To Live Among Wolves (Legends of Arcadia Book 1)

Chapter 7

Trotting back into the Yard, I kept my form until I arrived at Guardian’s Glade. My people nodded in a slight bow when I passed, but no one stopped to talk to me.

That had been the most difficult transition aside from losing my father—people who I once talked to daily now stood in the shadows, afraid to speak with their king. An invisible barrier stood between me and the public.

Or maybe they were as unsure as I was, everyone shifting into new roles, and no one prepared for their new place.

After phasing by the double doors of Guardian’s Glade, I slipped into my silver robe, buttoning it tight. Only one place existed where I could go and be myself—to be Silas.

In the Aisle of Kings.

In the blue light of dusk, I walked down the dirt path, flanked on both sides by heath pearlwort, a million white blooms peeking out of the green. The tall, thin pines mixed in with beeches and maples dotted my surroundings. I walked a well-worn path, one that every wolf journeyed several times a year.

I was a weekly regular.

Walking through the arch, I ran my hands along its branches. Twisted and woven, its bark had been worn smooth over the years. Laying my hands on its magic-warmed body was almost my way of knocking before entering the sacred space, littered with lavender and lemon balm.

I stepped past years of ancient kings, the ones who came before us. Their graves were marked by balanced stones, a good mix of big and small stacks. Sometimes you could tell which stacks were balanced by the same king.

I had to balance my father’s stones.

I remember my hands shaking so much that I struggled with the last few pieces. I had my sister to help me, but it took time to center the stones. After a long and difficult struggle, I balanced the last stone and knelt forward, crying with my forehead in the freshly dug dirt. My tears watered the earth.

Lycaon, how I miss him.

I turned around the bend in the path now, to the more recent kings and family graves, surprised to find someone at my father’s graveside.

I kept my voice low. “Nash?”

Taking careful steps, I moved towards my brother. Nash’s arms wrapped around his knees, head bent low between his legs. I noticed the tremor in his shoulders. Nash’s head shot up at my voice, eyes red and puffy. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “What do you want?” he asked, voice raw.

He didn’t turn away.

I thought for a moment about him. There was a quiet strength in keeping his head up despite the hot tears running down his cheeks, the momentary reflection of a prince buried inside somewhere.

I sat down a foot or so away, not wanting to scare him off. He’d come back, and no matter how angry he made me, he was still my brother. Nothing would ever change that.

And as angry as he made me, I wanted to understand. I wanted to know why he had left, where he had gone, why he’d decided to return, and what he expected from me.

Nash kept silent, turning back to stare at the cairn. The stone at the top still stood strong, its tip balanced carefully on a smaller one.

Nash should have been there to help us.

“Remember when he used to make us fight?” Nash sniffled, breaking the silence. He shifted, one knee lying to the side, arms gripping the other tight.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I do.”

Of course I remembered wrestling matches with my brother every day as a child. I came home with bruises and scratches from rolling around in the underbrush. I ate dirt more times than I could count or remember. But things had changed when Nash started disappearing every day or so. I ate his meals. I doubled my training. I took my role seriously.

I had earned it.

“And Caroline would always beg to join in.” Nash chuckled. “She’s all bark and no bite though.”

I laughed. “Still is.”

A comfortable type of silence fell on us. I listened to the breeze that rustled through the trees and lavender. A whistling emitted from our father’s grave, but I knew it would be another twenty-four hours until I saw him again. The stones, on occasion, caused an eerie whistling sound, like the ghosts of the ancients wanted to join the conversations of the living. But it would never bring them back, not fully.

Not yet.

“What do we do now?” Nash said.

I blinked a few times. Rarely was my brother vulnerable, especially with me. Our relationship had always been physical, where he’d wrestle me to the ground or beat me in a hunt. We’d never had much of a chance to talk about losing our mother before he started disappearing all the time. And now, Nash finally began processing the loss of our father and asking me for advice.

“Well,” I half shrugged. “We keep going. We do what he trained us to do since we were pups. And we make him proud.”

Nash turned to me. His eyes were sunken in his face, like he had not eaten in quite some time. “Do you think he would have been proud of you?” he asked.

I didn’t expect the question. And I didn’t know how to answer.

“What do you mean? Like being king?”

“With Eden.” Nash shook his head. “Do you think he would’ve been proud of how you’ve handled all this?”

“I–” I stuttered. “How I’ve handled this? It’s a less-than-ideal situation.”

“It’s only that you have a human held prisoner, and as much as I don’t like humans knowing we exist… Does this not go against what he trained us to do? His mantra was to always be kind, and right now, this isn’t being kind to Eden.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words poured out. I had been asking myself that same question for twenty-four hours.

I shook my head. “I’m doing the best I can, Nash.”

“It’s not good enough.”

I turned back, searching my brother’s face for any sign of jest. He was stone-faced and serious, an unusual thing for him.

“Do you think I wanted this?” I motioned to our father’s grave. “Do you think I wanted to balance our father’s stones at such a young age?”

“No, but–”

I stood up, dusting the soil off of my robe. “Do you think I wanted to have to choose the safety of Arcadia over the values of the virlukos?”

Nash scrambled to his feet. “No! I just–”

“Do you think I wanted to lose my brother, thinking he’d been killed? Promise our dying father that I would find you? Spend months serving and helping and ruling all the while worried sick that I would fail my father’s last wish?”

Nash’s face fell. “I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t, Nash. Because you weren’t here.” I clenched my jaw tight. “You only ever think of yourself.”

I moved to walk away, but Nash grabbed my arm. “Maybe before.” His face contorted, regret lining every crease. “But I’m back now. Give me a chance.”

I couldn’t face him. I turned to the trees above us.

“Silas,” he begged.

It drew my attention, if only for the fact that very few people called me that anymore. Always “my king” or “je kunan”, but never Silas. The desperation hung in his voice.

“Silas, please.” He squeezed my arm. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Taking a deep breath and blowing it away in the breeze, I held up a finger. Nash paused for a moment, staring.

“One chance, Nash.”

His face lit up as he wrapped me in a hug, nearly throwing me off balance. “Thank you,” he mumbled before backing up. He brushed his long hair out of his eyes, and in the blue dusk, he looked so much like our father.

“So,” I said. “You think I’m not doing a good enough job. What do we do about Eden? Do you think she’s a threat?” I crossed my arms. “She’s–”

“Talented. Caroline showed me her research journal. She’s cataloged so many things.”

“But she’s–”

“Intelligent, too. Caroline said she followed your tracks and measured them before you scared her into bashing her head into a rock.”

I scoffed. “I did not scare her. She slipped. Not my fault.”

Nash grinned. “Okay, fine. What were you thinking about her then?”

I thought of the first time she truly saw me, both of us kneeling in Guardian’s Glade. The world had shrunk to nothing besides her, like she snared me in some trap with her gaze.

“She has bear cub eyes.”

Nash raised his eyebrows.

Lycaon, help me.

I shrugged. “The color reminds me of a bear cub.”

“A bear cub? Silas, that can’t be a compliment. Please do not tell her that.”

“An observation, not a compliment. And why would I tell her?” Nash laughed, but I kept going, frustration building. “When would I ever compliment her? Besides, when I was in her room, I did scare her. I doubt she’d listen to anything I had to say right about now.”

Nash ran his hand over his chin. “You were in her room. Alone?”

“Stop it.” I shook my head. “I only wanted to make sure that… that she had… that I–”

“You like her.” Nash smiled.

“No, Nash. No. I mean it.” I pointed at him. “I do not like her. I can’t like her. Even if I did, you know that’s not how this works for me.”

Nash’s smile faded. “Yeah, I know. That’s soon, right?”

He gazed around at the trees and the balanced stone markers. The blue ghost beetles started their evening, instinct preparing them for the magic they would make the next evening. I inhaled, wanting to savor this moment. My control had been limited as King. These moments away from the responsibility felt more like Silas and less like the King of Arcadia. And I had precious few of those moments left.

“Tomorrow,” I managed to mutter.

“Are you nervous?”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Would you like to ask an intelligent question?”

Nash growled. “It’s a better question than ‘Hey! I know I just came home, but how are you feeling about losing your freedom and betrothal and being a king and having responsibility for an entire kingdom?’”

“Nervous,” I mumbled, frustrated that I couldn’t come up with anything better. “You try being told you can’t marry for love when it’s all you’ve ever wanted. And yet, I can’t even think about the woman I’ll call my wife because the festivities and winter preparations have distracted me, and now I have a human on my hands.”

“Have you thought about inviting Archer and Andra?”

I swore under my breath. I’d forgotten. They were the closest things we had to friends from another pack.

Hurried footsteps stole my attention and my moment of peace. Turning, I spotted Eden’s night guard running towards us, robed in light blue.

I stepped forward. “Kane, what’s wrong?”

“Your majesty.” He tilted his head to me in a short bow. “He’s here.”