Alpha's Healer

2

Alpha King Dimitiro.

I am Dimitrio Seraphon, monarch of Gethmorn. Thirty years ago, I was born under the veil of a red moon to a lowborn servant, serving in the castle of Gethmorn. A king was drunk, and he chose to lay with a servant—that is how bastards are formed. For werewolves, full moons are a locomotor to our abilities, it is charge of lightning that brings an increase to our sensitivity, prowess and agility. Have you ever heard of red moons then? It is a rare moon.

One, every eight hundred years. It happens so rarely that ancient folks have deigned it to be myth, a legendary and forgotten tale. It signifies everything that is nefarious and chaotic. But it hints at the birth of an uprising. Where a full moon gives strength, a red moon releases the wolf of a legendary beast who is known to be the protector of the moon goddess, the beast of Gevaudan. It is a war wolf, an angry wolf, whose breath is hot as lava, and whose anger is boiling like a volcanic eruption.

Seemingly, I was born with eyes that sparked ambers of red fire in the raggedy quarters of the servants. And while everyone in the kingdom were gathered in different groups, ladened in shock by the moon that devoured the skies. My mother gave birth to me in silence, encompassed by the noise of others, knowing in the depths of her soul that I wasn’t just a bastard. I was a wolf touched by the moon goddess, born with the wolf of Gevaudan, a beast of my generation and one in eight hundred years.

As a new born, my cries came in ragged bursts, each exhale laden with the heat of their simmering fury. And so, my mother took it upon herself to hide the miracle of my birth. I am the offspring that was sent to live in the stables, left to scrape and delight in the leftovers of fat pigs. My mother’s dirty background had no place in the fore walls of the aristocrats of Gethmorn. It would have been different if I was a bastard that had a mother who was the daughter of a rich man because despite having the blood of the king, I was treated like a worm, spat on by the nobles, taunted by my step siblings, and pitied by servants.

They had it better than me.

The day my slave mother died; I was only fifteen. It was poison, I saw her lips, it was pitch black. She coughed blood as dark as night, her body, heated like a furnace as she begged me to pick up a knife. She was in so much pain that she begged her own son to kill her like a goat for slaughter. I couldn’t do it. I tried to meet the king, to tell him about my mother’s condition but I couldn’t even get to the entrance of castle.

I waited, hoped that I would catch a glimpse of a healer, a physician—someone who would be kind enough to return her health or help her go peacefully. I remember dragging my knees across the ground, weeping and begging every healer to look at her.

“A slave!? A healer has no business saving a slave!” A physician said.

She suffered in overwhelming pain for three days before giving her last breath. I stayed close to her, knowing it was the royal family who put her in such deformity. Despite being a slave who had no power, the queen did not spare my mother and the king who put her in such misery, let it happen. As I knelt by her bedside, she raised her hands to touch the tendrils of my hair.

Was it sweat? Was it tears? They all mixed together as I watched her skin grow white and grey. I bent my ear to listen to her words and they were as follows.

“Now that I am dying, Dimitrio, you are released from all constraints and weaknesses. You possess the Wolf of Gevaudan, a creature of fury... a tempest of chaos. Use him to save yourself.” She said and her hands grew frail, her last breath fell on my face.

My mother told me to save myself but I needed vengeance first. In the servants’ quarters, her body was taken out of the room and I caught a glimpse of the Queen’s contempt. The side of her lips twitched but when she saw me, a storm brewed in her eyes. That night, a man came up to me and he asked if I wanted to leave with him. He was Pious, the brother of the king who had been banished from Gethmorn on the accounts of treason, raising an army against the throne. Together, we left Gethmorn but I came back.

And I didn’t return alone. After fifteen years of being a marauder, plundering lands across seas, spreading the seeds of my name, plundering territories and gathering men who believed in my dream of taking down the walls of Gethmorn, I conquered. Our army sent ripples through the very earth beneath their feet. I rallied my war dogs, they heeded my call, their spectral forms materialized around me. And together, we marched, a formidable force that took the reins of Gethmorn.

I stand atop the highest parapet of the towering castle, surveying the vast expanse of the kingdom. My hands are clasped behind my back, draped in robes of rich velvet as my gaze swept across the sprawling landscape below, from the bustling cities and fertile fields to the distant mountains that bordered my realm. It has been three months since I took over the throne, my expression has remained stoic and impassive, but I know this was not merely a conquest, but a testament to my own greatness, a legacy carved in stone and blood.

The door to the throne room opens and I turn my gaze to it, I remember that I sent Beswick to one of the villages in the city. When I heard there was a village known as the healing village, one who exempted from paying tax throughout the reigns of kings, anger purred in my chest. I hate healers, I hate what they stand for and the pretence they create around themselves. I know how they treated my mother when she was in dire need, the scorn, the venom in their words. I hold it like a relic in my thoughts.

Physicians. Healers. Mages. I detest their very existence and now that I’m king, I swear…I will be a thorn.

“Your majesty….” Beswick says, bowing in deference. I raise my hand in a subtle yet authoritative gesture, signalling for him to lift his head.

“Tell me, where are trinkets of gold and silver?” I ask, hoping in my heart that the village head failed to pay the sum owed so I can unleash my terror unconditionally.

“They couldn’t pay.” Beswick says.

I sniff, walking towards him.

“I don’t see any limbs around here.” I say and though, my voice is simple in its delivery, it resonates with an undeniable authority that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to defy me. I believe.

“I brought them to the castle.” Beswick answers, lifting his head but when he sees the ire in my eyes, and the gravity of standing before me, he bows his head back.

“Did I ask you to do that, Beswick?” I ask, punctuating the part where I say his name.

“Your majesty, you have to see something…the village head, he has a daughter who is a wolfen.” Beswick says and I pause for a second.

“A wolfen in Gethmorn…how is that possible?” I ask because it is against the laws of Gethmorn to have relations with a non-wolf, thus, to have a wolfen daughter—it would mean that someone has broken the law which is punishable by hanging. Oh, it just keeps getting better.

“I brought her here. I brought her father too, I thought it would be interesting if you were to question him first.” Beswick says and I chuckle, licking my lips and walking back to my throne.

“Bring the girl, let me see her for myself.” I say and Beswick bows in acknowledgment, walking out to bring the wolfen. The door opens in a second and I pause. I am intrigued by the foremost view I have of her face. I have seen and taken many beauties, my history with women didn’t start today but at the sight of her, a chord strikes in my chest.

Long, curly locks cascaded her shoulders in a tumbling wave, each ringlet, framing her bewildering features. What are those eyes? Like twin sapphires, precious jewels that held within them the secrets of the universe, each facet, a window.

The wolfen’s lip is a delicate curve, akin to the petals of a freshly bloomed rose, framed by a cupid's bow…its hue, a rosy tint kissed by the dawn's first light. As they parted ever so slightly, a gasp escapes her lips and I remember that she is staring at me too. What scar is she looking at? The one on my forehead, the one under my eyes or is it the one at the lower side of my lips. Even my warriors grow afraid of me at times. So, for her, it could be my eyes, they are shards of fractured obsidian—a tempest raging upon a storm-tossed sea.

I rise from my seat to encircle and form opinions about her. She is wearing a dress of earthy brown, reminiscent of a bygone era—she looks like she doesn’t put too much effort in her looks. However, the said fabric clung to her curves in a way that accentuates her ample hips, a testament to her womanhood despite the modesty of her attire.

“On your knees before the king!” Beswick says, making her jump before descending to her knees, her eyes are averted away from me.

As I approach her, I cannot sense her wolf, or know what type she has. It seems to be true that she is wolfen. A wolf without her wolf, an empty body. What a misfortune! Her posture is a blend of reverence and submission. Her back is straight, her head bowed, a cascade of hair falling gently over her shoulders.

“You are a wolfen.” I say, and it’s not a question.

“Yes, your majesty.” She speaks. Her voice trembles with an unmistakable quiver, but it is a soft tone nevertheless.

“If you father is a wolf. Then, what is your mother?” I ask.

“I---I don’t know. I have never met her, your majesty.”

“You dare lie to his majesty!?” Beswick adds.

“No, I’m not lying. I don’t know my mother.” She says, a taint of sweat on her forehead as she speaks.

“How long have you been living in Gethmorn?” I ask.

“Since I was born, your majesty.” She answers.

“So, your father hid you and escaped punishment? Or is it no one thought to report your father to the authorities? First, your father fails to pay what is owed to the crown and next, he has broken the laws by keeping a wolfen daughter, a relationship that is against the laws, you are an abomination.” I say and I watch her hands squeeze into a fist.

“Your majesty, if you will allow me to speak…” she utters.

“Speak.” I say.

“The healing village is unable to pay the tax because we don’t collect money from the sick, our services are free, we get money from farming and that money is used to help the sick.” She says and I smirk in disdain.

I hate healers, I hate their pretence and I’m sure this is all a show, her father is definitely a self-proclaimed bastard who pretends to help the slaves, the poor when in truth, all they care about is filling their pockets. My patience to listen to anything else has fully elapsed and the only thing I have left is ire.

“I don’t believe you. I am willing to overlook you being a wolfen since I didn’t make such laws. But for failing to pay what is due, I sentence your father to have his limbs cut off.” I seethe, without mercy and she lifts her head to look at me.

Her eyes are shiny, covered in the brims of tears but they will never be enough to sway me or my hatred for healers. With trembling hands, she reaches out to grasp my feet, her fingers curling around them with a desperate plea for mercy. And with her knees pressed firmly against the ground as she bows her head in reverence before me.

“Your majesty, please….we will pay you. We will do whatever we can. Please, give us time. Give me time!” She says, her voice, a raw show of vulnerability.

“Get your hands off the king!” Beswick yells, yanking her hands off.

“Your majesty!”

“Your majesty, please!” She yells, struggling as Beswick holds her.

“And how? How will you pay me what is owed!?” I ask.

“I am a healer. I can pay with my services…”

“I don’t have need for a healer. I don’t have need for a worthless charlatan! How dare you presume to call yourself a healer? You're nothing but a fraud, peddling your snake oil remedies to the gullible masses! Your so-called 'cures' are nothing but quackery, and your presence here is an insult to the dignity of my throne. You're a disgrace to your profession, a disgrace to this kingdom! I should have you banished from the realm for your crimes against decency and honour! I yell, angry, my voice drips with contempt and disdain, and my tone is harsh and biting like the lash of a whip.

“Your…your majesty…” She says, weeping to the floor.

“Why don’t we make her repay her debts by giving her to the soliders as a w***e…. she may be a wolfen but her beauty…” Beswick says, his eyes fawning over her like a box of gems and I hiss.

“A w***e? Are you willing to do that? You are neither wolf, healer but at least, you are a female.” I say and her lashes flutter in shock.

“I’m not a…I’m not…” She says, intercepting herself.

“You are not what…you don’t have a wolf; so, you will never be able to recognize your mate even if he were standing in your face right now. Didn’t you say you would do whatever to pay your debts.” I ask.

“Your majesty, please, don’t reduce me to a w***e for your soldiers.” She says.

“Would you be a w***e for me instead?” I ask, and she bends her head to the ground before speaking.

“I dare not. How can a wolfen be with a king?” She says but her excuse is a lie, I can feel her beating heart as she speaks. From her squeezed fists, she doesn’t deign me worthy despite being a king. Many women would take it as a life changing opportunity to be a w***e of the king but not her.

“And how can you be of service to me?” I ask, rage boiling.

“Your healer.” She responds and my eyes flash with irritation that she continues to mention the word ‘healing’. At this, I am prepared to make her regret ever asking to be a healer.

“Get out.” I say to Beswick and he looks at me in shock before leaving. She rises on her feet, slowly and I stand in front of her.

“Fine, be my healer….” I say, looking at the square line of her dress, the lace where her bosom rests and I stretch my hands to it.

“I have been sexually deprived of recent….”

“As my healer, I need you to wake me up….” I say, my hands make it way to the rope of her bodice, fingers tightening around the fabric and with a firm, possessive grip, I pull it. The contours of her breast rise and swell, exhibiting a natural perkiness and as she fidgets, there's a subtle bounce that leaves me in awe.

The second thing is a slap, on my face.