Wolf King

Welcome to Brackenholme.

Find Duke Bergan.

Time to make a move.

Help!

- What? - Anyone! Help!

Ugh.

- What's the matter, lad? - I'm dying here.

What's wrong with ya?

What, cat got your tongue? Wait.

What?

No, no, no, no!

Duke Bergan!

You don't understand!

I need to talk to Duke Bergan!

We've got a wild one here!

Let me go!

Duke Bergan, no!

Get your oranges here.

Ten oranges, half a crown.

That'll be half a crown, please. Half a crown?

Hey, come back! Are you gonna pay for that?

Here.

Bless you, milady.

The Lions, they think they can just take what they want.

Yeah.

- Move! - Whoa!

Hey!

Chancer!

Come back with my horse!

Whoa!

Hey! What are you doing on Chancer?

He's a good horse. I think I'll keep him.

You can't do that.

I'm the prince.

I can do whatever I like.

And I say you can't!

How dare you talk back to your future king.

No!

Now, that's enough.

Is there a problem, Your Highness?

What sort of backwater is this, Bergan?

- Your brat just went for me. - I did not!

Lady Whitley seems a little short-tempered this morning.

Perhaps she should return to her room.

Okay, maybe I did, but he's going to take Chancer.

Go to your mother, Whitley. You'll find her in the embroidery room.

Your Highness, you don't want this horse.

He has terrible wind, and I'm sure you noticed his limp.

Come.

I have just the stallion for you.

- I need to see the duke. - So I hear.

Here, catch.

Duke Bergan will see you soon enough. Once the Lion is out of the city, that is.

The Lionlords are here?

Just one.

The king's son, Prince Lucas.

He's here for his betrothal to Lady Gretchen of Hedgemoor.

My father has his hands full entertaining him at the Great Oak.

- Your father's the duke? - Lord Broghan, at your service.

You must be Drew. I've heard a lot about you.

Right. Whitley, your sister.

Lady Whitley.

And the old ranger, Hogan?

Recovering nicely, thanks to you.

I hear you also kept my sister out of trouble.

Let me out of here. We're even.

All in good time. Enjoy your breakfast.

Do the Bearlords hand-deliver breakfast to all their prisoners?

Nope. Not all.

Prisoner's weapons, sir.

Thought you might appreciate the, uh, craftsmanship.

Yes.

We would not want this falling into the wrong hands.

Oranges! Get your oranges here!

Hey, you can't just help yourself.

- Lion Troopers do as they please. - Wait. No, you--

What are you smiling at?

Oh, it's just you've given me the perfect excuse

to be late for my sewing lesson.

Leave this man alone.

Lord Vankaskan.

What is all this commotion?

Your soldiers are stealing from our traders.

Is that so?

Mmm.

Fructasius perfidium.

No, please don't!

This fruit is rotten. Why would anyone want to steal it?

Come, Hector. Watch and learn.

A magister catches everything and misses nothing.

He knows all. He hears all. He sees all.

Hector?

Hector!

- Hector? Hector! - Shh!

Here, buy a new stall.

And steer clear of the Lion Troopers in future.

You're too kind, Lady Whitley.

Whitley!

Nice company you're keeping these days, Hector.

A Ratlord? Really?

Every magister starts somewhere.

- You're gonna be a magister. That's huge! - I know!

If Vankaskan doesn't have me whipped for wandering off.

So, if you're a big-time magister now,

does that mean you know all about identifying Werelords?

- I know a bit. - Then you're coming with me!

Oh, what?

Hey!

We're under strict instructions not to let you in.

Strict instructions from whom?

- Your brother. - Ugh!

Uh... you wouldn't dare prevent the royal magister from entering?

I'm only the apprentice.

He's very tetchy, and he's quick with a hex.

If you cross him, he'll turn you into weasels.

- Right, Hector? - Weasels?

Oh yeah, weasels.

- I am kind of a big deal. - Yeah.

What page was that weasel spell again, Hector?

- Page 166. - Thanks.

Uh, thanks so much. Thanks, appreciate it.

- Come on. - Oh!

Whoa.