The Wolf King and the Wilted Flower

–Grey–

Black clouds swirled above a cloaked man standing at the heart of the Werewolf Kingdom

The wind howled through the barren plains, carrying with it the scent of dying earth and distant rain. His black cloak billowed around his tall figure like a shadow given life, its hem brushing against dry grass that crackled beneath each gust.

Beneath the hood, a pair of deep blue eyes stared upward.

Tired.

Forsaken.

Yet burning with a ferocious intensity that refused to surrender.

Perhaps his hatred for the tree before him had grown stronger than his helplessness. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping him standing.

The Everlasting Fig Tree towered above him. Even dying, it remained magnificent.

Its trunk was broader than the largest building in the kingdom. Ancient roots protruded from the ground like the ribs of a buried giant, spreading in every direction across the sacred hill. Hundreds of branches stretched toward the heavens, clawing at the storm-dark clouds overhead.

Yet there were no leaves.

Not one.

The kingdom's greatest treasure stood utterly barren.

And it was dying.

Just like everything else.

Grey Stormborn lowered his gaze. For twenty-five years, he had lived beneath the shadow of this cursed tree. Ever since he could think for himself, he had known he was not born to inherit glory. He was born to inherit a funeral.

The tale of the Werewolf Kingdom's decline stretched back a century. A hundred years ago, the kingdom had stood unrivaled. Its warriors were feared across continents. Its lands flourished. Its population grew stronger with each generation. The Alpha King's bloodline carried blessings directly from the Moon Goddess herself.

Then came the witch.

No one remembered her real name anymore. Only the devastation she left behind.

According to legend, she had loved a wolf king. And according to legend, that love had destroyed her. When her heart shattered, so did her mercy. Using forbidden magic, she created the Everlasting Fig Tree and bound the fate of every werewolf to it.

If the tree flourished, so would the wolves. If the tree weakened, the wolves weakened alongside it.

If the tree died...

No one dared finish the sentence.

Grey knew the consequences all too well. The kingdom had spent a century proving them. Fertility rates had plummeted. Pups were born weaker every generation. Many wolves struggled to shift. Others became trapped between forms. Some had lost their humanity entirely. They roamed the forests surrounding the kingdom as wild beasts, unable to remember their own names.

The curse did not kill quickly. It simply stole everything little by little.

Hope.

Strength.

Future.

Grey brushed the dry soil beneath him in a lazy gesture. Dust crumbled between his fingers. Even the sacred hill was dying now. His shoulders felt heavier than usual. Perhaps because he had finally reached the age where he could no longer refuse the one thing he despised the most.

Twenty-five.

Old enough to rule.

Old enough to fail.

Seven years had passed since his mother died. Seven years since the kingdom lost its last Rona.

His gaze drifted toward the empty branches.

His mother had loved this tree.

Unlike him.

Whenever she touched its bark, tiny green shoots would emerge from seemingly dead wood. Leaves would grow along the roots. Birds would return to build nests among the branches.

For a brief moment, the curse would loosen its grip.

The kingdom would breathe again.

Then she died.

And everything began falling apart.

Grey clenched his jaw. The Moon Goddess had once shown mercy upon werewolves. Although unable to break the witch's curse, she forged a pact with the Earth Goddess instead.

Together, they created the Ronas –human women blessed with sacred floral magic. Only they could nurture the Everlasting Fig Tree and slow the curse.

For generations, Alpha Kings married Ronas. It became tradition.

Necessity.

Survival.

Without a Rona, the kingdom would eventually perish.

His mother had been the last. And after her death, there had been no replacement.

The tree stopped growing. Leaves began falling.

Year after year.

One by one.

Until none remained.

Grey still remembered the final leaf. He had been fifteen. The entire kingdom had gathered to watch the single golden leaf detached from its branch and drifted downward like a dying star. No new leaf ever appeared afterward.

Ten years.

Ten years without a single sign of life.

A low growl escaped his throat.

The worst part wasn't losing his mother. It wasn't even the kingdom's decline. It was his father's weakness. The mighty Alpha King had survived wars, droughts, and rebellions. Yet he could not survive grief.

After Queen Elara died, his father simply... stopped living.

He wandered the castle like a ghost. Stopped attending council meetings. Stopped training warriors. Stopped caring.

And one winter morning, they found him beside her grave.

Frozen.

Smiling.

As if death had finally reunited them.

The kingdom called it a tragedy. Grey called it abandonment. Seven years later, he still carried the consequences. The scar was invisible in the back of Grey's mind: that love only hurts. The very same scar was what made him despise the one thing he could now no longer refuse.

"Your Majesty."

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

Grey did not turn around as Marcus approached carefully from behind. As Beta of the kingdom and Grey's closest friend, he understood when silence was preferable. Unfortunately, duty rarely respected silence.

"The Elder Council summons you."

Grey released a long breath.

Of course they did.

The elders summoned him almost daily now. As if repeating the same problem would somehow produce a different solution.

The tree remained dead.

The kingdom remained dying.

No amount of discussion could change either fact. Still, duty demanded obedience. He rose to his feet.

For a moment, he stared at the Everlasting Fig Tree one last time. Its skeletal branches seemed to reach toward him. Mocking him. Demanding something he could not provide.

A Rona.

The kingdom needed a Rona.

Immediately.

Not next year. Not next month.

Now.

Grey hated how desperately they needed one. Hated how the future of an entire kingdom rested upon finding a woman. Hated how every path led back to King Valir, the man who controlled every known Rona in the world. Despite hating it, he knew he could no longer postpone going to King Valir to find a Rona.

The thought alone soured his mood.

"How bad?" Grey asked quietly.

Marcus hesitated. Never a good sign.

"The eastern villages reported three more regressions."

Grey's expression darkened.

Regressions. Another curse-born symptom.

When a werewolf's connection to the tree weakened too much, they lost their human form. Sometimes temporarily. Sometimes permanently.

The kingdom could no longer afford either.

"And the births?"

Marcus looked away. "None this month."

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Oppressive.

Grey closed his eyes briefly.

No births.

Three more regressions.

The tree dying. The kingdom shrinking.

The curse winning one day at a time.

When he opened his eyes again, the anger had returned.

Cold and sharp.

Good.

Anger was easier than despair.

"Let's get this over with."

Marcus nodded.

Grey stepped forward. Bones cracked. Muscles twisted. His cloak fell to the ground as the transformation surged through him.

Pain.

Power.

Freedom.

Every werewolf knew the sensation.

Joints shifted. Flesh stretched. His body expanded rapidly as white fur erupted across his skin. Moments later, the King of the Werewolf Kingdom stood upon four paws. It was the size of a carriage.

A giant white wolf.

The last royal wolf.

Powerful shoulders rippled beneath pristine fur. Deep blue eyes gleamed beneath storm clouds. Upon his forehead rested a silver lunar mark-the blessing of the Moon Goddess and proof of his royal bloodline.

Few could witness the form without awe.

Grey felt none.

To him, it was merely another burden. Another reminder of expectations. Another symbol of a kingdom he might not be able to save.

Marcus climbed onto Grey's back because he could no longer shift without risking becoming a beast permanently. Only Alphas could still shift between human form and wolf form due to their powerful nature. Even then, it was getting harder and more painful for Grey to shift.

Without waiting another second, Grey lunged forward. The world blurred. Wind roared past his ears. Fields flashed by. The sacred tree disappeared behind him while villages emerged.

As he raced across the kingdom, people stopped to watch. Children pointed. Adults bowed. Some smiled hopefully. Others looked away.

Grey noticed all of it.

Especially the hope. It frightened him more than hatred ever could. Hope meant expectations. Expectations meant disappointment.

The castle eventually appeared on the eastern horizon. Dark stone walls rose above the surrounding landscape. Once magnificent. Now weathered. Like everything else.

Grey crossed the gates without slowing. Guards immediately bowed. Servants scattered. The giant wolf continued straight toward the council hall.

Only when he reached the entrance did he shift back. The transformation reversed. Fur vanished. Bones cracked once more. Within seconds, Grey stood in human form.

Barefoot. Barely dressed. Entirely irritated.

Swiftly, a butler brought Grey's clothes. Without talking, Marcus quickly helped Grey put on the clothes.

When Grey was done putting on his clothes, the large wooden doors opened. Voices drifted outward. Arguing.

Again.

Grey already knew the topic.

When he stepped inside, the council chamber immediately fell silent.

A dozen elders sat around the circular table. Every face carried the same expression.

Concern.

Fear.

Desperation.

At the center of the room stood a map of the kingdom. Grey noticed several new red markers. More villages affected by the curse.

Wonderful.

"Your Majesty," Elder Rowan began.

Grey took his seat. "What is it this time?"

The old man exchanged glances with the others. No one appeared eager to speak.

Eventually, Elder Rowan cleared his throat. "The Everlasting Tree has entered its final stage."

The room became deathly quiet.

Even though Grey already knew, hearing the words aloud felt different.

Final stage.

The phrase lingered in the air like an executioner's blade.

"Explain."

"The roots have stopped absorbing mana."

Several elders looked pale.

"At its current rate of decline, the tree may not survive another two years."

Two years.

Somewhere inside him, something sank.

But Grey's expression remained unchanged.

"Then find a solution," Grey said –although truthfully he knew what solution the elders wanted. The same goddamn solution he had been postponing.

"We have."

Grey hated where this was going.

Elder Rowan straightened himself before saying, "There is only one solution."

Of course.

"A Rona."

Always a Rona.

"We must acquire one immediately," Elder Rowan said, "you must marry one immediately. Only a Rona bonded by marriage to the Alpha King could cure The Everlasting Tree."

Another elder leaned forward. "King Valir is holding his annual auction next month."

"The treasury cannot afford it," Grey snapped. When his father neglected him and the entire kingdom, the treasury also dwindled. Being in a cursed kingdom with more and more citizens becoming mindless beasts also helped empty the treasury.

"It must," Elder Varona said, "The kingdom needs a queen. A Rona queen."

"The kingdom also needs heirs," Elder Baron added.

Finally, Elder Rowan said, "The kingdom needs hope."

Voices erupted around the table as more elders fought for a chance to talk. Each of them only brought more demands toward Grey, while he listened in silence.

Each argument sounded reasonable. Each one was true.

That was the problem.

He had spent seven years avoiding this moment. Seven years trying to find alternatives.

There were none.

Finally, he raised a hand. The room quieted slowly. Reluctantly.

Grey stared at the map. At the red markers spreading like bloodstains across his kingdom. At the evidence of his failure.

Then he thought about the dying tree. The empty branches. The barren roots. The people depending on him. And the future slipping away.

His jaw tightened. "I'll go."

The elders froze.

"I'll attend Valir's auction."

For the first time all day, genuine relief appeared on their faces.

Grey hated it.

Because it meant they believed salvation was possible. Because it meant he had no choice anymore.

Because deep down...

He feared they were sending him to purchase not a bride. But the last fragile chance his kingdom would ever have.

And if he failed-

There would be nothing left to save.

–Maya–

White camellias meant many things.

Admiration.

Perfection.

Silent longing.

Maya knew all three meanings because she had spent years growing them. Or at least trying to.

The white camellia bush in front of her drooped miserably beneath the morning sun. Its petals were already browning. Its leaves curled inward. Its roots had begun to rot despite receiving the same care as every other plant in the garden.

Maya crouched beside it and gently brushed a wilted petal between her fingers. "I'm sorry," she mouthed soundlessly.

The flower did not recover.

It never did.

A familiar ache settled inside her chest.

No matter how carefully she watered them. No matter how much sunlight they received. No matter how desperately she wished otherwise.

Every flower she created eventually died. The gardeners said it was a curse. The other Ronas called it a defect. King Valir called it a disappointment.

Maya simply accepted it as truth.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and carried the watering can back toward the palace.

The golden cage awaited. As always.

The Palace of Blossoms stood at the heart of King Valir's kingdom. Visitors often described it as beautiful. Magnificent. A paradise.

They never saw it for what it truly was.

A prison.

The enormous glass conservatory stretched across several acres behind the royal palace. Exotic flowers bloomed beneath crystal ceilings. Marble pathways wound through colorful gardens. Golden fountains sparkled beneath sunlight.

Everything appeared perfect.

Everything was a lie.

Beyond the gardens stood rows upon rows of gilded cages. Some were shaped like gazebos. Others resembled miniature mansions. A few even had private courtyards. Luxury disguised the bars. Gold disguised ownership. Beauty disguised cruelty. Inside each cage, lived a Rona.

Maya stepped through the iron gate and entered the conservatory. Immediately, sweet floral scents overwhelmed her senses. Dozens of young women moved through the gardens wearing elegant gowns.

Some laughed together. Some practiced their abilities. Some sat beside fountains while attendants braided their hair.

To outsiders, they looked like princesses.

Maya knew better.

Princesses could leave.

She adjusted the long sleeves covering her wrists. The fabric shifted slightly. Beneath it lay faded chain marks. White scars against pale skin. Old reminders of failed escape attempts and punishment for never being able to create a healthy flower.

The scars on her back were easier to hide. The scars on the backs of her thighs even more so.

King Valir's overseers preferred punishment where no one could easily see it. A bruise on the face ruined appearances. Scars beneath clothing preserved value.

The memory made her stomach twist.

Maya lowered her gaze and continued walking pass a group of Ronas sitting near a marble fountain. One of them spotted her immediately.

"Look."

The whisper carried farther than intended. "The Wilted Flower is back."

Several girls turned. Some looked sympathetic. Others amused. One openly laughed.

Maya ignored them. Years of practice made that easy.

"Maybe the camellias survived this time." The laughter grew louder.

"I'll bet they didn't."

"Nothing survives her."

"Not even weeds."

Another round of giggles.

Maya kept walking.

The words still hurt. They always would. But responding had never changed anything. Especially when she couldn't speak.

One girl watched Maya more quietly than the others. A blonde Rona named Celeste. The most beautiful among them. Her flowers bloomed brighter than sunlight itself. King Valir often displayed her before important guests.

Unlike the others, Celeste did not laugh. She merely looked at Maya with a face that said she knew more than she should about Maya.

Maya disappeared down a side path before anyone could say more. The conservatory eventually opened into a less glamorous section of the palace grounds.

Most visitors never came here. Dying plants weren't worth displaying.

Neither was Maya.

Rows of neglected flowerbeds stretched toward a stone wall. Anything considered beyond saving was dumped here. Which made it the perfect place for Maya.

Wilted bushes.

Broken stems.

Only Maya's trees and grasses stood firm and healthy. But as a Rona, creating trees and grasses has no value. A Rona's value is in creating beautiful plants, which are mostly flowers. A Rona's value is becoming a decoration to King Valir's highest bidders. A Rona's value is in creating beauty, because beauty can be traded like property.

She knelt beside a dying rose bush. Its leaves were covered in black spots. Most gardeners would remove it soon. Maya reached out and carefully removed the diseased leaves.

The plant would probably die anyway.

Maya pitied the rose bushes. It doesn't deserve this, she thought to herself, it doesn't deserve me.

A soft chirp interrupted her thoughts. Maya looked up. The sound came again. This time from beneath a nearby hedge.

She set down her tools and pushed aside several branches when a tiny bird stared back. One wing hung awkwardly at its side. Injured. Again.

Maya carefully extended her hands. The bird hesitated. But moments later hopped into her palms.

"There you are," she mouthed.

The bird chirped softly.

Unlike people, animals rarely scare her nor make her wary. They didn't care whether flowers died around her. They didn't care about auctions. Or beauty. Or value. They never harmed her or made her anxious of not being good enough.

She carried the bird toward a small wooden shed hidden behind the gardens. Inside were dozens of makeshift nests.

A rabbit with a damaged leg. Three recovering doves. A fox cub missing part of an ear. One kitten. A family of squirrels.

Every injured creature she found eventually ended up here. The palace servants pretended not to notice. Most of them liked Maya. Or at least pitied her enough to ignore the rule violations.

She gently placed the bird into an empty nest. The creature immediately settled down.

Satisfied, Maya stroked its feathers. The bird nuzzled her finger. A tiny gesture yet warmth spread through her chest.

Moments like this were rare. She cherished every one of them.

Then a loud bell echoed across the conservatory, interrupting Maya's peaceful moment with her animals. She straightened. Familiar anxiousness shot through her chest.

Lunch.

The Ronas would gather shortly. With reluctance, she left the shed behind. If the overseers caught her missing lunch again... Maya dreaded what punishment she would receive.

The dining hall occupied the center of the conservatory. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead. Servants moved between tables carrying elaborate meals. But the luxury only masks the gruesome cage the Ronas were in. Dozens of overseers stood to watch over the Ronas, making sure none of them dare to dream of freedom. They held whips, knives, and ropes –they had the authority to punish and instill cruelty to every Rona as they deemed fit. Most of them distanced themselves from the Ronas, because Valir would kill an overseer that dares touch his Ronas on the spot. Even laying their eyes on the Ronas could cost them their eyes. But sometimes, there were overseers that just love to inflict pain without reason, they would whip the Ronas out of the blue then acted as if they did nothing. Or tripped the Ronas without offering an apology. Those overseers almost always sought Maya to satisfy their sadisms. Because Valir could not care less about a 'defect' Rona.

Every Rona received excellent nutritious food. Excellent clothing. As long as they remained obedient. As long as they remained valuable.

Maya slid quietly into her usual seat. Several conversations continued around her. Most centered on the same topic.

Marriage.

"Prince Adrian visited yesterday," said Bella, a Rona specialized in yellow flowers.

"I heard he asked about Serena," Amethyst answered.

"No, he wants Celeste." Maureen chuckled

"Of course, he wants Celeste." Bella rolled her eyes, obviously jealous of Celeste's ability.

Laughter followed.

Another girl sighed dreamily. "I hope a prince chooses me as his princess someday."

"You still believe that?" Serena asked sternly.

"Why not?"

"Because princes don't come here looking for wives." Unexpectedly, it was Celeste who answered. Despite her being Valir's favorite, she was always the one grounding all the Ronas from unrealistic dreams. It made Maya wonder if being Valir's favorite actually comes with a cost –one that made Celeste always look sad.

Silence briefly followed. The uncomfortable truth settled over the table.

Everyone knew it. Few dared say it aloud.

The Ronas were not courted. They were purchased.

A prince.

A king.

A duke.

A wealthy merchant.

Whoever could pay.

That was all.

Maya lowered her eyes to her meal. She had witnessed enough auctions to understand. Some girls left smiling, certain their future husbands would adore them. Others cried. Some screamed. All never returned.

No one ever discussed those girls afterward. As if speaking their names might attract the same fate –though, it was the same fate that befell all of them... eventually.

A servant appeared beside Maya. She blinked in surprise when he slipped a small plate beside her.

Two extra pastries. Her favorite.

The elderly servant winked discreetly before walking away. Maya smiled to thank her. Tiny acts of kindness existed even here. Sometimes they were enough.

Sometimes.

The afternoon passed much like every other for Maya.

Gardening. Cleaning. Tending injured animals. Avoiding attention.

By evening, the sky beyond the glass ceiling had turned orange. Maya found herself back beside the dying camellia bush. The petals had worsened. Several blossoms lay scattered across the ground. She crouched beside the plant once more.

Perhaps she was foolish. Perhaps she simply understood what it meant to be unwanted. The flower and she shared that much.

Slowly, Maya placed her hand against the stem. The familiar warmth of her magic stirred beneath her skin. A faint glow emerged around her fingertips.

Most Ronas could create breathtaking flowers. Golden roses. Crystal lilies. Moon orchids. Entire gardens bloomed at their command and flowers answered their charms as though they were made for each other.

Maya never felt a closeness to flowers like the other Ronas. Perhaps because all of her flowers wither almost immediately. It felt...

Broken.

Wrong.

Still, she tried.

A tiny white blossom emerged. For one glorious second, it was beautiful. Perfect.

Then it withered. The petals darkened. The stem collapsed. The flower died. Just like every flower before it.

Maya withdrew her hand. Her chest tightened painfully.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the flower.

A shadow suddenly fell across the garden.

Maya looked up.

Celeste walked elegantly toward her. No mockery, no pity. It was just beautiful sadness painted on Celeste's face. "It''s just me," she said to Maya, "you don't have to pretend in front of me."

Maya flinched at that. She quickly regained composure. "I don't know what you are talking about."

The other girl didn't push Maya any further. She simply crouched next to Maya, looking at the withered white camellia in front of them.

"I wish I can make my flowers wither like you do," she whispered, "perhaps living like you is easier."

Maya's heart ran gallops. The things Celeste had said could be ground for punishment by the overseers. She quickly look around them, making sure Celeste's treacherous words were only heard by the two of them.

"Relax," Celeste continued, "the overseers are watching the other Ronas at the garden. I asked them to let me breathe for a while."

At that, Maya glared at Celeste.

Understanding what Maya meant with the glare, Celeste only chuckled, "Yes, yes, I know. Being a Rona favored by the King has its perks." Her eyes darkened. They glistened with tears. "But really, being favored by Valir is just like this whittered White Camellia. I have died inside, Maya. I am tired. I wish I could deflect Valir's obsession from me, but no Ronas can wither their own creation..."

"... except you." Celeste looked Maya in the eye. "I never once believed you are a defect, Maya."

Maya shook her head, implying that Celeste didn't know what she was talking about. Though, Maya would never want Celeste's spotlight. Because her spotlight came with dripping invisible wounds and a bleeding heart. She knew best how Celeste had been forced to serve Valir and his guests numerous times. As if Celeste's body was nothing but a soulless vessel to fulfil their desires.

However, what Celeste said was true. Ronas were only blessed with the power to grow flowers, not to wither them. Compared to others' blessings, Maya's blessing was a defect.

"You shouldn't envy me," Maya said in a low voice, "You should envy those who are not Ronas."

Celeste stayed silent, urging Maya to speak more. But Maya never spoke more than necessary to humans, especially to men. So, Celeste gave up waiting for Maya's explanation.

The sun dipped below the horizon. Darkness crept across the conservatory. Celeste was eventually summoned by Valir for a 'private' event while Maya remained beside the camellias. She pitied Celeste. Her heart went out to Celeste, and thought, 'Perhaps even too much beauty is a curse.'

A cold breeze drifted through the gardens. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, wolves howled. The sound carried strangely through the night.

Maya closed her eyes. For a moment, she imagined what freedom might feel like. What would life feel like without the gilded cage, without the 'defect' label –a world where Ronas aren't treated like property.

A forest. Fresh air. Animals.

No cages. No auctions. No chains. No kings.

The fantasy lasted only seconds.

Reality returned quickly. Reality always did.

A sudden commotion erupted near the main entrance. Voices echoed through the conservatory. Servants hurried along the pathways. Excitement buzzed through the air.

Maya frowned.

One of the overseers climbed onto a marble platform overlooking the gardens. Every Rona turned toward him. The man smiled broadly.

Far too broadly.

"Attention, ladies," he said.

Immediately, conversations ceased.

"The annual royal auction will take place in one month."

Excited whispers and worry exploded throughout the conservatory. Some girls squealed with delight. Others clasped their hands together hopefully. Several immediately began discussing potential buyers.

Maya felt her stomach sink.

Not again.

The overseer continued speaking.

"Representatives from numerous kingdoms have already confirmed attendance."

More excitement. More anticipation. More dreams.

"The highest bidders will receive the honor of taking home some of our precious Ronas."

The crowd erupted in mixed reaction.

Maya stood frozen.

Around her, some girls imagined crowns. Castles. Handsome princes. Happy futures.

Maya imagined chains.

The overseer finally raised his hands for silence.

"There will be evaluations beginning tomorrow."

A collective gasp.

Everyone knew what that meant.

Abilities would be tested. Beauty assessed. Value determined.

Maya's fingers unconsciously tightened around her sleeves. Around the scars hidden beneath them.

Worthless.

The word echoed inside her mind.

Worthless flowers. Worthless magic. Worthless Rona.

The overseer dismissed them moments later.

The girls scattered in groups. Only Maya remained where she was. Beside the dying camellias.

The evening wind stirred the flower petals at her feet. One detached from the bush and drifted downward.

White.

Fragile.

Beautiful.

Already dying.

Maya caught the petal before it reached the ground. For reasons she could not explain, unease settled deep inside her chest. As though the approaching auction would change everything. And not for the better.

Slowly, she looked toward the distant palace towering above the conservatory. Its golden windows gleamed beneath the fading sunset.

A gilded cage. No different from the rest.

The white petal crumbled in her hand.

She felt something stirred inside her. She felt the foreboding sense that something was happening. And somewhere beyond the horizon, fate had already begun moving toward her.

–Grey–

The journey to King Valir's capital began before sunrise. Grey Stormborn stood atop the eastern wall of his castle and watched darkness retreat from the horizon.

The kingdom below slowly awakened. Smoke rose from village chimneys. A few of the remaining hunters set out to the forest to gather resources. Children ran through muddy roads.

From a distance, everything appeared normal.

Peaceful.

Alive.

Yet Grey knew better.

The curse was everywhere. In the villages where no children had been born for years. In the families caring for relatives who had lost their human minds. In the growing number of wolves roaming forests without names, memories, or homes.

Most of all, it existed in the eyes of his people. Hope was disappearing. Slowly. Relentlessly.

Just like the leaves of the Everlasting Fig Tree.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts as Marcus joined him atop the wall. The Beta handed him a rolled parchment.

"The latest report from the southern territory," Marcus said in a flat tone.

Grey accepted it.

The contents were unsurprising. One more regression. Two deaths. No births. His expression remained unchanged as he folded the report.

Marcus sighed. "One day, I'm hoping you'll read good news."

"Then you'll be waiting a long time," Grey muttered in a low voice under his breath.

The Beta snorted. "Fair enough."

Silence settled between them. Neither man spoke for several moments. Both knew the significance of today's departure.

King Valir's annual auction represented more than a political event. For the Werewolf Kingdom, it was survival. Or perhaps merely a delay of extinction. Grey wasn't sure which.

His gaze drifted toward the distant center of the kingdom. Though hidden by hills and forests, he could almost imagine the Everlasting Fig Tree standing there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Demanding.

A Rona.

Everything always returned to the Ronas.

The Moon Goddess had never intended for it to happen this way. At least according to the oldest records. Long ago, after the witch cursed the Alpha bloodline and tied the fate of every werewolf to the Everlasting Fig Tree, panic spread throughout the kingdom. The strongest shamans failed. The greatest healers failed. Entire generations dedicated themselves to breaking the curse. All failed.

The curse endured. The tree remained. The kingdom suffered.

Unable to undo the witch's magic, the Moon Goddess sought help from another divine power.

The Earth Goddess.

Together, they created the first Ronas. Human women blessed with fragments of nature itself. Flowers answered their call. With that, plants flourished beneath their touch. Most importantly, their presence nourished the Everlasting Fig Tree.

For centuries, the arrangement worked. Every Alpha King married a Rona. Every generation produced another heir.

The tree remained healthy. The curse remained dormant.

Not broken. Never broken. Merely sleeping.

The solution was imperfect. It was temporary. But it kept the kingdom alive.

Until King Valir discovered how valuable Ronas truly were. The current king of Aurelia possessed many talents but mercy was not among them. Over the last three decades, Valir had systematically gathered every known Rona.

Some were purchased. Some were kidnapped. Some were born inside his own palace.

All belonged to him.

At least according to the laws he wrote himself. Soon, the entire continent depended upon his auctions. Eventhough only the Wolf Kingdom was cursed, other kingdoms recognized the value of Ronas in fertilizing their own lands. Kings competed for powerful Ronas. Princes bankrupted kingdoms for them. Merchants paid fortunes simply to possess one. Some bid Ronas only to acquire a possession, like a beautiful antique vase –only to brag about having Ronas to their friends and enemies. Acquiring a Rona meant wealth and influence. Having multiple Ronas showed power.

The scarcity only increased their value. And Valir ensured they remained scarce.

Every Rona carried a magical seal. A spell personally crafted by Valir's court sorcerers. It prevented them from conceiving children.

No matter who purchased them. No matter who married them. No matter how desperately kingdoms wished to breed more.

Only Valir could revoke the spell. Only Valir controlled the future generation of Ronas. Only Valir profited from their existence.

A monopoly.

Cruel. Brilliant. Profitable.

Grey hated him for it.

Yet he was still traveling to Valir's capital. Still playing by Valir's rules. Still begging for a chance to save his people. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Your Majesty." Marcus leaned against the stone wall. "You don't have to look like you're marching toward your own execution."

Grey glanced sideways. "It feels similar."

"Buying a wife isn't usually considered a death sentence."

A humorless smile touched Grey's lips. "Depends on the wife."

Marcus laughed.

Grey didn't.

The Beta's amusement faded quickly. Because they both knew the truth. This journey wasn't simply about acquiring a Rona. The Elder Council expected him to marry her, produce heirs, continue the royal bloodline, and restore hope. The thought alone exhausted him.

Marriage. Love. Family.

Concepts that meant little to him now. Perhaps they never would again.

Grey looked toward the brightening horizon. His jaw tightened as he remembered his father. Not the king. Not the warrior. Not the Alpha. But he remembered the broken man who remained after Queen Elara died.

At first, Grey had pitied him. Then worried for him. Then hated him. Because grief transformed his father into something worse than a corpse.

A coward.

The kingdom needed him. His son needed him. Yet he abandoned both. Every council meeting. Every crisis. Every responsibility. He abandoned them all in pursuit of a dead woman. And eventually, he followed her.

The day they found his body beside her grave, Grey had stopped believing in love.

What kind of love destroyed an entire kingdom?

What kind of love left a fifteen-year-old boy to shoulder responsibilities meant for grown men?

What kind of love mattered more than a living son?

The answer was simple.

The selfish kind.

Since then, Grey had viewed love as a disease. A weakness. A distraction.

His father had loved too much. So much so that his kingdom paid the price. Grey would not make the same mistake. Which was why he had no intention of loving whichever Rona he brought home.

He would marry her. Give her a title. Ensure her comfort. Nothing more. The arrangement would remain practical. Professional. Necessary. No affection, no devotion, no dependency. Just duty.

The kingdom deserved better than another ruler willing to sacrifice everything for a single person. For love.

"You're thinking about him again," Marcus's voice was quieter this time.

Grey didn't deny it. The Beta knew him too well.

"Maybe."

Marcus studied him. "Your father wasn't weak because he loved your mother."

Grey looked away. "He abandoned us because he loved her."

"That's not the same thing."

"It is to me."

The conversation ended there.

Neither man wished to continue. Some wounds remained too old and too deep.

Eventually, a horn sounded from below. It was the departure signal.

Marcus straightened. "Our escorts are ready."

Grey nodded.

Without another word, they descended from the wall. The castle courtyard bustled with activity. Twenty warriors waited beside mounted horses. Supply wagons stood prepared. Servants hurried through final inspections.

The journey would take nearly two weeks as Valir's capital sat far beyond werewolf territory. Far beyond lands Grey enjoyed visiting.

As he mounted his horse, several elders approached. Elder Rowan carried the familiar expression of concern.

"Your Majesty."

Grey resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes?"

"The auction."

"I know."

"You must secure a Rona."

"I know." Grey's jaw tightened.

"The tree cannot survive much longer."

"I know."

The elder hesitated. Then spoke more carefully. "Preferably one of the stronger Ronas."

Grey nearly laughed.

As though he hadn't considered that. As though he possessed unlimited wealth. As though the kingdom wasn't nearly bankrupt.

Everyone wanted the strongest Rona. That was precisely the problem.

Celeste.

Serena.

The names echoed across the continent.

Even Grey knew them.

Celeste possessed the rare ability to create luminous rainbow-colored flowers. Entire gardens transformed into masterpieces beneath her touch. Kings reportedly offered castles simply for the chance to purchase her.

Then there was Serena. The Red Rose Rona.

Equally famous. Equally expensive.

Her crimson roses supposedly bloomed year-round.

Never withering. Never fading.

Some believed her magic rivaled that of the first Ronas. Both women would undoubtedly attract absurd bids. Gold the Werewolf Kingdom simply didn't possess.

Grey wasn't foolish enough to compete. Not when his treasury struggled to repair roads. Not when villages lacked medicine. Not when his people starved.

No.

The strongest Ronas belonged to wealthier kingdoms. Grey intended to settle for someone in the middle.

A capable Rona. Nothing exceptional.

Someone able to sustain the Everlasting Fig Tree.

That was all.

He didn't need perfection. He didn't need love. He didn't even need heirs.

Contrary to what the elders believed, Grey had no intention of relying on Ronas forever. The arrangement was temporary. A delay. If he could keep the tree alive for a few additional years, he would continue searching for the true solution.

A way to break the curse entirely.

No more dependency. No more auctions. No more kingdoms buying women like livestock. No more fate tied to a cursed tree.

Freedom. For everyone.

That was the future he wanted.

The Rona would merely buy him time. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Your Majesty?" Elder Rowan appeared concerned again.

Grey realized several seconds had passed. "I'll secure a Rona," he said.

The elder visibly relaxed. "As you say."

Finally, the conversation ended.

Grey urged his horse forward without a second glance toward the elder. The gates opened and cold morning air swept across the courtyard. His escort followed behind.

Villagers gathered along the roads as the royal procession departed. Many bowed. Others waved. Children smiled hopefully. Grey acknowledged them all with a solemn nod. Yet each hopeful expression only deepened the weight in his chest.

They believed he could save them. He wasn't certain they were right.

The kingdom slowly disappeared behind him.

Forests replaced villages. Hills replaced fields. Hours passed. Then days. Each mile carried him farther from home. Farther from the Everlasting Fig Tree.

Closer to Valir's capital. Closer to the auction. Closer to the wife he didn't want.

On the seventh evening, the company camped beside a river. Most warriors relaxed around the fire. Marcus joined Grey near the water's edge.

"Have you ever wondered what she'll be like?"

Grey didn't need clarification.

The future Rona. His future wife.

"No."

"Not even once?"

"No," Grey said flatly.

Marcus looked unconvinced. "You're going to marry her. You know that, right?"

"I'm going to save my kingdom," Grey growled, definitely annoyed by Marcus' phrase.

"Same difference." Marcus didn't back down from the growl.

Grey stared across the river. "No." His voice emerged colder than intended. "Not the same difference."

Because one implied emotion. The other implied duty. And Grey only trusted one of those.

Marcus wisely chose not to argue.

The fire crackled behind them. Night settled over the camp. Somewhere above, stars emerged. Grey found himself wondering whether the woman he eventually purchased was looking at the same sky. Whether she dreaded the auction. Or welcomed it. Whether she dreamed of princes. Or feared them. The thoughts irritated him immediately.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

She would be a stranger. A necessity. A means of survival.

Nothing more.

Yet for reasons he couldn't explain, unease lingered long after he returned to his tent.

Because despite everything he told himself-

The path ahead no longer belonged solely to him.

And somewhere in King Valir's palace, fate was already preparing a woman neither of them expected.