Chapter 2 The weight of a king

The grand council chamber of the Lycanthorin palace shimmered under flickering golden light, chandeliers casting long shadows across the dark oak table.

The air hummed with the murmurs of the kingdom's highest-ranking wolves-generals, elders, lords-each voice a thread of strategy or worry weaving through the room. At the head, Alpha King Valrik Lycanthorin sat silent, golden eyes sweeping over them like a predator sizing up prey. Nine years had passed since the night he'd burned his enemies to ash, since his parents fell and the crown landed on his head at fifteen.

He'd clawed an empire from that ruin-rebuilt the palace stone by stone, crushed the scattered remnants of that dark army-but the weight of it had forged him. A warrior hardened by blood, a ruler feared for his fire, a man revered yet untouchable. Victory hadn't erased the cost. The northern border, marked in red on the ancient map before him, still burned in his memory-the edge of the battlefield where it all went to hell. "Another attack," General Darius Ironfang rumbled, scarred hands gripping the table's edge.

His voice carried the gravel of a man who'd seen too many wars. "Fifteen rogues at the northern border. We put them down before they hit the village, but it's the third this month." Elder Rovan, the council's oldest, leaned forward, wrinkled fingers tapping a slow rhythm. His white hair gleamed like frost in the light. "Their patterns are shifting.

This isn't mindless chaos anymore. Someone's leading them." Valrik exhaled, fingers brushing the ring of authority on his hand-a heavy band of silver and obsidian, forged from his father's melted crown. "They're testing us," he said, voice low but cutting through the murmurs like a blade. A growl rippled through the room, a shared pulse of unease. Rogues were a thorn, always had been, but organized? That was war knocking again.

Lord Alric Lycanthorin, Valrik's uncle, leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. His sharp features mirrored Aldric's, but where the late king's eyes had burned with honor, Alric's glinted with something colder. "With the Blood Moon Ball nearing, we'll be exposed. Perhaps canceling it this year would be... prudent." Valrik's gaze snapped to him, golden eyes narrowing. "The ball is our strength. Canceling it admits weakness." Alric chuckled, a sound too smooth for the tension. "Or spares us misfortune. It'd be a shame if something... unfortunate happened."

The words dripped with false innocence, a barb Valrik had learned to sidestep. Alric had been at his side since that night-too close, too quick to offer counsel. Valrik kept enemies closer, and his uncle's loyalty was a shadow he couldn't trust. "Double the border guards," Valrik ordered, voice firm as iron. "Increase city patrols. No one enters without vetting. The ball goes on." Agreements echoed-Darius's gruff nod, Rovan's murmured assent-but Elder Rovan's knowing eyes lingered on Valrik, heavy with unspoken weight. "And your mate, Your Majesty? Have you considered it further?" Silence crashed down, thick and suffocating. Valrik's jaw tightened.

The prophecy had dogged him since he was a boy, whispered by priests and etched in old scrolls: find his fated mate before his twenty-fifth birthday, or die. Nine years ago, he'd seen what a bond did-his father's fire snuffed out the instant his mother's heart stopped, her blood pooling on the throne room floor. Aldric had been invincible until that snap. "I'll find her when the time's right," he said evenly, each word a wall. Alric's chuckle grated like glass on stone. "That time's running thin, nephew. What's it now-three months?" Valrik stood, chair scraping loud in the quiet. "Meeting's over."

The council filed out, murmurs trailing like smoke. Darius lingered a moment, giving Valrik a curt nod-soldier to soldier-before vanishing. Alric's smirk stayed, a taunt, until he too slipped away. Valrik remained, staring at the map. The northern border pulsed in his mind, a scar of memory: flames roaring, his mother's scream, his father's collapse as the bond broke him. Draeven stirred, a restless growl rumbling deep in his skull. You're out of time. Valrik rubbed his temples, blond hair falling into his eyes. And what-summon her from thin air? You saw the bond kill your father, Draeven snapped, voice ancient and sharp. One snap, and he was ash with her. You dodge it with duty, but fate doesn't wait. Valrik smirked, bitter. So I chase a leash like some lovesick pup? Your instincts know her. Stop running. "Enough," Valrik muttered aloud, pushing away from the table. Duty he could carry-had carried since he was a boy king soaked in soot. Distractions helped too, and he had one waiting. Celeste Kane's Ambition The heavy doors of his chambers thudded shut behind him, the palace's stone walls swallowing the council's echoes. Celeste Kane lounged on his bed, reclining against silk sheets, raven hair spilling over his pillows like ink. Emerald eyes glinted with ambition-breathtaking, sharp, and dangerous. She propped up on an elbow as he shed his jacket, fingers loosening his tie with practiced ease. "Long day?" she purred, voice a velvet blade. "The usual," he smirked, stepping closer. The fire in his chambers crackled, casting her in gold. Her fingers trailed his chest, nails grazing skin through his shirt. "You work too much, Your Majesty." He chuckled low, catching her wrist. "Someone's got to hold this kingdom together." Celeste tilted her head, studying him with those piercing eyes. "Yet you refuse the one thing that'd save you." His amusement faded, grip tightening. "Not this again." She slid forward, straddling him in one fluid move, palms pressing his chest. "I could be your Queen, Valrik." His golden eyes locked onto hers, unyielding. "That's not how it works." Her lips parted, frustration flashing hot. "Why not? You don't need a fated mate to live. You need a strong Luna-someone to rule, to fight. I'm that." Valrik's hands slid up her back, firm as he pulled her closer, breath brushing her ear. "A bond broke my father. Left him dead before the enemy could. I won't wear that chain." Her breath hitched, and for a split second, he saw it-hunger, not for him, but for the crown. She wanted power, not a king. "You'll regret this," she whispered, voice low and edged. "I regret plenty already," he said, smirk flickering back like a shield. She pulled away with a sharp inhale, something dangerous sparking in her gaze. Slipping off the bed, she draped a sheer robe over her shoulders, the fabric catching the firelight. "Enjoy your distractions, Your Majesty," she said over her shoulder, each word a barb. "You'll see I'm right one day." The door clicked shut, leaving silence and the crackle of flames. Valrik ran a hand through his blond hair, exhaling hard. Fate. Prophecies. Bonds. He'd won a war to dodge them-stood in a burning throne room at fifteen, Draeven's fire his only ally. But the memory lingered: his mother's blood, his father's collapse, the dark figure vanishing into the night. Draeven's growl echoed in his skull, a warning he couldn't shake. If his mate didn't come, he'd die. Three months left, and he still didn't know if he wanted her to.