Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince

6. Tensions By The Riverside Feast

[MAGNUS]

The night unfolds along the riverbank, the candlelit table casting a warm glow on the faces of the gathered ministers. They dine on the delicacies that are brought in — a roasted boar, its succulent flesh still sizzling — golden carrots, ruby-red beets, and emerald-green asparagus—arranged artfully on silver platters.

Plates of venison flank the boar, the meat tender and juicy. They are accompanied by bowls of honey-glazed root vegetables—parsnips, and turnips glistening in the candlelight. A spread of artisanal bread, crusty and warm, sits alongside an assortment of cheeses and honeycomb. Flaky tarts stuffed with spiced fruits and nuts, their edges dusted with powdered sugar.

The clinking of tankards and the hum of conversation fills the air, but I keep my ears glued to the sound of anything going amiss.

“The Prince never fails to deliver a feast!” calls out Lord Reynard, laughing as he raises his glass of wine. He’s already quite drunk, barely keeping himself on the chair. “This is so much better than the wedding dinner. Ah-ha!”

He then proceeds to smash his glass on the table — likely forgetting it’s not a tankard — causing curses to erupt from Lord Hylas. Some ministers laugh, others shake their heads in disappointment.

Well, at least they’re having fun. Which is not something I can say for Elara.

She’s sitting quietly, her fingers holding the fork and knife that delicately cut and tear at the little food she allowed to be served. Her eyes are lowered at all times, except when she hears people pass comments about her pack’s hospitality — or lack thereof.

She doesn’t seem like the same woman that fumed at me earlier by the pier. She looks innocent now. Completely harmless.

‘f**k you,’ her whispered words echo in my mind.

I’ve discovered more about her in half a day than I ever intended to for the rest of my life. I only tried to be honest with her — no false hopes or dreams she could hold on to for our future. I don’t know what she expected me to be. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting me to fall to my knees and beg for her to love me back.

Maybe it is my fault. I probably overplayed the charming prince role at the wedding. Something none of them expected me to be.

They were expecting an ugly, twisted, hideous man — the rumors my uncle helped spread. So I gave them just that. Just to shove it into their face that they had been played for fools.

I won’t deny it: I loved the looks that crossed their faces. It warmed my cruel heart. In fact, I can’t wait for the news to reach my uncle’s ears while he’s engrossed in his wars. That’ll piss him off. He might just get distracted in the battlefield and take a silver ax to his head.

My eyes move to Alistair at the thought, and find him already watching me. He gives me a subtle nod, and I raise an eyebrow in acknowledgment. I know I can trust him with my life. He has proved his loyalty enough times already. My hand still reaches for the hilt of my sword for reassurance as my eyes glance around the table, taking in the familiar faces. The question forms within my mind: who among these men could be a traitor?

Elara sighs, finally putting down her knife and fork. She traces her finger along the rim of the wine glass, thinking deeply.

“Didn’t like the food?” I ask her, taking another bite of the venison.

She passes me a sharp look before she composes herself. “Too good for my liking.”

I think I can work with this attitude. It’s better that she hates me than hope for anything nice.

Elara shifts her gaze to the fire that has been lit around which the group of dancers and singers have gathered. The thought of hearing another song threatens to bring up the food I’ve put in me.

No one asks them to, but they begin anyway. Soon, the rest of the company gathers around, whistling and laughing.

Between me and my new wife, however, only silence settles.

I wonder what’s going on inside that head. Is she plotting to kill me too? She could be. But how would that serve her? It will be too obvious and she’ll be hanged along with her lover sooner than she can blink. They’re doing nothing to downplay their romance and I’m sure half the ministers are already weaving dirty rumors about her.

I think it’s the perfect scenario for my uncle. He could kill me now and no one would suspect him. But I’ll burn the whole of Caelondor to ashes before I let him lay his hands on me.

Looking at her again, I’m forced to change my mind. Her hair is still wet from almost being drowned by the hydralith. I think of her impulsive words by the river — she can’t hold her emotions. Being alone in the tent with her mate a day after marrying me?

None of that is smart. She’s clearly too stupid to even contemplate killing me. I believe right now she’s thinking about what she can do to make sure Alec is safe.

“Elara,” I murmur, breaking the silence. “The hydralith is no longer a threat. You're safe now.”

She meets my gaze, there’s nothing but hate in them. But her voice is gentle. She’s at least smart enough to know it has to be. “I’m not thinking about that, Magnus.”

Isn’t she? Not at all? I pretend to be interested, leaning forward slightly. “What are you thinking about then?”

Elara studies my face, her eyes taking in the features. She almost reaches out to touch my hair before her hand stops mid air. She then looks into my golden eyes. I know the effect they have — intimidating to some, mesmerizing to others.

“Are they real? Your eyes?” she questions me.

I can’t help but laugh, taken aback slightly. “You’re not expecting an answer from me.”

She nods, her eyes briefly going back to the fire before she leans closer. “I am.”

“They’re real.”

She presses her lips together before dabbing at the corners with her kerchief. “Your father had golden eyes?” is her next question.

I blink. It’s a simple question but I can’t help wondering about its motive. A moment passes before I answer, “My mother did.”

She nods again, answering the question I posed earlier, “I was thinking about how everything I knew about you turned out to be a lie. Not everything…” she shrugs. “Well, I don’t know what is true.”

I relax my shoulders, realizing the defensive stature I had gathered. “Well, this is me. This is how I really look.”

“And I can trust that?” There’s a touch of humor in her voice.

I nod, wondering where this conversation is going. “You can expect honesty from me. Since everyone else is a stranger to you as well. Trust me more than you trust anyone else, Elara.”

“Not everyone is a stranger,” she declares, finally taking her eyes off me to stare into the distance. “I wasn’t supposed to marry you. Did you know that?”

I shake my head. “Honestly, I knew nothing except that I had a wedding. Arranged by the family. Although, none of them cared to attend it.”

“And you didn’t care to find out more? About who you were going to marry?”

“I’m a busy man, Elara,” I tell her, failing to keep a grin off my face.

She folds her arms before pushing her hair back. “I can believe that,” she remarks before her eyes land on the wet patch of her dress where her hair had just been. She frowns, gently patting it before she seems to realize it's not going to help in any way. “My sister, Alina, was going to marry you. Did you meet her at the wedding?”

I nod slowly, taking in this new piece of information and thinking of what use it could be to me. “I might have. I don’t recall,” I tell her honestly.

The creases in her forehead deepen. “She was wearing a silver dress, a bronze medallion… it doesn’t matter. She pretended to be very sick just so she wouldn’t have to marry you. I fell for it. Others pretended they didn’t know the truth.”

I can’t keep the amusement from my voice, “Because of all the rumors… so you were betrayed by your own family?”

A painful look crosses her eyes. “She’s my step-sister. But I always thought we were close.”

“Betrayal always comes from those closest to you,” I hear myself say but I stop my brain before it can get distracted from memories of the past. “Well, you’re a royal now. Enjoy it.”

“She would’ve enjoyed this much more than I would,” she expresses, her voice suddenly becoming sharp and angry. “I had a life. I had dreams. I had a m— ”

I cut her off by raising my hand before she can make things worse for herself. I can’t believe I let myself get carried away by this conversation. “Relax, Elara. Get some rest now.”

Elara doesn’t want to oblige — I see the resistance in her eyes. But she gulps before getting to her feet, the tears that formed in her vanishing before they can run down her cheeks.

My eyes dart around the lively scene, searching for Alistair's familiar presence. An uneasy feeling begins to churn in my gut. Something is amiss.

A moment passes, before a sudden, blood-curdling shriek pierces through the air. The once animated laughter and conversation come to an abrupt halt, replaced by a heavy silence.

Elara freezes, her gaze snapping from the fire to mine. The hate in her eyes is momentarily replaced by genuine fear. I rise from my seat, hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of my sword.