Chapter 18 Wen
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Wen
The place was magical. At least, what I’d been able to see of it.
Which wasn’t much, considering I’d been basically confined to Sorcha’s quarters for the past two days while Mal and Aurion snuck around gathering supporters and planning strategy.
But what I had seen? Stone walls that rose impossibly high. Windows that looked out over mountains I didn’t recognize. Actual torches providing light instead of electricity. It was like stepping into a fantasy novel.
Except I hadn’t gotten to step. I’d been kidnapped.
Still angry about that. Very angry.
Sorcha - Mal’s mother - was wonderful, though.
She’d insisted I sleep in the massive bed with her while the men took the floor.
The first night, I’d walked toward the bed and shot Mal a glare that could have melted steel.
He’d looked down, grabbed a blanket, and tucked himself onto the floor right next to my side of the bed.
Like a guard dog.
My heart had squeezed at that despite my anger. He was trying. In his own stupid, overbearing, kidnapping way, he was trying.
Now it was the morning of the challenge, and I was staring at the wall of Sorcha’s sitting room, worrying myself into a panic.
In an hour, Mal would be fighting Andreas for the throne. Actually fighting. With weapons and claws and the very real possibility of death.
I was terrified.
I was alone in a foreign kingdom that I’d been dragged to against my will. My phone didn’t work here - no signal, no Wi-Fi, completely useless. My friends had no idea where I was. My bookstore was being managed by people who thought I’d taken a spontaneous vacation.
And my mate was about to risk his life in combat while I stood on the sidelines and watched.
I hated this. Hated all of it.
“You are worrying,” Sorcha said quietly from her seat across from me.
“Of course I’m worrying. Your son is about to fight someone who wants him dead.”
“Andreas wants the throne. Killing Malachar would simply be a means to that end.” She poured tea into two cups with steady hands. “But my son is a skilled warrior. He will prevail.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can. I know my son. I know his strength. His determination.” She handed me a cup. “And I know what he is fighting for now. That makes all the difference.”
I took the tea but didn’t drink it. My stomach was too knotted. “What if something goes wrong? What if-”
“Then we will handle it. Together.” She smiled at me. Warm and genuine. “You are not alone, Gwendolyn. You have family here now, whether you chose to come here or not.”
Family. The word made my throat tight.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “That we’re meeting like this. That your first impression of me is... this mess.”
“This mess, as you call it, is not your doing.” Her expression turned shrewd. “My son made a choice. A poor one, perhaps, but one born of love and fear. He could not bear the thought of losing you.”
“So he kidnapped me through a portal.”
“Yes. It was foolish. Reckless. Entirely like him when his emotions are involved.” She sipped her tea. “He has always been this way. Even as a boy. When he loved something, he held on with everything he had.”
Despite everything, I was curious. “What was he like? As a kid?”
Her smile softened. Grew distant with memory.
“Intense. Serious beyond his years. He took his responsibilities very seriously, even when he was barely tall enough to hold a practice sword.” She laughed quietly.
“His brother was the wild one. Aurion would run off to explore, get into trouble, come home covered in mud. But Malachar? He would follow his father everywhere. Study everything. Train until his hands bled.”
I could picture it. Young Mal, determined and focused and already carrying the weight of the world.
“He loved fiercely, though,” Sorcha continued.
“When his father died, he mourned for months. Would not speak of it. Would not show his grief. But I would hear him at night, alone in his room.” Her eyes were shiny.
“He feels everything deeply. He simply learned to hide it. To be the king everyone needed him to be.”
“Cold and controlled,” I said, remembering what she’d mentioned yesterday.
“Yes. Here, in Ravenor, he is the Wolf King - feared and respected, but rarely soft or open with anyone.” She looked at me directly. “But with you? He is different. I have never seen him like this. Laughing. Smiling. Willing to give up everything for one person.”
My chest tightened. “I like that side of him.”
“So do I.” She reached across and took my hand. Squeezed. “He loves you, Gwendolyn. More than the throne. More than his duty. More than his own life. That is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.”
The lump in my throat threatened to choke me. I squeezed back, unable to speak.
“He will fight well today,” Sorcha said firmly. “Because he knows you are watching. Because he knows he must return to you. That will make him stronger than Andreas could ever be.”
I took a shaky breath. Let it out slowly. The terror was still there, coiled in my stomach, but it felt more manageable now. Less overwhelming.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You are family now. This is what family does.” She stood. “Come. It is time. The challenge begins soon.”
My heart lurched into my throat. “Already?”
“Yes. We must take our positions before the nobles arrive.”
We stood and moved to a section of wall that looked completely normal. Sorcha pressed her hand against a specific stone, and a door swung open silently. The secret passages.
We moved through the narrow corridors in darkness. Sorcha knew the way by heart, her steps confident despite the lack of light. I followed close behind, one hand on the wall to guide me.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, we reached another hidden door. Sorcha pressed her ear against it. Listened. Then pushed it open slowly.
We emerged into a side corridor near the throne room. Aurion was waiting there, standing guard. He nodded when he saw us.
“Is he ready?” Sorcha asked quietly.
“As ready as he can be.” Aurion’s expression was grim. “Andreas has been spreading poison all morning. The nobles are restless.”
“Where’s Mal?” I asked, looking around. The corridor was empty except for us.
Aurion met my eyes. “He will be here. He wanted to make an entrance. Show strength.”
Great. Dramatic werewolf kings and their theatrics.
“Come,” Sorcha said. “We should take our places.”
We walked into the throne room, and I had to fight not to gape.
It was massive. Stone walls rose three stories high, with balconies wrapping around the second and third levels.
The throne itself sat on a raised dais at the far end - carved from a single piece of dark stone, with wolves etched into the arms and back.
Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering in the still air.
And the room was packed with people.
Nobles, I assumed. Men and women in fine clothing, standing in clusters and speaking in low voices. They all turned when we entered.
Some bowed to Sorcha. Some nodded respectfully.
Others scowled openly. A few sneered.
The disrespect was blatant. Shocking. I made note of every face that showed contempt, filing them away in my memory.
Several of them sniffed in my direction. Their noses wrinkled. I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware that I was human in a room full of wolves.
“You are safe,” Sorcha murmured, sensing my fear. “They will not harm you. Not with Aurion and me here.”
“What if they decide having a human here is a bad idea?”
“Then they will have to go through me first.” Her voice was steel. “And I am not easy to kill.”
We settled against the wall near the throne. A vantage point where we could see everything but remain somewhat out of the way.
A man stepped into the center of the room. Tall. Broad. With blonde hair pulled back and eyes that gleamed with ambition.
Andreas.
“Noble lords and ladies of Ravenor,” he called out. His voice carried easily through the room. “We are gathered here today to witness what should have been witnessed days ago. The challenge for the throne.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Malachar Ashborne abandoned his challenge. Fled rather than face me in combat. He has shown himself unworthy of the crown he stole from our rightful king.”
“He did not steal it,” Sorcha said loudly. “He won it in fair combat.”
“From his godfather. From a man who raised him. Trusted him.” Andreas turned to face us. “What kind of king betrays those who love him? What kind of ruler puts personal ambition above loyalty?”
Anger burned in my chest. He was twisting everything. Making Mal sound like a monster.
“Gallahan Emwood was corrupt,” Aurion said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “He ordered the deaths of innocents. He hoarded wealth while his people starved. Malachar did what had to be done.”
“So you say. But Malachar is not here to defend himself, is he?” Andreas’s smile was smug and satisfied as he turned to address the council. “He has fled. Abandoned his throne. Abandoned his people. Therefore, by default, the throne should be-”
The massive doors at the far end of the room slammed open and Mal walked in. Gasps echoed through the room as people stepped back and stared.
He was wearing armor. Not the casual clothes he’d worn in the human realm, but actual battle armor. Dark leather and metal that gleamed in the torchlight. His hair was pulled back. His eyes were cold. Red and glowing with power.
He looked every inch the Wolf King.
“Did you truly think,” Mal said, his voice carrying through the sudden silence, “that you could steal my throne while I was gone?”
Andreas’s smug expression faltered. “You - how-”
“Did you think I fled?” Mal walked forward slowly. Predatory. “Did you think I was afraid of you?”
“You disappeared! You abandoned-”
“I was pulled through a portal during our challenge. Against my will. Yanked into another realm by forces beyond my control.” He stopped in the center of the room. “I have been in the human lands. Trapped there. Until my brother found a way to bring me home.”
The crowd erupted in murmurs that grew louder and more confused by the second.
“A portal?” One of the nobles called out. “You expect us to believe-”
“I expect you to believe the truth,” Mal cut him off. “A portal opened during my fight with Andreas. It swallowed me whole. Deposited me in another realm. I have spent the past weeks finding my way back. But now I am here. And I am ready to finish what we started.”
Andreas’s expression had gone from smug to furious. “Convenient story. But how can you prove-”
“I do not need to prove anything to you.” Mal’s voice dropped lower. Dangerous. “I am the rightful king of Ravenor. I won this throne through combat. Through right of challenge. If you wish to take it from me, you will have to earn it. Here. Now. In front of all these witnesses.”
A man stepped forward from the crowd. Older, with gray hair and formal robes. The council leader, I assumed.
“Very well,” he said. “The challenge will proceed. Andreas Silver has called for formal combat. Malachar Ashborne has returned to answer. The rules are simple - fight until one yields or dies. No interference. No weapons save those provided. The victor claims the throne.”
“I accept these terms,” Mal said.
“As do I,” Andreas growled.
“Then let the challenge begin.”
The crowd moved back, forming a wide circle in the center of the room. Mal and Andreas faced each other across the open space.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
“Weapons,” the council leader called.
Two men stepped forward with swords. Long, gleaming blades that caught the torchlight. They offered one to each combatant.
Mal took his sword with practiced ease. Tested the weight. The balance. Andreas did the same, his eyes never leaving Mal.
“Begin.”
They circled each other slowly, calculating and looking for openings.
Andreas struck first. A vicious slash aimed at Mal’s chest. Mal blocked it easily, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the room.
They exchanged blows. Fast. Brutal. Each strike powerful enough to kill if it landed wrong.
But Mal was faster. Stronger. He moved with a grace that seemed impossible for someone his size, dodging and weaving and countering every attack Andreas threw at him.
Blood was drawn. Andreas caught Mal’s shoulder with a glancing blow. A shallow cut, but enough to make me gasp.
Mal didn’t even flinch. Just pressed his attack harder.
They fought across the length of the room.
Mal drove Andreas back, step by step, his blade flashing in the firelight.
Andreas was good and clearly trained, but Mal fought with the intensity of someone who had everything to lose.
He was a force of nature, relentless and unstoppable, while Andreas began to tire visibly.
His movements grew sloppier and slower while Mal looked like he could fight for hours more.
Then Mal’s blade found its mark with a deep slash across Andreas’s thigh. Andreas stumbled and nearly fell as blood poured from the wound.
Mal kicked his sword away before he could recover. Pressed the tip of his own blade to Andreas’s throat.
The room went silent.
“Yield,” Mal said quietly.
Andreas’s face was twisted with rage and pain. But he looked at the sword at his throat. At the cold determination in Mal’s eyes.
“I yield,” he spat.
Mal stepped back and lowered his sword. He could have killed Andreas right there, could have ended him permanently, but he showed mercy instead.
“The challenge is complete,” the council leader announced. “Malachar Ashborne is declared the victor. Long live the king.”
“Long live the king,” some of the nobles echoed. Others remained silent.
Mal turned to face the council. His expression was cold. Regal. Every inch the king now.
“Now,” he said. “Perhaps someone would like to fill me in on what exactly has been happening with my kingdom in my absence?”
The council members exchanged uncomfortable and nervous glances, clearly not eager to answer.
Before anyone could speak, the doors burst open again and a woman rushed in. Young and beautiful with long red hair and an elaborate dress.
“Malachar!” She ran across the room and threw her arms around him. “You’re here! Thank the gods, you’re here! I thought I’d have to call off the wedding!”
The room went dead silent.
My blood turned to ice.
Wedding?
What fucking wedding?!