frenzy had been set into motion. There was no stopping them now.

Regan looked up at Cassian with glittery-eyed excitement. The thrill of something new, of Cassian, of the wolf beneath her skin fed the smile that drew mischievously across her face.

“Onward.” While the girl stood dumbstruck, Regan quickly dipped two fingers in the paint. She chose red, not yellow, drawing a quick single bold stripe down forehead, down her nose, all the way to her chin and neck. The girl huffing away, a grinning Regan moved to take Cassian’s hand (if he’d allow it). Here, they were no one. None of this felt real, and Regan leaned into that feeling.

Cassian wasn’t sure how to feel or what to think. He had never dreamed of not being who he was and in the position he held. Stepping away from it didn’t feel liberating. It felt wrong. The only right escape was the inevitable shift, but that was never something he had chosen to begin with…

When Regan’s hand caught his he found his grip reciprocating, though from the ever so slightly bewildered look in his eye, it was obvious he was lost. He’d follow where Regan tugged him with an air of hesitance.

With the wolf still itching beneath her skin, Regan felt exultant. The wild abandon of the festivities mimicked the recklessnes in her own soul. It gave the wolf comfort, enough to sustain her until she could truly break free.

She’d gently tug Cassian through the crowd, peering over the bodies that moved around them—drinking, singing, dancing caught up in their own merriment. The man on the shining horse passed in the parade’s lineup as Regan made her way with Cassian’s hand still firmly in hers. The further they went, the more the crowd broke apart. Regan could see the forest in the distance, past the limits of the town. It was far but within sight. They just had to keep—

“Prepare ya for the toast!” There were a few women pushing flagons of what appeared to be cider—though it smelled stronger—into everyone’s hands. Two flagons were thrust at them, one at Regan and one into Cassian’s hand should he take it. Regan, having never rejected a drink in her life, took hers almost by muscle memory.

Unlike Regan, Cassian wasn’t a drinker. He partook of wine every blue moon and that was about the entirety of it. Still, he was armed with reflexes that wouldn’t let the flagon fall.

“What…” he started, drawing the attention of one of the women at the wagon. He waited until they moved away before asking more quietly, “What are we doing?”

With the fire, Regan’s eyes would have been crackling. Now, they were dark—black, flecked with bits of charcoal and light ash. The wolfish excitement would be on display as the festivities continued to swirl around them. The music, the unpredictable wildness of it all…Regan grinned. When Cassian spoke, Regan looked up at him, a smile spread wide across her face.

“Refusing to retreat,” Regan said as she took a drink of the mead she’d been offered, though clearly whatever homemade brew it was had more kick to it than simple sweet honeyed wine. Satisfied and still brimming with excitement, Regan spoke softly so as not to be heard by others, wide eyes fixed on Cassian. “The woods aren’t far, Your Majesty. We can get there. We could just, uh, enjoy the festivities on the way.” She took a sip of her drink, considering it before saying, “You might like it.”

Her tone would suggest she meant the wine, but the meaning was far broader, made clear by the sheepish blush on her cheeks as she bid for permission. She wanted to stay. While the castle was Cassian’s realm of comfort, this was closer to hers.