Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Morwen
When the village bells start clanging, signalling one hour until the end of the weekend fair, my candle table is almost bare.
An empty table means I won’t be hauling crates of unsold candles back up the hill like some poor, miserable pack mule.
I grin as I sneak a peek under the table at all of the money I made.
I smooth my hands over my apron, trying not to look too pleased with myself.
It’s not dignified to gloat at a weekend fair.
But it is satisfying. I started this business from scratch.
Not to brag, but I make the best candles for miles. I don’t even have to haggle or negotiate anymore, which I hate. I just set my price and people pay it. If they try to play hardball and pretend to walk away, they might be greeted by an empty table when they return.
And then it’s hello to dark nights and stubbed toes.
People played those kinds of games with me early in my candle-making career, but not anymore. They know who makes the best candles in this part of the kingdom and they eagerly hand over their money for the highest quality products around.
“All sold out?” Isolde asks. She’s at the table next to me, selling homemade bread with her daughter Lyris. She didn’t fare as well. I don’t have the heart to tell her, but her bread is always way too dry.
“Almost,” I say, collecting what little I have left. I have to get to the beekeeper to buy some beeswax and to a few butchers who always save me their animal fat.
The beeswax is for the premium candles. Only the nobility, a few wealthy merchants, and the church buy those. The rest of the villagers buy the ones made from animal fat. They don’t burn as clean, but I still work my darnedest to give them a good product.
“I have a few extra,” I say, handing over three long candles—two made from animal fat and one from beeswax. “For being such good neighbors today.”
“Bless you, Morwen,” Isolde says, handing me a loaf of bread. If it’s too dry, I can feed it to my chickens at home.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling as I hold it to my chest.
“I have something else you may like,” Isolde says with a grin.
I glance at her burnt pastries and fight back a wince. I don’t think so…
“A husband.”
“A what?!” I choke out in shock.
“Mom!” Lyris says, rolling her eyes. “Will you stop?”
Isolde ignores her. “My nephew Fen. I think you two would really hit it off.”
“Mom, Fen is a total weirdo. Morwen won’t like him.”
I smile at Lyris, thankful she has my back. She must be sixteen years old by now. Far younger than my twenty-eight years, but we single maidens have to stick together. It seems like everyone else is always conspiring to get us married. If we want it or not.
“I’m happy as is,” I say, smiling at Isolde. “But if I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”
“Great,” Isolde says. “I’m sure Fen will still be single.”
“Of course he will,” Lyris says, rolling her eyes. “He has sex with goats.”
“Lyris,” Isolde scolds, smacking her arm. “That’s a family secret.”
Oookkkaaayy…
I gather the rest of my gear into a basket and head over to the beekeeper, buying the premium wax he put aside for me.
After that, I’m off to the first butcher—the one who always leaves early for the day. I guess I’m not paying attention, and neither is Matthias, one of the younger kids of the village, and he collides right into me, running full sprint and slamming into my hip like a runaway bull.
“Gods, Matthias!” I shout as I stumble back, spilling my remaining candles on the ground. “Watch where you’re going, boy.”
Damn. Two of my candles broke.
His eyes are wide and his cheeks are red as he watches me collecting my broken inventory.
“I’m sorry, Miss Morwen,” he says, rushing to help me. “I have to get to the sweet pies before they close.”
Most of the adults around here would thrash a boy for that kind of negligence and force him to hand over his money to pay for the broken candles, but I’m not like that.
Maybe I’m just soft when it comes to these kids.
That’s what happens when you babysit half the village. They all start to feel like your own.
“Well, you’d better get going,” I say, handing him the broken candles. “Before the last one is gone. And give these to your mother.”
He wraps his arms around my legs and gives me a big hug. “Thank you, Miss Morwen,” he says before running off.
A tiny bit of my heart goes along with him as I watch his little legs moving as fast as they can. I can’t help but laugh. He didn’t learn his lesson at all.
That little voice comes into my head, butting into my quiet, peaceful life once again.
When are you going to have your own little Matthias?
I just hum a tune and ignore it as I walk along, trying to convince myself that I have all I need.
I step into the butcher’s shop and Aldren frowns when he sees me lugging a pot of beeswax, a pot of animal fat, and my basket of candles. After a long day of work, he looks like a serial killer in his blood-splattered apron.
“You need a husband to lug all those pots around,” he says, rubbing his thick gray beard.
“I’d rather have a mule.”
He laughs. “You and most wives.”
He hands over the animal fat and I hand him the money.
“I have a great mule guy when you’re ready.”
I glance at all of the dead animals hanging in the shop and wince. “Will he be alive?”
He laughs again, a deep booming sound that makes me smile. “Alive will cost extra. And won’t be as tasty.”
“Thanks, Aldren,” I say as I head out with the supplies.
I meet my traveling group at the edge of town. One of the farmers always lets me place my pots and supplies in his wagon in exchange for babysitting services. His four-year-old daughter is so cute, I feel like I get the better of the deal.
Isolde and Lyris catch up with us as we’re about to leave. Isolde sits in the wagon and I walk with Lyris, chatting about the books we’re reading. There’s not much selection in the village we live in and we’ve read some of the better books at least ten times each.
I feel my heavy purse of coins, hidden in my coat, slapping against my thigh as I walk. I enjoy the feeling. It feels like success. I take pride in being self-sufficient. My parents died when I was still a youth and I had to struggle, scrape, and fight to survive. I’m proud to get where I am.
I don’t have much, but it’s all I need. A tiny house on a small plot of land. A business that keeps me warm and fed. A good book and an indoor fireplace. What more could I ask for?
A family… A child…
I roll my eyes, pushing that irritating inner voice away.
We head over the hills as a group—about forty of us—traveling back to the village. It’s safer to travel in numbers. Bandits mostly, although they’ve been appearing less and less. There are wild animals to watch out for too.
Although these days, the kingdom is safer than ever. The good weather and abundant harvest have kept everyone well-fed.
So, that’s why it’s such a shock when the men leading the way yell at us to hunker down.
Lyris turns white as she freezes in fear.
“Come with me,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the wagon.
Isolde stands up, trying to see what the problem is.
“What’s happening up there?” she hollers.
“Wolves!” a man shouts back.
The word slices through the air and everything stops.
For a heartbeat, no one moves. No one breathes.
I feel my stomach drop.
Wolves?
In this area? During the day?
“Shifters!”
Isolde gasps and then grabs her daughter, pulling her close.
Murmurs of worry spread around the women as they gather their children and hide in the wagons. The men grab anything they can use as weapons—knives, shovels, hammers, and hurry to the front. Only a few have swords, and they look old and rusted.
Wolf shifters… Here?
They haven’t been seen in the human kingdom in decades. Maybe centuries. Some people don’t even believe they exist.
Not since the old wars pushed the wild beasts into our land, fighting against us for every inch, has a wolf stepped a paw in the human kingdom.
I can huddle up with the women, but that’s not me. I’d rather die the way I’ve always lived. Fighting.
I pull out the dagger that’s sheathed at my leg, and head to the front with the men.
And I immediately wish I hadn’t.
Four of the largest males I’ve ever seen are approaching on foot, carrying royal flags that I don’t recognize.
Behind them are eight monstrous wolves prowling around with their heads held low and their deadly teeth bared.
They’re enormous. Larger than the beasts in the scariest of fairy tales told to frighten children before bed.
Each one is higher than the tallest of human men. A giant paw could crush a man’s ribcage. Their terrifying jaws could snap a man’s head clean off with one bite.
There’s nothing my blade can do against a beast like that. It would be like giving a human warrior a splinter. It would be nothing more than an annoyance. A minor inconvenience before the inevitable slaughter.
The wolves move with incredible speed, crossing the plains in a blur.
Our horses shriek in panic, snorting and stamping as they pull on their reins, desperate to escape the approaching danger.
“This is human land,” Othric, an elder farmer, shouts as they encircle us. Women scream. Kids cry. The men shake in their boots as they hold up weapons that will be useless against these powerful creatures. “The King’s land! What purpose do you have here?”
“Vocatio Regia,” the leader of the wolves says.
“What the hell is that?” Othric shouts.
“The Royal Calling,” the shifter answers. “King Alaric has declared Vocatio Regia, an ancient law amongst wolves and men. He has called for your women.”
His voice is deep. Emotionless.
Like this is nothing.
Like we are nothing.
“We will take your unwedded human females to be brought before the king, and if one is so fortunate, she will be chosen as the king’s one true mate.”
“Sounds like a load of one true bullshit,” Othric says, drawing his sword. “I’ve never heard of such a law. It sounds like wolf trickery to me.”
“Unwedded women come forth,” the shifter shouts, ignoring Othric.
“The hell they will,” Othric shouts, stepping forward with his sword raised.
The head wolf shifter snaps his fingers and an enormous wolf lunges on Othric. I scream as his sword is knocked to the ground and he tumbles down, landing on his back with a giant snarling wolf standing over him.
“Do not be foolish,” the shifter says, looking more annoyed than anything. “We are not here to restart the centuries-old war between our species. We simply would like to present your human females to the king, and if he deems them unworthy, they will be returned, unharmed.”
“And if he decides to keep them?” Othric says, the tough old farmer still not giving up, even though he’s disarmed and helpless.
“Then they will live in luxury as queen of the wolves,” the man says in a flat tone. “We do not have all day. Females, line up.”
The horses become frantic as the wolves approach. The wolf shifters in their human forms head to the wagons and start pulling the women out.
Isolde screams as she clings to Lyris, begging the wolf shifter to spare her.
“Please,” Isolde says, voice breaking. “She’s just a girl.”
But no one gets spared.
Lyris is lifted out of the wagon, her screams piercing the air.
“Mother!” she sobs, reaching for Isolde.
Isolde lunges, hysterical, clawing at the wolf shifter’s back as Lyris reaches desperately for her.
Another wolf shifter grabs Isolde’s arms and yanks her back, holding her tight as she thrashes and kicks and wails.
The wolf shifter shoves Lyris forward and she falls to the ground hard.
I grit my teeth as I watch the heartbreaking scene, indignation running hot.
“That’s enough,” I shout, stepping forward with my chin held high. “Has the king given you the authority to commit violence on his future mate?”
They all turn to me. All of them silent.
“How about on his future mate’s family?” I roar. “I doubt the Wolf King would be pleased to hear of his future mate being shoved to the ground by ruffians. Unhand her at once.”
The wolf shifter releases Isolde and steps back.
“And you,” I shout, pointing at the giant wolf pinning Othric to the ground. “Release him.”
To my utter surprise, the wolf backs away.
“King Alaric will get his women one way or the other,” the leader says, staring me down.
I stare him down right back.
“Then we will be treated like proper ladies,” I say, meeting his cruel eyes. “Royal ladies. That’s what we may be, so that’s how we shall be treated. Or, believe me, the Wolf King will hear about how his future mate and her family have been so cruelly handled.”
The wolf shifter’s hands squeeze into fists at his sides as he stares me down. His teeth are gritted. He looks furious.
I just glare back, shooting all that fury and fire right back at him.
“Very well,” he finally says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Torsten, fetch the wagon.”
A giant black wolf peels off from the group and sprints across the plains.
Minutes later, the wolf returns with a giant harness strapped around his body, and he’s pulling a large wagon behind him.
Isolde is still sobbing. Lyris too.
I catch Isolde’s eyes and let her know with a steely look and a firm nod that I’ll look after Lyris. I’ll look after all of these girls.
There are thirteen of us in total.
Thirteen who will be presented to the dreaded Wolf King.
And only one who will give him a piece of her pissed-off mind.
Me.