Crowned By The King-Sized Alpha (Ravenous Royals #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

King Alaric

There is no lonelier place than a throne during a mating ceremony. The crown has never felt heavier than it does tonight.

I sigh as I grip the armrests of my throne, watching all of the excited people gathered around for the Lunaris Vinculum, the sacred night of the binding.

I glance up at the full moon, silently cursing it under my breath. It feels merciless tonight as it casts the town square in rays of silver.

Every wolf in the kingdom can feel it. A full moon is an energizing event for a wolf shifter. It electrifies their bones and tingles their skin. It feeds their inner wolves and makes them feel unstoppable.

Normally.

I look inward, searching for my wolf. Still nothing.

This is becoming a problem.

All eyes snap to me as I rise from my throne in the courtyard and clear my throat.

A thousand people drop to their knees and bow their heads.

Complete silence.

“True mates,” I bellow. “Present yourselves.”

Excitement and merriment explode through the courtyard as everyone jumps to their feet, laughing, cheering, and parting the crowd to make way for the couples racing through. The wolves circling the outer edges of the crowd throw back their heads and howl.

I stand at the edge of the raised dais, my hands clasped behind my back, my golden crown digging into my temples as I watch with a lump in my throat.

The couples look so happy as they approach, holding hands, unable to look away from each other’s eyes. The air is thick with anticipation. With heat. With need.

They line up in front of the dais, looking up at me with bright eyes and restless energy.

About three dozen couples tonight. Some young—these are the lucky ones, who will spend their whole adult lives with their fated mate—and some older—these ones having waited years, even decades, for this night.

But they all look ecstatic. The wait is almost over.

In the wolf kingdoms, there is no claiming and no sex until the mark is placed.

It is the oldest law we have.

It’s sacred.

These eager lovers have waited a moon cycle for this. Some have just experienced thirty long nights of aching carnal hunger, which will finally be quenched tonight.

The excitement in their eyes is palpable. They’re buzzing with anticipation.

Sex hangs in the air like smoke. Like something sweet and dangerous and just out of reach. Wolves don’t hide desire well. I can smell it on them. Taste it.

After this ceremony, these fortunate couples will disappear for days.

Weeks, sometimes.

They’ll be locked together in an endless mating marathon.

Friends and family members will leave food and drink outside their door. It’s rare, but some rutting mates have died in the past, never emerging from their den, having starved or died of exhaustion or thirst. That’s how consuming the first mating process is for us wolves.

And that’s what these lucky couples will be experiencing tonight.

I breathe in slowly.

I envy them more than I should.

How many times have I stood here?

How many Lunaris nights have I presided over as king, watching others claim what I may never have?

Too many.

I can command anything into existence. Except that.

“Approach your king,” I bellow.

The first pair steps forward and walks onto the dais.

They kneel before me, heads bowed. They’re a young couple. Barely the age I was when father died, and I took the crown.

I thought my queen would arrive imminently.

Two decades later, and she’s still not here.

The thought makes my heart ache.

Focus. Do your job.

These shifters have waited their whole lives for this moment. I can’t make it about me and my despair.

“Rise,” I say in a deep, commanding voice.

The male’s hands tremble at his sides as he rises to his full height. He barely reaches my chin. I know how large and imposing I am. It helps as a king. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Face your would-be mate.”

They turn and face each other. The fear evaporates. Love and lust take their place as the two stare at each other with sparkling eyes and silly grins. They hold hands. She tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck as she licks her lips. He lets out a low growl of primal anticipation.

The trust in her eyes is moving. She knows he will never leave her. There’s no doubt that he will be true.

It’s a certainty with mates. It’s a core trait of our species.

It’s our way of life.

I lift my hand, and the courtyard stills.

“Before the moon, the pack, and the crown,” I say, “you stand to bind yourselves.”

I look at the male first.

“Do you claim this woman as your mate,” I ask, “to guard her with your life, to honor her above all others, and to stand by her side for as long as your wolf draws breath?”

“I do,” he says without hesitation.

I turn my gaze to the female.

“Do you accept this man as your mate,” I ask, “to walk beside him in strength and in struggle, to share your lives, your bond, and your fate, and to choose each other for all your days?”

Her smile trembles. Her eyes shine.

“I do.”

A murmur ripples through the gathered pack.

“Then bare your throats,” I command softly. “And be bound.”

They slip into each other’s arms. She smiles at him, and it’s so tender it tugs at my heart.

A breath passes between them. One heartbeat. Two.

Then she tilts her head to the side and he sinks his teeth into her flesh.

She gasps softly. The sound is almost sexual. These two will be one of the couples who will be at it for weeks. I can tell.

The male growls low in his chest.

He finally releases her and she lunges at his neck, sinking her teeth into his skin, marking him back.

The mark of the fated mates blooms on their flesh, mirrored and perfect. The bond snaps into place like a blade locking into its sheath.

The crowd roars. Wolves howl.

And I nod.

They are sealed. Now and forever.

They don’t even look at me as they leave. They can’t. Their world has already narrowed to two bodies and one need.

Good.

That’s how it should be.

I bless them in the old way, pressing my palm to my heart, speaking the ancient words my father taught me, and his father before him. I say them without faltering.

“By moon and blood, you are bound.

By bite and bond, you are pack.

As one, you stand. As one, you endure.”

The next couple approaches.

And two more wolves are bound.

Inside, something twists. It aches. A heaviness that gets harder to bear with each bound I witness.

I’m only forty-one years of age, but I feel old.

Tired.

Worn down.

I have none of that excitement I see in these couples’ eyes. None of that enthusiasm and lust for life. None of that promise for a better tomorrow.

I just feel… weight. The weight of the kingdom bearing down on my shoulders every waking second.

Heavy is the crown.

This throne takes more than it gives, but this is what it costs to lead the pack. The alpha is meant to bear the weight alone. The burden is supposed to settle on the strongest shoulders.

But lately, I’ve been wondering… how strong are my shoulders?

It’s crisis after crisis. One after another, weighing me down, trying to bury me…

No queen. No heirs. No wolf.

The rumors are beginning to spread. My shameful secret is getting out.

My pack hasn’t seen my wolf in almost a year.

No one has dared ask me to my face what happened, but they all know.

They can smell it on me. The absence. The vacancy. The lack.

It won’t be long before my kingdom falls into open rebellion.

I hear the rumors. The whispering. I have ears all over my kingdom.

I know where this will lead.

They say I’m going soft. That the kingdom is cracking. That I’m not up for the challenge. That the crown is too much for me.

I peer inside, trying to rouse my wolf.

And… nothing.

Even with a full moon hovering in the sky. With newly bound mates and would-be mates in waiting all around me.

Nothing.

Not even a whimper.

I sigh as my shoulders drop, the heaviness unbearable.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I shouldn’t be ruling.

A Wolf King without a wolf is no king at all.

But abdicating the throne would be horrific for these people who have trusted me with their safety and their lives.

There would be open war all over the Moonborne Kingdom. Every noble alpha would make a run for the throne. Pack against pack. All that violence and death. The needless destruction. The pain would echo through centuries.

And it wouldn’t just be the wolves. The humans would cross the borders with their pointy metal sticks, trying to eliminate us all.

The other great wolf kingdoms—the Stormfur Realms to the east and the vicious Blood Alphas to the south—would smell the blood in the air and would attempt to peel off territory to expand their kingdoms.

No. I will not allow it. I must go on.

An alpha does not have the luxury of rest.

The pack survives because I carry this burden for them.

They look to me, and I cannot falter.

If I weaken, they all bleed.

“I am alpha,” I whisper to myself. “I endure.”

The last couple approaches and kneels in front of me.

“Rise,” I command.

My heart aches as they stand.

The female is looking up at her mate with open devotion, her fingers curling into his tunic like she’s afraid he’ll vanish into the darkness. He smiles down at her, already imagining the next few days tangled together in heat and sweat and hunger.

Gods, I would give my kingdom to feel that kind of desire. To have someone looking at me like that.

They bond to each other and I say the blessing.

And the town celebrates. The town musicians pick up their instruments as the bonfire is lit, roaring into the night. Drums pound. Pipes cry out. Wolves howl. Laughter fills the air.

Food is brought out. So much food. Barrels of ale are cracked open and thirsty men line up with their large empty tankards, pushing and jostling each other to get theirs filled first.

After some dancing and celebrating with loved ones, the newly bound run off into the shadows, holding hands, eyes only for each other. The pack won’t see them for days.