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.
Chapter Two
King Alaric
This is humiliating.
A Wolf King should not have to travel long distances on foot.
Traveling by paw would take less than an hour. I would already be on my way back to the castle by now, but my contemptuous, insolent wolf refuses to wake.
So, I have to walk to the oracle. One plodding footstep at a time.
Even the wretched humans could travel faster on their slave horses.
This is pathetic.
I reach in again, trying to awaken my beast, but the furry fucker is practically comatose. I search for him internally the way I always have—by instinct, by memory, by the familiar pull that has guided me since I was a boy.
There is nothing.
No stir of power. No answering presence. No low awareness pacing beneath my skin.
It’s just me. And coiling dread.
I breathe in the cool air and look up at the trees as I walk. As frustrating as it is, there’s a calmness to traveling at this snail-like speed. I can watch the birds in the trees and hear the frogs croaking. I touch leaves, gather acorns, and marvel at the way the sun reflects on the water of the creek.
Normally, a wolf would sprint past all this beauty in a blur, missing it all. It’s a different view of my kingdom, and as frustrated as I am, I’m taking it all in.
At this speed, I can hear my thoughts too.
I think about what Rurik suggested last night and wonder if I could ever do that. Unnatural breeding. Just the thought of it makes me nauseous.
I wonder what my father would do in my place, and I wonder if I can be as ruthless as he was. I used to think he was a stern monster who enjoyed making all those around him miserable. Now, after experiencing the burden of the crown, I’m beginning to realize he was just doing what was required to keep his kingdom intact.
It’s easy to criticize the old man, but at least he kept his kingdom together. That’s not something I’m sure I’ll be able to accomplish.
The forest ends and I emerge on the outskirts of a village where a group of boys are playing Stone Ring. I smile as I remember playing that in my youth. You toss a pebble at a small circle from a distance and the closest stone wins.
Some are in their wolf forms—small, clumsy things with oversized paws and too much enthusiasm—while others are in their shifter forms, pushing and elbowing to throw the next stone.
It’s the wolves who notice me first. Their heads whip around and they instantly drop to the ground, prostrating themselves.
The boys just drop their jaws and openly stare in shock as I approach.
I’m not wearing my crown, but every wolf can recognize the scent of their king and the one true alpha of the pack.
One lowers his head, and the others quickly follow.
