Chapter 1 #2
The villagers celebrate them loudly, jeering and laughing as they run off to get to the best part of the mating ceremony.
I watch it all from the cold, lonely dais.
I never join the dancing. Never drink too deeply. Never get cornered by a pretty young wolf with bold eyes and no fear. Kings do not get to be reckless.
My body aches as I turn and walk back to the throne. There are two of them side-by-side. One for the king and one for the queen.
I sit on the king’s throne and glance at the empty throne beside me, half-expecting to see it covered in spiderwebs.
Rurik shuffles across the dais, back hunched over, looking like a living, breathing relic.
His body may be failing him, but his mind is as sharp as ever.
“My Alpha,” he says as he stands beside my throne on shaky legs.
The old wolf is too proud. I fetch him a chair and motion for him to sit down.
“The Wolf King’s advisor stands by his side,” Rurik says with his chin in the air, ignoring the chair although his body is probably screaming for it.
“And the king’s advisor obeys the king, does he not?” I ask.
“Yes, my Alpha. Always.”
“Then sit,” I say. “Your king commands it.”
He smiles softly as he sits down with a groan. “Thank you, my Alpha.”
The royal guard is lining up the shifters who would like a word with the king, and there are a lot of them tonight. No dancing or fun for me.
“Tonight would be the perfect occasion to reveal your wolf, my Alpha,” Rurik says in a low voice.
My growl slips free before I can stop it. “Not tonight.”
Rurik continues evenly, “The resolve of the pack would immediately strengthen if they saw their king’s wolf amongst them. It would put an end to any… whispers.”
I stare forward, my breath coming out slow and heavy. “Not. Tonight.”
“Very well,” he says, trying to hide his disapproval, but doing a shit job of it. “Have you given any thought to my recommendation?”
“There are so many, Rurik,” I say through gritted teeth. “Which one are you referring to?”
“The recommendation of the female variety.”
I rub my forehead, massaging my temples, wishing I were anywhere but here.
“A wise king has multiple heirs,” he says in a low voice. “A dozen at least. The security of a kingdom depends on it.”
I want to throw him off the dais.
“I cannot have heirs without a queen,” I say, gripping my armrests so hard the old oak throne might crack. “I figured a king’s advisor would know that at least.”
Rurik has served three kings. My grandfather, my father, and me. He is not cruel, but he is not kind. He believes in the security and longevity of the pack above all else.
Happiness has never factored into his calculations.
“Pups can be bred without the mating bond,” he says, like it’s so damn easy. “The Gods can turn a blind eye when the security of the kingdom is at stake.”
“Enough,” I growl, loud enough to turn heads. “You know how I feel about unnatural breeding. I will not discuss this again. Approach!”
The first male in line turns white as he looks at me.
He wants a permit to open a new market in the south.
Being king is not all glory and action. It’s mostly this.
Administrative work. Ruling on border disputes, diffusing feuds that threaten to turn bloody, anything ranging from a complaint over a wolf trading metal tools with humans to a request to commission a new road. I hear it all. And it’s exhausting.
Rurik lives for this and helps by providing his valuable input. He can be frustrating as hell, but I’m thankful to have him for this part of the job at least.
“What is this?” I whisper as an older mated couple approaches with their daughter. She’s about twenty-three years old, all done up in a fine dress with flowers in her curly hair. I smell something fishy.
“Let’s hear what they have to say,” Rurik says innocently.
I can tell by his stiff posture that he’s set this up. I should hang him from the castle by his toes.
“My Alpha,” the male says, bowing low along with his wife and daughter. “Allow me to present my daughter to you. Smart, cunning, and beautiful as a flower in spring. This is Vespera.”
She offers me her hand.
“Lovely female,” Rurik says with a humming voice. “Don’t you agree, my Alpha?”
I glare at him.
But I’m a gentleman, so I take the young lady’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure, Vespera,” I say with a forced smile.
There’s no spark. No tingling. No nothing.
I think they all sense that because the excitement and hope withers and dies before my very eyes. It turns awkward. Vespera’s cheeks blush with embarrassment.
And they quickly shuffle off the stage.
I grit my teeth as I turn to Rurik, who’s suddenly very interested in a spot on his robe.
“Rurik.”
“The kingdom needs heirs,” he says, the words bursting out of him like he can no longer hold them in. “Vespera is perfectly suitable as a queen. She’s from a prosperous family and ready to breed.”
“I. Don’t. Want. Her.”
“Then let me find someone you do want,” he pleads. “The security of the kingdom depends on it. There are whispers all over the Moonborne Kingdom of a Wolf King with no heirs and no wolf. They believe you are easy pickings and it won’t be long before you are challenged for your crown. Violently.”
I grit my teeth. “Let them try.”
But deep down, I know that without my wolf, I would not last a fortnight before I was overrun. My pack has always been intensely loyal to me, but even the most loyal pack will not fight for an alpha with no wolf.
“No heirs means vulnerability,” Rurik goes on. “Vulnerability means danger. The lives of your subjects depend on it.”
I drop my head into my hands, wishing I were born as a poor shepherd boy in the highlands.
“Maybe your wolf has… specific tastes,” he goes on, relentless, merciless. “Of a different variety. You know, your great-great-great-grandfather, King Ryane, mated with a human female.”
I turn to him in shock. Mating with a human female? How desperate is he to suggest that?
“His mate was discovered during a centuries-old custom.”
I shake my head. “Do not say it.”
“The Vocatio Regia.”
I let out a long, frustrated breath.
The Royal Calling.
Just hearing it puts a bad taste in my mouth.
The Vocatio Regia hasn’t been used in centuries.
It’s an old barbaric custom, used back when the humans and wolves were in perpetual war. The wolves would round up human women from their villages to be paraded before the throne.
It’s unheard of these days.
It’s sick.
“And what would the humans do if the wolves crossed the sacred borders and stole their females?” I ask with a laugh. “There would be war before winter.”
“There will be war before autumn without an heir to the throne,” Rurik says. “The kingdom is on the verge of open rebellion. The noble alphas are already jostling to take advantage. They know an opportunity like this may only come along once in three generations, if that.”
I want to curse him and send him away, but I know there’s some truth to that.
Wolf shifters can be vicious and their ambition knows no bounds.
And there’s the prophecy to consider…
The one the oracle gave me as I entered the world. The one sacred truth of King Alaric’s rule.
Only the unbound will bind the kingdom whole.
Some have tried to use my prophecy against me. They claim the true ruler should be an alpha unbound to the crown.
I’m still uncertain what it means.
But I can’t help but feel that this is all related.
I focus on the thick metal of the crown digging into my scalp as I review my choices.
My choices are: Bad. Horrible. Or complete and utter shit.
That’s usually how it goes for a king.
“What will you do, my Alpha?” Rurik asks as the party delves into full swing. The music is blasting, the bonfire is roaring, and my shifters are dancing and having the time of their lives.
“I will not make any rash decisions,” I say, feeling like I’m screwed no matter what I do.
“Perhaps, a visit to the oracle will help?” he suggests.
My stomach sinks remembering how vulnerable it feels to step into that cold, dank cave and face the oracle’s ancient, scrutinizing eyes.
But every time I leave, I leave with clarity. I leave with a plan.
“Yes,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I will see the oracle. Tomorrow.”
“Very well,” Rurik says with an approving nod.
I feel the cold metal digging into my temples. Sharp. Aching.
Heavy is the crown.
And it’s crushing me alive.