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.
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 areso 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.”
