Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Kieran
Whispers and gasps of shock grow through my pack like a wave as my wolf bounds through the crowd on the way to the dais.
It seems like half the kingdom is here, although my wolf’s eyes are solely focused on one man.
Lucan is on the dais in a purple cloak, ready to be crowned.
He’s on his knees in front of the high priest who’s saying the final blessing, his loud voice carrying across the courtyard in the old ceremonial tone.
It’s moments away now. Calista, bless her heart, got me here in time.
The high priest picks up the crown and presents it to the crowd.
My wolf’s eyes fixate on the crown as he sprints forward with all his might.
It’s my father’s crown.
It’s my crown.
But once it lands on Lucan’s head, he’ll be the king and the title will be lost to me and my future pups forever.
I picture it in my mind, all floating away… the dream of being Wolf King, of taking care of my people, and most sacredly, of seeing Calista as our queen. I want that more than anything.
More and more, the crowd is turning my way, watching as their prince returns, shocked that I’m not dead as Lucan most certainly told them. But the murmur of the crowd has not yet reached the dais. The ceremony is proceeding… and it’s almost over.
Tell them you’re back, I tell my wolf. As loudly as you can.
He skids to a stop, throws his head back, and lets out a deep, primal howl. It comes booming out from the deepest part of my wolf’s chest, carrying the full weight of alpha authority and dominance. It rolls across the courtyard like thunder, freezing every shifter in attendance.
Everything stops.
Everyone goes silent.
The high priest stares at me in shock.
Lucan turns his head and sneers when he sees me.
Go! Now!
The crowd parts as my wolf sprints toward the dais.
I hear the words of shock as I run.
“The prince—”
“He’s alive—”
“Back from the dead—”
“It’s really him—”
I shift at the edge of the dais, morphing into my human form at full sprint. The change rips through me fast and violent. I land on the stairs and race up them with my chest heaving, eyes locked on Lucan.
He leaps to his feet and takes a step back. His face is a kaleidoscope of expressions, cycling rapidly through shock, fury, disbelief, and something that might be fear before it settles into the cold, composed mask I know so well.
“Cousin,” he says coolly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you at my coronation.”
“Step off the dais, Lucan.”
“No one orders me around in my kingdom.”
“You know whose rightful kingdom it is. You know what my father wanted.”
“Your father is dead. He no longer gets a say in the matter.”
He turns to the high priest. “Crown me.”
“Don’t,” I say, stepping forward.
The high priest hesitates, looking from Lucan to me and back again.
I turn to my pack. “I am the rightful heir to the great Wolf King Axton,” I bellow out to the sea of shifters. “I was betrayed by my own blood. Left for dead in the river by this usurper. Even now, he tries to steal the crown from me, from us.”
The pack erupts into angry murmuring. Some call my name. Some shout in anger at Lucan. Some continue to stare at me as if I’m a ghost.
I see the fire in their eyes. Their wolves know and they know it in their hearts—I’m the true alpha.
Lucan must also feel the shift in the air because he nods to his goons.
Eight of his personal guards rush me from every angle. Five in their human forms and three as wolves. The shifters are armed with swords, daggers, and knives. One has a large mace with nasty-looking spikes on the metal ball. The behemoth growls as he swings it at my head.
I duck under the whizzing ball and land a hard punch to his gut, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. Someone grabs me from behind, so I yank his arm and throw him over my shoulder into an approaching wolf.
Another comes with a dagger, swinging it at my throat. I grab his arm, strip the blade from his grip, and throw him to the ground. He tries to get up, so I kick him back down.
But there are just too many of them. A lunging wolf lands on my back, his claws sinking into my flesh. Fists land in my stomach, an elbow cracks me in the jaw. I hit a few of them, but more blows rain down on me, fists and feet and claws.
I fight for every inch but I’m outnumbered and still slow from my barely healed wounds that nearly killed me a week ago.
Something slams into the back of my head—the pommel of a sword probably—and I fall to my knees, dazed. Strong arms wrap around my neck, holding me from behind in a headlock. I thrash my arms back to grab him, but hands wrap around my wrists, holding my arms out with unbreakable grips.
Lucan approaches with a wicked smile, loving that I’m being forced to my knees.
“That’s right, cousin. Kneel before your king.”
He flashes a warning look to the high priest and then spreads his arms out as the high priest rushes over with the crown.
“No!” I roar, fury and anger and indignation giving me a burst of energy. I throw one man off and punch another, staggering him. But more jump on me, holding me down as I struggle to get free. A fresh arm wraps around my neck.
It can’t end like this.
My cousin cannot be king.
But all I can do is watch in horror as the high priest raises the crown above his head.
My stomach sinks as I watch my father’s crown—the crown of the Stormfur Realm, nine generations of my bloodline hammered into gold—descending toward my cousin’s unworthy skull and I cannot stop it. I have never felt so helpless in my life.
The crown is an inch from Lucan’s head.
No…
Something whistles over my head.
An emerald-tipped arrow whooshes past me and slams into the crown with a deafening clang. The crown explodes out of the high priest’s hands and clatters across the stone dais, rolling and spinning to a stop at the edge.
I turn and see my mate, my queen, my everything, standing among my people like a warrior goddess, bow raised, a cool expression on her face like she’s done this a thousand times.
Behind her are the new friends I’ve made—Valther, Edrik, Petr, Briallen, Isen, Zephan, and Drakor.
They’re all armed with their emerald weapons, looking ready to kick some ass.
“Go!” Calista roars as she hands the bow back to Briallen.
My spirits soar as they rush toward me.
“Humans?” someone in the crowd shouts. “Here?”
Everyone looks confused as they sprint past them.
Lucan’s guard turns to meet them and the grip on me loosens as wolf shifters peel away to deal with the new threat.
I grab the last remaining arm on my neck and throw him over my shoulder.
He lands on his back just as Calista’s crew collides with Lucan’s guards.
The humans fight with a ferocity that makes the watching pack gasp. With his emerald daggers, Valther takes two guards down simultaneously with an efficiency that would impress my father’s best warriors.
Edrik is fast and clever, darting under punches and using the guards’ size against them. He weaves under a right hook and then grabs the guard’s shirt using his momentum to trip him.
Briallen quickly puts three arrows in the ribs of a wolf that’s about to leap on Calista. He slumps to the ground.
Petr and Drakor are fighting together, back to back, cracking anyone who gets close.
And Calista is in the middle of it all, moving through the violent chaos like she was built for it. Her movements are fluid and fierce, and utterly fearless. She swings that emerald sword, cutting down wolves and shifters and clearing a path toward me with every step.
Her crew follows.
I know they’re not fighting for me or for the future of the Stormfur kingdom. They’re fighting for her. They’re fighting for their Captain. For Calista.
She will make a formidable queen.
It’s hard to take my eyes off her, but I do. Lucan is still on the dais and dangerous as ever.
He’s watching his guards fall one by one, watching the pack murmuring and turning their anger his way, and watching the crown lying on the stone where the arrow sent it flying.
He sees all his plans unraveling and then turns to me with a feral viciousness. He lets out a low growl and then phases into his wolf. The purple royal cloak falls off his shoulders as his dark grey wolf bursts out, snarling at me.
He doesn’t hesitate. That wolf comes charging.
I don’t have time to phase.
“Kieran!”
It’s Calista’s voice. When I turn, the emerald sword is already in the air, reflecting the torchlight. I reach up and catch it by the hilt.
Lucan’s wolf is already in the air, lunging toward me, trying to finish what it started on the night of my father’s funeral.
With one fluid motion, I turn and raise the sword.
Lucan lands on it.
The sound his wolf makes will surely haunt me for the rest of my life.
His momentum carries him forward and the blade slides in to the hilt. The impact brings us both down. I climb to my knees and wince when I see the tip of the emerald blade sticking out of his panting wolf’s back. Blood pools out under him, turning the old stone dais red.
“Forgive me, cousin,” I whisper as I take the sword by the hilt and yank it out.
His wolf whimpers. More blood pours out.
He phases back into his human form, screaming out in pain as he shifts.
The fighting around us stops as his guards and Calista’s crew watch. Everyone is watching.
But I don’t pay any attention to that.
My cousin is dying. Evil or not, he was still my cousin, still my blood, and at one time, my friend.
Lucan stares up at the stars, the torchlight catching his face.
For a moment, I see a flash of the carefree boy he used to be.
I wish we could go back to those lazy summer afternoons fishing on the coast. We would always compete to see who could catch the bigger fish, but it was all in good fun. I wonder where we went wrong.
I kneel down beside him and take his cold hand.
“Cousin,” he whispers, smiling sadly at me. “You always did best me in everything.”
“Not in everything,” I say quietly. “You always caught the bigger fish.”
He winces as he laughs. His grip tightens on my hand.
“I should have just accepted it,” he says, his eyes closing. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t see past it.”
“I know.”
“Your father was a good king,” he says, his voice weakening. “Better than mine was. Better than I would have been.”
His eyes find mine and for the first time in years, there’s no bitterness left in them. “He was right to choose you.”
My throat tightens. “Lucan...”
“Deep down, I knew it should have been you,” he says, a tear leaking down his temple. “But that just made me hate you all the more. I’m sorry, cousin.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I forgive you.”
His lips curve into a weak smile. “You were always better at that too.”
I squeeze his hand harder.
He’s barely breathing now. Calista’s sword must have cut through his heart. I can see his eyes fading.
“Go to Ulissa,” I say softly. “Your father is there. Mine is too. And grandfather of course. They’re all waiting to greet you.”
His smile is the most peaceful thing I’ve seen on his face in twenty years.
“I’ll tell them the rightful Wolf King has taken his crown,” he barely whispers. “Long live Wolf King Kieran Stormfur.”
His hand goes slack in mine. His eyes go still.
And my cousin is off to Ulissa.
I stay beside him for a breath. Two. Three.
Then I stand up.
The courtyard is silent again. Every eye is on me—the entire Stormfur pack, the couples who came to be bound tonight, my mate and her crew, the nobles and warriors and the villagers and the pups—all of them are holding their breath, watching and waiting.
The high priest picks up the crown and the crowd roars in jubilation.
I can feel the thundering sound vibrating through my body. It gets louder as he walks over and places the crown on my head.
“All hail, Wolf King Kieran Stormfur,” he bellows.
The roar that goes up from the pack is the loudest thing I have ever heard. It rises and rises, wolves throwing their heads back and adding their howls to the chorus. The cascading sound rolls across the valleys and forests and rivers and mountains, stretching out into every inch of my kingdom.
The only one not cheering is Calista. She’s looking at me with a proud grin like she knew this would happen all along.
It takes the high priest a long time to settle the crowd. When he finally gets them under control, they all kneel before me.
Except for Calista. I don’t think this woman would kneel for anyone.
I feel the weight of the crown—the burden of responsibility—but I’m ready for it. With Calista by my side, I can handle anything.
The high priest takes a deep breath as he raises his arms to the pack.
Thousands of voices address me as one. “The pack endures beneath you, my King.”
I suck in a breath and answer them in my deep booming alpha voice.
“As one, we endure.”