The King's Queen

Fatherly Talk

♔ Tristen (P.O.V)

My father’s room is a rectangular shape, with an old wooden desk facing the entrance door. It’s a wonder my father, who is currently sitting in his chair, can sit there and not ram into the wall that’s behind him whenever he gets up.

The walls surrounding me are made of hickory wood, the smell of preservatives that have been lathered onto the surface linger in the air from when we built the packhouse years ago. The ceiling fan that is above us is spinning at its slowest pace, slowly tossing the aroma of the wood around the room.

Papers litter my father’s desk, no doubt all of it is pack related. Yet all the chaos that strings across his desk doesn’t touch the picture frame sitting snugly in its spot on the very left front corner of the desk. The picture of him, my mother and me, smiling as we’re in the woods having a picnic, was taken shortly before she died.

My mother’s long blonde hair flowed down her back as a few stray strands fell into place on her shoulders, almost cupping her heart-shaped face that was frozen in a burst of eternal laughter.

Her average build sporting her classic blue Sunday dress she often wore. My father wore a white tee shirt with jeans while I wore a white and blue plaid shirt, with denim jeans both our long hair put up.

“Tristen, listen to me!” My father shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts.

It’s been an hour since I’ve been in my father’s presence. I know I should be listening to him, but I can’t help but let my mind wander.

“Right now, we have something important that we need to talk about,” he says.

My father, who has been sitting in his chair, stands up and rests his hand on my shoulder, an easy task as were the same staggering 6′4″. “I’m getting old, Tristen, and with your mother gone, I’m failing in health.”

I nod my head, I understand when a werewolf finds their mate, they’re completed. You can feel your mate’s presence deep in your soul, and you can hear them clearer than a pack’s mental link.

So it’s logical that when the other half of your whole dies, you slowly meet your untimely demise as well. Honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but that’s the Moon Goddess’s curse.

She caught her lover cheating on her, and as a result, she laid a curse on the man and mistress to become a wolf. When she found out they embraced this curse as a blessing, she handed one down to them they couldn’t handle, mates.

For mates loyal to the end, you just suffer a weakened state, most likely desperate to join them.

Unless you’re older or an omega, your wolf will eventually take over your human form the next time your shift.

After all, they are your other half, and when a mate dies, you feel their life being ripped from you. Almost as if you had died yourself, leaving you in an empty chasm, where your mate’s voice and essence had been.

Of course, there are always exceptions, but those are rare.

“I’m aware of this father, as is the entire pack.” I wave my hands in a gesture as if addressing a crowd.

The tugging feeling of him hinting towards something snags at my heartstrings. “What is it?” I ask, guarded.

He ponders for a second as he moves back to his chair and sits down. Slowly he begins tapping his frail fingers against the desk.

“I’m not getting any younger, and your mother is gone. I’m failing in health,’” he pauses, and I could’ve sworn I seen a look of regret shine across his face if only for a second. “Tristen, I have lung cancer. So, it’s time that you become King before someone else challenges me for the spot.”

My jaw physically drops as the phrase ‘you become king’ leaves his lips.

There it is.

The words I have never wanted to hear spill from his mouth, yet here I am.

Worse of all, he’s dying, right before my eyes.

Blankly staring at the pale man before me, I finally realize how old my father looks.

Wrinkles. These. . . aged lines caress his face. His eyes have never-ending bags under them.

His once tanned skin is an unhealthy white. Things a regular werewolf, even at the age of forty-six, should not be showing. Especially those of us with pure blood like we do. Even though our Lycan blood allows us to live longer than normal werewolves, it’s clear the mate bond outweighs that.

“Close your mouth before you catch a fly.” He retorts, knocking me out of my thoughts.

Stammering, I reply, my voice ended in an unmeant yell, “B-but father. King? You’re insane!”

I’m not ready for that.

I’m a Lycan, a Prince, one of the highest tiers in our society. So to state our dominance, we have to fight the previous leader and kill them. Succeeding ensures that our pack, and those we are ultimately over, feel security knowing the new leader is stronger than the last.

I’ll have to kill my father.

“No, buts!” His alpha tone booms through the room and vibrates against the wall. “The ceremony will happen in two days. So, get your ass ready. We have ruled this spot for generations, and I am not about to let my hormonal son throw this in the basket!”

Although I am strong enough to resist his alpha tones, I submit. I hang my head as an unwelcome whimper escapes my lips.

He sighs, obviously tired. “I love you, son, but you’re so damn stubborn.”

He waves his hand at me, ushering me to leave the room.

I obey.

~~

After my father had shooed me out, I went to the human café to enjoy some quiet reading time in the town that’s roughly thirty minutes from the pack territory line.

I’ve been trying to get ahold of Felix to calm my nerves, but he’s not answering.

Usually, the pack link would be broken once one of the parties leaves the pack grounds; however, we are Lycans, not just werewolves. So our senses and abilities are stronger than average, giving us an hour or two away from the property before it vanishes. Even then, we still have a link with pack members if they are close. So, I know he’s hearing me; he’s just being a prick.

Letting a loud sigh escape me, I realize there’s a giggling sound coming from the right side of me where two young human girls are gossiping.

I look around at the place I’m in for the first time and realize it’s a small hole-in-the-wall establishment with a few booths and a bar with an opening just before the kitchen; almost exactly like a cliché café.

I’ve stationed myself in one of the brown booths with a small serviette holder and seasoning rack on the table. A cream-colored paper covers the remote wall areas around the window directly adjacent to me.

My feet casually propped up on the opposite booth directly in front of me as I silently tap my fingers on the table.

The gossiping girls I noticed seconds earlier are wearing this café’s uniform. It’s simple, a little black maid style dress and long white socks and small black flats. Their hair is pulled into a ponytail.

The shorter one resembles that of an eighteen-year-old and has blonde hair and what seems to be green eyes.

The taller one has red hair short in length and barely fits into her ponytail, and seems to have blue eyes.

My ears pick up on what they’re saying and twitch as I hear the tall one dares the shorter one to ask me for my number. She mutters something so low even I couldn’t hear, and sheepishly begins to head my way.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?” The girl asked.

Looking up from my book, I gently smile at the girl, “Coffee would be nice.”

“Any cream or sugar?”

“I’ll take a double-double.” The girl blushes and mentions something about being right back that she had to brew the coffee fresh.

Chuckling to myself, I silently go back to reading for a few minutes.

“Welcome back.” I smile and welcome her back as she brings me my cup of coffee.

She blushes hotly while smiling back and attempts to set the coffee cup down, but she’s bumped into and drops the contents of the entire mug onto my lap, making me quickly jump up and causing a few strands of hair to fall.

"f**k, that’s hot!" Remus yells into my mind.

"You’re telling me it’s not like it’s your skin being melted off," I growl menacingly.

It’s scarcely exaggerated, but it’s accurate. It’s not like she inadvertently dropped the contents onto his fur or anything; it was instead- dropped onto my entire lap.

The girl swiftly begins to panic and apologizes at rapid speed. “I’m extremely sorry!”

Holding back a hoarse growl, I reply as gently as I can as my lap is busy being burnt, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I am, and I will. What’s your number? I’ll buy you new pants when I get off tonight and tell you where you can meet me to get them,” she offers.

For some reason, my skin crawls at her offer. “Uhm, no, thank you, ma’am. I don’t need any compensation. . . Thank you for your generosity, though.” I trail off and promptly begin once more, “It’s okay; I promise. You ladies have a good day. I’ll head out first.”

Trying to escape any problematic situations that may or may not happen in the future. Quickly I seize my book and high tail it out of the café and jump in my truck and try to contact Felix again.

"Psst, Felix-" I whisper through our pack link.

Felix is my best friend. Soon to be Duke, considering my father requires me to take over.

Right now, I could use a friend. It’s not every day you receive news your father practically demands you to slaughter him so you can assume his position and that he has cancer.

Although that’s not what he said, it’s implied considering I’ll have to kill him as a tradition on taking the King’s throne. Losing my mother was hard enough, and that wasn’t by my own hands. Yet I’m supposed to sink my teeth and claws into the sole parent I have left to claim the throne I don’t even want.

I wait impatiently for a few minutes for a reply, and when I don’t receive any after a few more tries to contact him, I inevitably use the human equivalent of interaction, the cell phone.

Dialing his number, I place the device to my ear and wait for him to answer.

Ring. Ring. Ring Ring. Ring.

“Hello?” I wave my hands in the air angrily, wishing he could see them, finally!

“Esti d’épais à marde!” I yell at him in our actual language.

“First off, Tree, I am not an i***t-”

“Tu fais une connerie!” Fuming, I continue yelling at him in French.

He’s my best friend, not just that he’s going to be my beta and the werewolf worlds, duke. What the hell would he have done if it was an urgent message? What if I didn’t have this cell phone with me?

He’s damn stupid.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting, eh? ” he states calmly.

Remi, my wolf, speaks up in my mind, ′"Tristen, you are overreacting. Sure, he should’ve responded, but you got ahold of him, didn’t you?"

Sighing hopelessly, I know he’s right. I’m just slightly irritable considering the recent events. Merely shrugging it off, I begin to describe what my father had told me to Felix. Including how my father wants me to take over in two days and that it essentially means I must kill him. I tell him what happened in the café, and when I mention the girl spilling the coffee on me, he explodes in laughter.

“That’s damn near hilarious!” He shouts as he continues laughing.

“Someone wants you Tree,” he sends me a metal image over our pack link of him wiggling his eyebrows, instantly making me want to punch him in the face.

“Oh, shove it,” I growl ominously at him.

" Alright, alright, agitated Mr. Big Bad Wolf. Calm down. Why don’t you head on back to the packhouse, and we’ll go for a run so you can sway your mind off of things?” He generously offers.

I honestly could use a run right now, so what the hell.

“True,” I agree, relaxing my features, I start my truck and head back home.