HECTOR BAYES

The werewolves inside the stone castle bowed so low I was sure at least one of the many kissed their feet as I wordlessly strode past.

“Welcome back your highness,” They chorused and I threw a cursory glance around the gritty foyer, to see the food trucks and horsemen’s carriages that filled the large space. The brown springy hat of the scribes bobbed up and down as they curtsied, before stumbling in through the side entrance to the castle throne room, the stack of books on their spindly arms tethering dangerously.

The castle court was a large, chess-piece-shaped square building with gold railings wired through the walls and...