The Alpha and His General

s t a r t

“Papa, why didn’t you want to be King?” 

The Alpha of the North patted my head, his eyes towards the sky and watching the beautiful Northern Lights dance above us. “Because your Mama should have no equal. She has a grace and wisdom that no other King or Queen has ever had. She deserves all the glory.”

I looked up at the sky as well, pulling at my fur coat right around myself and shivering. Although my father never formally took on the title as King, he was always at the capital, flying back and forth between Russia and the castle for us. We saw him almost everyday with plenty of gifts and borscht. Yummy borscht. 

My father shrugs off his own coat and drapes it over my small body. “She’s respected, loved and is the hope in everyone’s eyes. That’s what you should aspire to be when you take the crown.”

I squint up at my father. In the darkness, he looked scary and menacing. He had scars on his face and markings all over his body. I’ve heard the council members always whisper about him, calling my father an outlaw, a betrayer… a villain. He certainly looked the part but I’ve seen him with my mother and older sister enough times to know he’s as scary as a newborn kitten. “Why doesn’t Alexandra want to be Queen? She’s older.” 

“Alexandra wants to be the Alpha here in Russia when I step down.” He gestures to our surroundings. “If she can win against the thirty seven men that want the position as well.”

I nod, thinking of my older sister who’s away seeing the world. “She’ll be good at that. She likes to beat people up.”

My father chuckled, putting me in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles on my head. “All while laughing too.”

“I will be King?” I ask, blinking in surprise. I’ve been called the little King since I could remember but I always thought it was merely a pet name. 

There was no hesitation when he answered. “Yes.”

“Will I be any good?” I questioned, remembering just how amazing my mother does it up in her big throne and the shiny crown on top of her head. 

My father smiled down at me. “I think you’ll be just as great as your Mama.”

I put my hands together, rubbing them together. “But she’s really good.” 

“It’s in your blood and in here.” He pointed to my chest, right above where my heart is. “It’s all about the heart, Eros.”

Suddenly, my mother's voice comes from behind us, shaking the trees of its snow. She's everything a Queen is: elegant, witty and a confidence that made her taller than her actual height. “What are you two doing out here?”

My father turned back to face her, giving my mother a toothy grin that he usually gives when we’re about to get in trouble. “We’re just looking at the lights, my love.”

“It’s freezing.” The Queen of the Werewolves humphed but otherwise joined us, sitting on my left and sandwiching me between my father. “Oh. It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” 

“It’s beautiful every night.” I tell her and allow myself to be a little boy just a little longer by holding their hands. I was ten and as the council always tells me, I was old enough to stop holding my parent’s or sister’s hands but tonight was nice and worth a good hand holding. 

I looked up at two of the most powerful werewolves in the world and hoped— prayed that I would be just as great as they are. 

Which is why years later with my parents retiring away to Russia and I’m crowned as King, I still put the position of Queen in such a high regard and to give it to someone that doesn’t deserve it is a sin. 

My destined mate is a sin and not the good kind.

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