The Found One

Chapter 40

Izzy POV

After some coaxing from the King, Aislinn headed to the open double doors, guards moving swiftly to enter and sweep the room before her. Izzy was sure they had already secured both rooms and the entire house, but even here with the King, Rowan, and the Royal Court standing in the next room their voices now a soft babble behind them, guards moved to stand around the edges of the room. For all her huffing and puffing, the Queen didn't bat an eye, or even seem to truly mind, not sparing the towering mountains of muscle even a glance as she eased onto the bed.

Izzy's attention was pulled from the bed where the Silver Queen was now fluffing and punching the mountain of pillows into submission, her eyes wondering to take in the room. Her breath caught in her throat as she took a step toward the wall, eyes widening in astonishment. Those around her ignored her so she stepped closer, fingers raising to hesitantly skim the frame, careful not to touch the rough paper held within. Memorized she moved along the wall taking in frame after frame. Like the halls and floors below, the walls were soaring and painted in a crisp clean white, but here in the King and Queens bedroom stunning sketches two and three high adorned the walls not taken by glass windows or doors. Izzy didn't even realize she was grinning as a perfectly detailed sketch of a gangly grey wolf caught the corner of her eye. It wasn't hard to figure out who it had captured.

The Queen's voice was warm, full of pride and love. "Rowan after his first shift."

Izzy looked over her shoulder smiling at the Queen then back at the rendered sketch, even though she had only seen him when he was older, more filled out and used to his other self, it was easy to spot the cocky confidence and spark of what was only Rowan in the wolfish grin and eye's that even of paper and charcoal seemed to see straight into her heart.

"Who did them?" She asked in awe moving to the two beside the young Rowan, stunning depictions of an intimidating midnight black demon wolf, everything about the wolf in the picture screamed that he was a threat. Powerful jaws, exposed to showcase gleaming teeth ready to draw blood, hackles raised and muscles bunched ready to spring in attack, every line strength and dominance, and yet Izzy felt comforted and not scared. Drawn to the night black wolf instead of turned away.

"His eyes." Came the Queen's words.

When Izzy turned, she found the Queen looking at the black wolf as well, her face adoring and soft, Izzy had to look away turning back to the sketch.

"He can never get the eyes, even ripping out the throats of our enemies, his eyes always gave away his heart."

The words clicked and Izzy gasped, "The King?"

Aislinn's laugh was light and warm, "Indeed. He always hates when I sketch him."

"You drew these?" Izzy asked shocked, taking in the stunning sketches again, eyes widening with new appreciation, taking in the lines and detail so realistic and precise, such depth and emotion in every stroke, so breathtaking that black and grey burst with colour and life.

The Queen simply hummed in answer, when Izzy turned needing more assurance she found the Queen staring at frames on the other wall, her face far away as she stared at the black and white pictures. Moving cautiously and eyeing the guards she had to slide by to get a better look, Izzy moved to the sketches that held the Queen's attention. The frames here held paper that had started to yellow with time and age, the paper slightly folded and curled beneath the frames and panes of glass that protected those on this wall. Nearly floor to ceiling, sketches of every size were displayed, some were barely begun, crude outlines of wolves alone, or in the forest, some sleeping or running. Others were done in such detail they looked like photographs. Wolves under the moon and stars, a pair lying curled together fur blending until it was hard to distinguish where one started and the other ended. There was a great wolf, eyes of pure silver, elegance, strength, and kindness captured against the stark tundra behind him, curled and dozing comfortingly before a fireplace, the sight so intimate and private. Another had him running through towering forests a great pack at his heels. Over and over the wolves repeated, Izzy's eyes learning their slight differences and traits, the smaller size of the female, the younger males, the staunch guards, the friends and family who leaped in play and joy, the eyes that showed love and laughter, that danced with kindness and pride. Her eyes prickled, a lump filing her throat because as her eyes skimmed the dozens and dozens of sketches, straying to those that were never completed, to those left abandoned the effort to finish to hard, and she didn't need the Queens words to understand what this was; a memorial. Hand drawn renditions of all that was lost, the last and only reminders of a family and life that had been destroyed.