Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Finally, they arrived at an ornate door carved with wolves and crowned figures. The priests had somehow outpaced them and stood waiting, incense burning in golden censers.
"The sacred chamber has been made ready," the head priest announced. "I will send servants in to prepare you. The bonding must be completed by sunrise."
Nero's hackles rose. "What exactly does that mean?" he demanded, finding his voice at last.
The priest's smile fell and was replaced with a calculated look. "The ancient texts speak of a joining of souls. You will emerge as one spirit in two bodies, bound for eternity."
"And if I refuse?" Nero challenged, though he already suspected the answer.
The priest's expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened.
"The gods have chosen. To refuse their will would bring calamity upon our already suffering land.
" Nero stood before the massive doors, the wolf at his side.
For one wild moment, he considered running—but to what end?
The entire city had witnessed the transformation. There would be nowhere to hide.
Unless he could get to the ship.
The wolf nudged his leg and Nero moved. The priests stepped back, bowing deeply as the ornate doors swung open to reveal a chamber awash in golden light.
Nero hesitated at the threshold, but the wolf padded forward, leaving him little choice but to follow.
The moment they crossed into the room, the heavy doors closed behind them with an ominous thud.
Nero's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.
The chamber was circular, its walls adorned with ancient tapestries depicting silver wolves and crowned figures.
In the center stood a raised dais covered in furs and silks, surrounded by glowing braziers that filled the air with sweet-smelling smoke.
To the left lay a huge daybed adorned with silken covers, pillows, and rich furs.
"This is madness," Nero muttered, running a hand through his hair.
The wolf watched him with those unsettling blue eyes, head tilted slightly as if considering him.
Then, without warning, the magnificent creature began to change.
The transformation was swift—silver fur receding into smooth dark skin, powerful limbs elongating into human form.
Within moments, the young man knelt on the stone floor, almost tangled in the silk of the dais, his breathing labored, but remarkably, he was still dressed.
Nero blinked. He’d never seen one of those bastard animals do that. Remain clothed.
But as he stepped forward, the man’s hand shot out and he lunged upward with startling speed. Moonlight glinted off metal—a small blade concealed somewhere under the dais—and before Nero could react, he pressed the edge against his own throat.
"Don't move," Casteel hissed, his voice hoarse as if rarely used, backing up against the wall. His eyes, still that impossible blue, now blazing with desperation.
Nero froze. "What—"
"I won't be their puppet," Casteel snarled, pressing the blade harder. A warm trickle of blood slid down the boy's neck. "And I won't let you force me into this..."
Despite the real risk Casteel was about to take his own life, Nero felt a surge of confusion. "Force you? I came here to kill you." He didn't know how Casteel knew, but he did.
"Then why didn't you?" Casteel demanded, his hand trembling slightly. "You had your chance. I saw you—I knew what you intended."
"I tried," Nero admitted, watching the young man carefully. "But then... whatever this is happened."
Casteel's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. You're part of their plan. They planted you in that crowd—"
Nero's patience snapped. Years of combat experience took over, and in one fluid movement, he knocked Casteel's wrist aside, and twisted the blade from his grasp. Now Casteel was pinned against the wall, Nero's forearm across his chest and the dagger held carefully away.
"Listen to me, you royal fool," Nero growled. "I don't want this any more than you do. I was supposed to be on a ship sailing for Cadmeera before the eighth bell, leaving this godforsaken country behind forever. But now I'm trapped in this... this absurdity with you."
Casteel's chest heaved beneath Nero's forearm, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and defiance. For several heartbeats, they remained locked in that position, each taking the measure of the other.
"Why not just let me die?" Casteel said finally, his voice steadier. "You'd be free."
Nero loosened his grip slightly but didn't release him. "Because I don't understand what's happening. That... thing out there. The burning on my neck. The wolf. None of it makes sense."
A bitter laugh escaped Casteel's lips. "Welcome to my nightmare. One day I'm mucking out the pigs, and dreaming of my own horse, the next I'm transforming into some prophesied savior."
Nero stepped back, keeping the dagger in hand but lowering it. "You were really just a stable boy?"
"Back when they had horses not just in the army." Casteel rubbed his throat where Nero's arm had pressed, and Nero frowned at the bruises. Had he held him that hard? "Now they just have pigs and chickens."
"The palace servants claim you bear royal blood."
Casteel moved away from Nero, his movements cautious, eyes never leaving him. "The Emperor had many... diversions. My mother was one of them."
The implications hung heavy in the air. Nero had heard the rumors about Johannes' appetites, his casual cruelty toward the palace servants.
"And now they want to make you king, savior, whatever."
"They want a figurehead," Casteel corrected. "A symbol to rally around. The drought, the famine—people are desperate for salvation. When you changed me, I knew I was out of time. I've been hoping for escape. I can't—"
Nero watched him, noting the elegant line of his throat, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. How desperate was he to try this?
"And what do you want?" Nero asked, carefully, gently, because Nero wasn't a bully.
Surprise flickered across the boy's features as if no one had bothered to ask him that question before. "Freedom," he said simply. "The same as you."
The word resonated between them, charged with shared understanding. Nero absently touched the back of his neck where the burning sensation had receded to a dull warmth.
"What is this mark?" he asked. "I've never had a birthmark."
Casteel's expression darkened. "The priests claim it's the divine counterpart to my wolf's crown marking. In my true mate it will appear the moment we touch because the gods ordained our union."
"And what do you believe?" Nero asked.
"I believe men with power will manipulate any circumstance to maintain control," Casteel said bitterly. "They needed this ceremony to succeed because they tried to make me shift a second time and I couldn't. Who knows what they've done to make it appear as if we're... connected."
Nero ran his fingers over the heated skin at his nape again. The mark he felt beneath his fingertips was undeniable—a raised pattern that hadn't been there this morning.
"They couldn't have known I would be there," he argued, though he wasn't sure why he was defending this madness. "I wasn't even supposed to attend the ceremony."
Casteel's eyes narrowed. "You were there to kill me. Why?"
Nero hesitated. How much should he reveal? This boy—this man—was supposedly his destined mate, yet minutes ago Casteel had been prepared to slit his own throat. Still, something about those piercing blue eyes demanded honesty.
"I fought in the rebellion," he said finally. "Lost everything to the royal family. When I heard they were crowning another king—"
"I'm not one of them," Casteel interrupted fiercely. "I never asked for this."
"And yet you bear their blood," Nero countered. "And now their power."
Casteel turned away, his shoulders tense beneath the bloodstained tunic. "A cruel joke of fate. My mother was a kitchen maid. The Emperor took what he wanted, including rape, as he always did."
The bitterness in his voice rang true. Nero had heard similar stories from other palace servants during the rebellion—women used and discarded, their children hidden away or worse.
"How did they find you?" he asked.
"It was insane," Casteel said, pacing now.
"I’d have been drafted into the army at fourteen if I had ever shifted into a wolf.
When I was small, I dreamed of having one but I never thought it would actually happen.
Then I thought I was getting sick, but the pigs still needed to be fed, and there was a snake in the straw that shocked me.
The shift happened in front of others." His mouth twisted.
"The priests called it divine intervention. I call it bad luck."
Nero set the dagger down on a nearby table, a gesture of tentative trust. "And this... mark they claim I have?"
Casteel approached cautiously. "May I?"
"It burned the priest."
"I know," Casteel said evenly.
After a moment's hesitation, Nero turned, allowing the younger man access to the back of his neck. Cool fingers brushed against his heated skin, and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.
"It's there," Casteel confirmed, his voice strangely soft. "Like a crown of silver flames."
Nero pulled away, uncomfortable with both the touch and its effect on him. It clearly didn't burn the boy. "Impossible. I've never had a mark."
"Neither did I, until I first shifted," Casteel said. "The crown appeared on my wolf form that night."
They stood in silence, the implications hanging heavy between them. Outside, they could hear the distant sound of celebration—the city rejoicing over a miracle neither of them wanted.
"The bonding ritual," Nero said finally. "What exactly does it entail?"
Casteel's face flushed slightly but he gestured behind him. “Why do you think there’s a bed in here?”
Nero's eyes darted to the ornate bed, then back to Casteel's flushed face. "You can't be serious."