Chapter 3: The King Arrives
The fortress was alive before dawn. Servants bustled through the great hall, guards reported the night’s casualties, and courtiers whispered about the sudden return of their Alpha King with a stranger at his side.
Kaelan Stormfang sat on the throne of black stone at the far end of the council chamber. His silver eyes scanned the reports handed to him by his Beta, Garrick.
“Thirty-two dead in Grey Hollow,” Garrick said grimly. “More wounded. The rogues fled before dawn, but their numbers were… unnatural. They fought with discipline.”
Kaelan’s jaw clenched. “Someone is commanding them.”
Garrick nodded. “Word is spreading quickly. By sundown, every noble in Lycanthria will know you’ve brought a woman back from the border.” His tone was careful, watchful. “A mate, they’ll say.”
Kaelan leaned back, ignoring the faint stir in his chest at the word. Mate. The prophecy echoed in his mind, irritating and undeniable.
“She’s not to be touched,” Kaelan said. “Not by the court. Not by anyone.”
“As you command.”
But Garrick’s eyes held questions he didn’t voice.
Meanwhile, Elara awoke in her new chambers, the sun spilling across the stone floor. For a moment she thought it had all been a nightmare—the fire, the wolves, the man with silver eyes. Then she saw the fine silks draped over her bed, the carved wolf motifs in the wood, and the reality crashed over her.
She sat up, still wearing the soot-stained dress from the night before. Her grandmother’s dagger lay on the nightstand, the only piece of her old life she still had. She clutched it tightly, grounding herself.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” she said cautiously.
Two women entered, servants carrying folded gowns of deep blue and silver. One curtsied. “His Majesty commands that you be dressed for court.”
Elara bristled. “Commands, does he?”
The servant lowered her eyes. “Yes, my lady.”
My lady. The title felt foreign, like clothes that didn’t fit. But refusing would only draw more attention. With a resigned sigh, she allowed them to help her into one of the gowns. It fit snugly at the waist, the neckline lower than she was used to, the fabric heavy but soft against her skin.
When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized herself.
The throne room was crowded when Elara entered, flanked by guards. The courtiers stood in clusters, their whispers like buzzing flies.
“Who is she?”
“Where did she come from?”
“She’s no noble, that much is clear.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she lifted her chin, refusing to shrink beneath their stares.
At the far end, Kaelan sat on his throne, draped in black and silver armor. His gaze found her instantly, piercing, unreadable. The murmurs of the crowd faded as he rose.
“Her name is Elara Thorn,” he announced, his voice carrying through the hall. “She is under my protection. Any who question that will answer to me.”
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Protection was no small thing; it was a declaration. To stand under the Alpha King’s protection was to be untouchable.
Elara’s fists tightened at her sides. He didn’t even ask me.
As the nobles bowed their heads in reluctant acceptance, Kaelan stepped down from the dais. He moved toward her with the smooth, predatory grace that made her pulse quicken against her will.
“You look well,” he said softly, for her ears alone.
“I didn’t dress for you,” she muttered.
One corner of his mouth curved upward. “You defy me even here. Bold.”
She glared at him, the weight of dozens of curious eyes pressing down on her. “Why bring me here? To parade me like a prize you’ve won?”
His smile vanished, replaced by something sharper. “I brought you here to keep you alive. The rogues weren’t after your village. They were after you.”
Her breath caught. “That’s not possible. I’m no one.”
“You’re not no one,” he said firmly. “You’re mine.”
The words struck her again, that same fire curling low in her belly, confusing and infuriating. She opened her mouth to argue, but the court’s High Chancellor, an older wolf named Alric, stepped forward.
“Your Majesty,” Alric said smoothly, bowing. “Forgive me, but the council must object. The throne cannot afford distractions, not when enemies gather at our borders. This girl—”
Elara stiffened at his dismissive tone.
“—is not fit for court. She is human-born, is she not? A commoner. How can she stand beside our king?”
Kaelan’s silver gaze turned ice-cold. “Careful, Chancellor.”
But Elara found her own voice before he could continue. “I don’t want to stand beside your king,” she snapped. The hall went silent. Every eye turned to her. Her cheeks burned, but she lifted her chin. “I didn’t ask to be brought here. I don’t need his protection.”
A dangerous silence followed.
Kaelan’s gaze locked with hers, storm and fire in his eyes. For a moment she thought he might roar, command her into silence. Instead, he surprised her.
“Dismissed,” he said to the court, his voice cutting like a blade. The nobles quickly scattered, murmuring, glancing back at Elara as they left.
When the doors shut, only Kaelan and Elara remained in the cavernous throne room.
He stepped closer, each stride deliberate. “You have courage,” he said quietly. “Few dare speak against me, let alone in front of my court.”
“I didn’t mean—” she began, but stopped. No, she had meant it.
He stopped only a breath away, his presence overwhelming. “Good. Keep that fire, Elara. But know this—your life is no longer simple. Forces are moving against us, against me. And you are at the center of it.”
She swallowed hard, heart hammering. “Why me?”
His hand lifted as if to touch her cheek, but he stopped himself, fingers curling into a fist at his side. “Because the Moon has chosen you.”
That night, Elara lay awake in her chambers, staring at the ceiling. His words replayed in her mind like a drumbeat: The Moon has chosen you.
She didn’t believe in prophecy. She didn’t believe in destiny.
And yet… when Kaelan looked at her, part of her did believe.
That terrified her most of all.