Chapter 3
Chapter Three
King Cassius
What have I done?
In my three years as a king of Varkhar, I have made exactly one tactical mistake, and that was underestimating the number of shifters attending our coronation. Thankfully, I have never made a mistake on the battlefield, and I don’t intend to start now.
Although, this predicament we got ourselves into with the humans may be the start of many, many tactical mistakes. Unless I can figure this out…
I stretch my arms and neck, hearing the little cracks and crunches from being hunched over this giant map for far too long.
It’s a massive map of Varkhar, the Blood River, Aurevale, the Wilderwall, and the wild lands to the north.
My eyes are locked on it as my mind races for solutions that refuse to come.
It seemed to be a good idea at the time.
Three wagons full of jewels in exchange for security along King Corwin’s northern border.
The humans, with their flying arrows and pointy sticks, are no match for the Hollowborn, and they were being slaughtered in droves as they attempted to repair their ancient, crumbling wall.
The choice was simple, really. Either let the wall collapse and watch as the Hollowborn devour the human kingdom, in which case, we would have had to increase patrols along our western flank for the rest of eternity.
Or, get paid in an abundance of riches by the absurdly prosperous citizens of Aurevale to increase patrols along their northern border for a limited time.
The gems and gold could be used to better the kingdom. First, Tovik and I would order the purchase of grain from Keldmoor Island, which would fill our sorely lacking harvest vaults to the brim. Our people are exceptional warriors and hunters, but enthusiastic farmers, they are not.
That alone would have been worth it, but King Corwin is throwing enough treasure at us to turn the poorest peasant in Varkhar into a rich Aurevale merchant. How could I say no?
I should have.
Or, at least I should have done my due diligence and patrolled the wall. I was out there a few days ago, running along the border in my wolf form, and I saw all of the damage with my own eyes. It will take a decade at least to repair that cursed, crumbling wall.
We will run our wolves ragged trying to keep up.
Those damn humans and their ceaseless arrogance. Leave it to those soft creatures to roll around in their luxuries while neglecting the one thing standing between them and a horde of venom-clawed monsters. And then to turn to us wolves to clean up their century-long mess… So typically human.
The door bursts open and I don’t need to raise my head to know that it’s Tovik stomping in. I know this man so well, I can recognize the sound of his gait, but if that wasn’t enough, his pungent scent fills the room. After a night of patrolling the borders, there is a lot to smell.
“Eventful night?” I ask as my nose scrunches up. The scent of Hollowborn venom tickles my nostrils with that unpleasant sour tang.
“Althorn got injured,” Tovik grunts in his deep voice.
“Really?” I say, looking up at him curiously. He’s shirtless and barefoot, wearing only those old tattered tunic pants he can’t seem to take off long enough to get them washed. He looks like anything but royalty, covered in mud, sweat, blood, and streaks of green venom across his barrel of a chest.
His giant right hand is wrapped around a cup—his usual glass of bloodberry wine. It’s much too sweet for me, but this beast can’t get enough of it.
“So, I’m assuming you stumbled into some action?” I ask as he drops into a chair and sips his wine.
“You remain the master strategist, Cassius,” he grunts. “How did you ever piece that together?”
“How bad is he hurt?”
Tovik lets out a long exhale as he stares at nothing. “Three claw marks on his hind leg. I carried him home on my shoulders. His wolf was howling up a storm, I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”
“How long will he be out?”
“Three nights. Maybe four. They were deep. The venom got in.”
I curse under my breath as I turn back to my map with all of the carved wolf and Hollowborn figurines along the river.
We’re already tight in numbers and once that princess arrives, we’ll be on the hook for double the territory.
The moment Aurevale’s royal blood crosses into Varkhar, our obligation begins.
“The recruits?” Tovik asks.
“On their way.”
We sent the word through the kingdom that Varkhar needed more blood warriors to defend the realm. They began trickling in yesterday. Hopefully, many more will arrive in the upcoming days. We need as many as we can get.
“Once you finish your sweet swill,” I say with a huff of frustration, “come show me on the map where you had your encounter.”
Tovik downs the rest of his bloodberry wine, stands up with a growl, and slams his finger onto the Blood River—in an unusual spot by the Beranger Cliffs.
“Interesting,” I whisper as I ponder what that could mean. Are the Hollowborn trying to divert us, spread us thin, or perhaps, they’re trying to move us away from Aurevale, so they can attack?
But I know none of that is true. The Hollowborn are ruthless and vicious killers, but smart and strategic, they are not.
It almost saddens me that I do not have an enemy playing on my level. One to challenge my wits and my strategic ability. One that keeps me guessing and on my toes.
No, the Hollowborn are not that kind of enemy. They are more suited to Tovik’s preferred form of negotiation. Brute force. Pure power. An abundance of violence and little to no conversation.
They are vicious creatures. Sent by the dark Gods themselves.
Taller than a man when standing on two legs and larger than even Tovik’s wolf when they drop onto all fours.
They feel little pain and can fight all night even with the most grievous of injuries.
Their long deadly claws carry a venom made for torturing wolf shifters.
The bright green liquid slows our healing ability and can temporarily prevent shifting, which poor Althorn is discovering as we speak.
Most likely, his wolf is writhing in pain, ruing the day he was born.
Oh well, at least Tovik can have his fun out there.
And it’s not like running the kingdom does not give me any chance to use my intelligence and strategic thinking.
There are supply runs to be organized, schedules to be constructed, budgets to be balanced, recruits to train, and an endless list of other tasks to keep my mind occupied.
“What about the girl?” Tovik says as I run my finger along the Blood River, wondering why the Hollowborn are suddenly attacking at the Beranger Cliffs.
The Hollowborn cannot see worth a damn, but they can smell blood across a valley, feel a footstep through stone, and hear a terrified heart beating in the dark.
They travel in packs and somehow share sensory information amongst themselves, so the greater their numbers, the more capable each individual creature becomes.
But still, they usually avoid the cliffs since even the most adept Hollowborn can still tumble off one in the dark.
I wonder if we can use this to our advantage…
“Cassius,” Tovik grunts a little louder.
“What?”
“The girl.”
“What girl?”
“The princess.”
“What about her?”
“When is she arriving?”
“I don’t know,” I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. This man and his fairy tales. I blame his mother for filling his young head with all of those ridiculous stories of beautiful trapped princesses and the brave heroes who saved them. “She arrives when she arrives.”
Tovik absentmindedly plays with a Hollowborn figurine on my map, placing his fingertip on the head and rolling it around. I slap his hand away and return it to its proper place.
“Do you think she’s beautiful?”
“I couldn’t give one damn about it,” I snap. “And neither should you. We have our hands full here if you haven’t noticed.”
“I heard she wears jewels in her hair.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t doubt it from those rich fools. They probably wipe their asses with gold coins.”
“I’m nervous,” he says, looking at his giant hands caked with blood and mud.
“For what?”
“To meet the princess.”
This man is unbelievable. I’ve seen his bloodthirsty wolf rip the head off of a Hollowborn in one savage bite.
I’ve seen him break men’s jaws, arms, orbital bones, and even some poor fucker’s pinkie when we were younger and Tovik lost at an arm wrestling match (the one time he lost in his entire life).
And here he is, nervous, over some dumb rich girl we were forced to take in. I don’t need the hassle, let alone another mouth to feed, but the ancient constitution demands royal blood in exchange for a treaty, so we had to take in the girl.
“You’re the bloody King of Varkhar,” I shout. “You’re a Blood Alpha. You don’t get nervous. She’s the one who gets nervous.”
He doesn’t seem convinced.
“You have Hollowborn blood on your chest,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re bigger than an ox. I think you’ll be okay.”
“What if she’s the one?” he asks, getting that dreamy look in his eyes.
I sigh as I walk away from the map and head to the bar in the corner. I need a drink if we’re going to talk about this again.
“She’s human,” I say as I pour myself a very large cup of bitter mead. “It’s incredibly rare for a wolf shifter to mate with a human. And a pair of Blood Alphas have never mated with a human for their queen in all six hundred years of Varkharian history.”
“There’s a first for everything,” he says, shrugging those large, broad shoulders.
“Yes,” I say, shaking my head. “And I’m looking forward to the first day I can get through without you mentioning our mate.”
His eyes drop to the floor. I know this is harder for him than it is for me. My mind stays busy with the million problems a kingdom needs solving, meanwhile his wolf just longs for our mate.
I walk over and put my hand on his shoulder.
“She’ll come,” I say softly. “We can’t force it though, Tovik. And don’t get your hopes up about this… princess. She’s probably just some spoiled rich girl from the Jewel Kingdom who has no idea about us wolves and will spend her days locked in her room cursing the day we were born.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess you’re right.”
The distant sound of horns fills the room and we both perk up.
It’s the trumpeters announcing the arrival of the humans.
The princess is here.
“Well,” I say as my chest fills with dread. “Let’s go welcome this spoiled brat.”