Ravensblood Forest Death and all her friends

Changed the last part of my post. The parties involved have been notified!

Lotte is quietly aware of the dark wolves’ scrutiny — quietly aware of her husband’s approach and the soft, sibilant steps of her Family. Small, bearlike ears swivel to catch the older male’s guttural murmur, but her eyes remain trained on the wicked enchantress and the sadistic smile that plays about the corners of her mouth before disappearing completely. In this moment, Banríon wishes she had never heard of Dakarai or Olive — she wishes she was callous enough to give up the mist-shrouded druid and her surly dark knight — but whether she likes it or not, Olive and Dakarai are Family. Lotte’s bearing is regal and unyielding, schooled to a perfect stillness. She does not look at the worthless Náire who sits on his haunches with a sword-straight spine and a guilty countenance; she does not turn her head tellingly in the direction of Olive’s birthing bed. “You have wrought your vengeance upon them,” she points out, glancing at Dakarai’s heavily scarred body. “She has fallen ill and fears the life in her womb has stilled.” The queen’s voice is grave and mournful, her argent eyes dulled with boundless grief. “I will not give her to you — she is dying, and I would have her die where she has lived, in this forest, beneath these trees.”

The Daggerspine has taken Lotte; Kitku rears her head, and those argent eyes glitter coolly. “We will make this pay,” she swears, gesturing with a quirk of her muzzle toward the cowed black wolf. “For the attempted murder of your son, for his transgressions against your ilk — he will be made to regret these things.” Out of the assassin’s mouth comes a silken promise — an off-the-cuff decision that goes against everything Lotte Ansbjørn Fearghal stands for. “I will not give you her — but I will give you the only creature she trusts, aside from her mate. I will give you our healer, and by so doing, I will give her pain in her final days.” She shifts her weight lightly in readiness should the offer be found lacking, her attention never wavering from the Dark Mistress. To look at Chusi or Arturo would reveal her weaknesses, and she cannot afford to have any. Fortunately, Kitku is absolved of such attachments.

It is to @Dakarai that Lotte turns, her silver eyes devoid of emotion. “Lift your voice,” she says in a tone that could almost be gentle if it wasn’t so cold. “You will call for the sheepdog — she will answer you quickest, thinking that Olive has need of her.” Lotte has no desire to sully her paws by making her betrayal of Coelacanth blatant. In a last ode of respect to the little Groenendael, “She cannot speak,” she tells @Nemesis. “She owns no name.” It is kinder to keep Seelie’s true name from such a dark spirit.