"Huh?"
I blinked in disbelief as my eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light that surrounded the throne. There, seated casually with one leg draped over the other and her cheek resting against a clenched fist, was… a girl?
She looked no older than twelve—small frame, soft features, long dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Her expression, though, was anything but childish. She wore the look of someone who'd been bored for centuries.
I turned toward Rodolf, arching an eyebrow.
"I thought you were taking me to meet your mother. Not your kid sister."
Rodolf didn't so much as flinch. "She's not my sister. That is my mother, Queen Beatrice Moonfang."
"Like hell she is!"
A soft sound cut through the air, and the girl turned her head in our direction.
"My son and…" Her piercing yellow eyes, sharp and wolf-like, narrowed as they landed on me. "Who is that?"
