The Wolf and the Maiden

Chapter 5

It took nearly a week to reach Landreth, with tomorrow slated for their actual arrival. The knight assigned as their guide, who also happened to be a royal ranger named Brett, had dressed down for the occasion, not at all decked out in plated armor, and instead wearing a dark hard leather surcoat bearing the sculpted image of King Joel’s banner. It made sense that he wasn’t leading the group around with all that traditional pomp and circumstance, since they were all trying to keep under the radar. Yet, even though he had stripped of his armor, his austere demeanor remained intact. The large man with the full beard and dark eyes that peeked through thick untamed eyebrows had little interest in small talk or bonding.

Reminding Rían of his dad’s royal Lycan warriors back home, Brett took his position seriously, which was commendable, as the ranger kept a watchful eye on anyone passing by on the long road south, or when he was tracking the surrounding moor-like prairielands.

Although Brett’s tactics to ensure their safe arrival were totally next level, Rían wondered if the ranger knew exactly who he was traveling with. Sure, King Joel probably filled his knight in with the basics, like —hey, you’re going to be escorting a few werewolves, a weredragon, and a faerie down south—but did the guy actually know what he and the others could do? Seriously, they didn’t need a babysitter. Because if any sort of highwaymen or band of robbers even thought about jumping them, King Joel’s Kingsmen could shut that shít down within a matter of seconds!

Then again, maybe Brett knew exactly that— and also the fact that they were instructed by the king to try and not get any undue attention by using their supernatural abilities while out on the road because it would attract those asshat Karanlık executioners. Although Rían hadn’t wanted to stir up any unnecessary trouble, he was still kinda curious about exactly who the Karanlık were and what they could do. They seemed to scare the shít outta King Joel, but he was just a human. Would they even be any sort of threat to him and Rory– and though he didn’t know what Isak and Chaz had going for them in terms of skills, they effused a sort of badass vibe, too.

So, for now, Brett was their guy to get them from point A to point B without incident, and that he did like a boss, directing them to the places they would stay each night, which wouldn’t be anywhere public. Meaning, they avoided all the local inns of the many small hamlets they passed by. Instead, King Joel had taken great care to make sure selective homesteads, which were sometimes miles off the main road, were prepared to take them in each night.

To Rían, it nearly felt like they were being moved from safehouse to safehouse. But he understood the king’s caution. He and whoever he planned this with had put a lot of time into this operation, and from what he said earlier, sacrificed a lot of people, too. It would majorly suck to have their plans exposed now.

After ushering the horses into the barn of their latest sanctuary, Rían nearly melted when he dismounted from his horse. Endless hours of riding definitely wasn’t something he was used to, and he was actually contemplating going straight to bed without dinner. Eyeing Rory, he grimaced when he noticed his brother’s strained movements and slight limp as he walked, his own muscles commiserating with a dull, milling burn. Even for a Lycan, five days on a horse had its limits.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it into the house,” Rory groaned. “Maybe I’ll just curl up on that mound of hay over there?” Rían glanced at the area his brother nodded to, then knew for sure he was just as tired, because there was no way in hell he was coherent enough to realize that there was shít and mud ground into that straw. A rational Rory wouldn’t ever be caught dead in that filth.

Then again, with how Rory looked right now, tired, dirty, windswept… maybe a feces-infested bed wouldn’t bother him much anymore.

The week on the road definitely had been an eye-opener with just how pampered they had been in their realm —in their era, and he and his brother were taking a hands-on crash course on how to adapt to their new reality. Aside from rider’s fatigue or keeping themselves warm against the crisp spring temperatures under the thick cloaks given to them for the journey, the menu was definitely something to get used to. It wasn’t like they could stop off at a restaurant and have a slew of items to pick from. When their breakfasts here on the road were comprised of hard bread, dried pork, and apples with suppers most often consisted of slurping down some sort of meaty stew at one of the many farmhouses they stayed at —with more hard bread— and then try to swallow a drink called mead that tasted like piss, had Rían fantasizing of a seared medium rare steak or maybe a steamed lobster with a nice Chardonnay.

Though, at this point, drinking himself into a coma with the strongest bourbon he could find sounded like heaven, too.

When the farm’s young stablehands shuffled in, taking over as they tended to the horses, Rían backed away and let them at it. Normally he would help them out, but tonight, no joke, he hadn’t the energy. As he walked toward his brother, his jelly-legs were a huge testament of the utter exhaustion that gripped at every muscle in his body. Brett, on the other hand, smirked at everyone’s obvious agony, shaking his head while he tended to the horses.

“Hey, kid,” Rory tapped one of the stablehands on the shoulder. “Where’s the… uh... latrine?” After about day three, Rory had stopped all bathroom jokes when he actually had to dig a hole to shít in and had admittedly wished they were back at the castle that literally had a room with the semblance of a toilet. Yeah, he had swallowed his pride a few days ago. Though really, Rían had noticed Rory really hadn’t been Rory ever since his encounter with Queen Marleina in the stables. So, he wasn’t sure if his brother was simply just exhausted or maybe preoccupied.

Although Rory was a mischievous bastard most of the time, and Rían wanted to cork him for most of the things that word-vomited from his mouth, he admittedly missed his cocky smartass.

Answering Rory, the young boy simply pointed to a small shack not too far away from the barn. After thanking him with a curt nod, he took off in that direction. Rían decided to follow, figuring he’d use it too before heading into the main house. As soon as he started to trail after his brother, Isak and Chaz joined him.

“What do you think is on the menu tonight? Let’s make a bet!” Chaz beamed. He was just as disenfranchised by this medieval bullshít too, but one would never guess it. With how much of the happy go lucky the faerie buzzed, the guy probably pissed sunshine, too.

From what Chaz had relayed of himself while on the road, the guy was from a Faerie realm called Léadreha and had been in Great Britain attending university with his cousins, who were also púca faerie like himself. There were many types of púca, which was a species of forest faerie that could turn into animals, and he happened to be of the feline variety. Chaz wasn’t necessarily a werecat, which was their own race, but he wasn’t just a simple house cat either, though a púca could choose to look like either. It was his brute form that Rían was most curious about seeing— he hadn’t ever met a cat beast.

Isak grumbled, “Is everything a game to you?” Getting to know the broody weredragon was another story. He shared very little despite the many days they had been trekking on the King’s Road, making a good contender for ranger Brett for the one who spoke the fewest words. But the morsel of information they had gathered was he had just recently entered the earth realm for the first time to attend some sort of noble weredragon conference with his father, King Albect, taking place in Tokyo. Isak also did admit he was teleported here while opening King Joel’s invitation as he took an elevator down to the hotel’s main lobby to meet his father for breakfast that morning. Interestingly, when he blinked into Vafaren, he found himself within a tree, falling through its branches.

“Is everything a grumpy dark cloud to you?” Chaz retorted, rolling his eyes at Isak. “Trust me, this whole thing will suck a little less ass if you just melt that chip off your shoulder? Hmm?” His lip quirked before he pressed, “The wager will be tomorrow morning’s apple! My bet is lamb stew again.”

“Ugh! My apple? Dammit. That’s the best part of breakfast.” Rían nearly didn’t join the bet. The apple was the only normal thing he cherished. Well, aside from Queen Marleina’s jerky— which turned out to be delicious! So he ate that sparingly, wanting to relish every bit of it. “You think lamb stew, eh? Did you guess that because of what Rory’s stank ass is doling out from the outhouse?” Rían snickered.

“Heard that!” his brother grumbled from inside the shack.

“So, what’s your guess?” Chaz pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. His enduring white-teeth grin always seemed to beam happy thoughts through any form of shade.

Rían sighed, knowing Chaz had won this already, hands down. They’d had lamb stew every damn night now. “Uh- pork stew?” he shrugged, taking a shot in the dark. It was the next best animal since he learned they rarely slaughtered their cows here, and his yearning for steak would likely never be satisfied.

“You in?” When the púca eyed Isak again, he merely glared, reiterating his lack of interest in the wager.

The outhouse door opened with Rory still fastening up his pants. “I’m in. It’s going to be fried fish.”

“Fried fish?” Rían challenged, though his mouth salivated at the possible change in menu.

Rory sniffed the air, then turned his head to the left, “Can’t you smell the river? These farmers must have access to fish.” Rían groaned, sensing it immediately.

Chaz cursed. “Damn, why didn't I think of that,” Then his thumb jabbed at the glorified outhouse, “Though I can’t smell anything other than that steaming pile you left in there.” Although a púca had supernaturally enhanced smell receptors, they weren’t as good as a Lycans, yet Chaz was just playing around. The faerie most likely could scent the river as well as they could, meaning it wasn’t too far from the homestead.

Rory smirked as he clapped Chaz’s shoulder while he walked by him. “And that’s why I make sure I get to the honey bucket first, so all you guys can bask in all my love.”

Raising his hand quickly, “I’m next!” Rían declared even as Chaz shoulder-checked him, trying to throw him off track to get to the outhouse first. But the faerie hadn’t a chance against his much stronger, larger frame, and he beat him there.

Just as Rían grabbed the wooden handle, a different scent caught his attention, making him freeze in place. Jerking his head towards his brother, he noticed Rory picked up on it, too, his eyes bleeding out across the fields beyond the shack. Moving to his side, his nostrils flaring, Rían trained his nose to filter out all other scents and concentrate on just the one that had suddenly come within range.

“What do you sense?” Rory whispered to him. By his tone, Rían guessed that he had a good idea.

“I’m not sure yet. But it’s familiar. Like—”

“---Dogs,” Chaz interjected, hissing through his fangs, “At least ten of them.” The púca had partially transformed; his usual brown eyes were now cat-like, glowing saffron with the dark pupils running vertical.

Isak growled, “Put that shít away, Faerie. You want to blow out cover and have those zealots on our asses?” Chaz shifted back, though his smile had vanished, replaced with a glare that remained fixed on the fields before them.

“No.. not dogs,” Rory muttered, inhaling slowly. “Wolves.”

“And not just wolves…” Rían took a step away from the group, his attention pinned on one section of the wheat field in particular. The moonlight helped amplify what he was now seeing, as it beamed down into the tall grass, presenting a dozen eerie eye-shined irises peering back at him through the dark. “Werewolves,” he whispered.

“If Vafaren has werewolves, what else do they have here, too?” Rory muttered. “And where are they hiding?” It was a good question. They hadn’t come across anything that smelled remotely of magic since they had left Armendari, which was understandable if it meant life or death.

“And why are they out in the open?” Isak breathed. “Didn’t the king say that the supernatural energy of shifters can still be detected?” Rían gazed over at the weredragon, his eyes floating down to the silver amulet draped around his neck that protected him from being discovered as different, that hid who he was from anyone poking their nose around for supernaturals.

“Did they sense us?” Chaz asked, his fiery brows furrowing. “How though?”

“No,” Rían shook his head, first looking at the faerie and then back out into the field. “They can’t sense any of you. You’re all wearing the talismans.” The wolves were all still out there, watching them, probably curious about the wolf beast that didn’t smell entirely like them. Did Lycan also exist in Vafaren? Or was he an entirely new scent for them? “But I don’t have a talisman. They are sensing me.”

“How long have they been following us?” Rory breathed.

“Good question.”

Slowly, he began to advance, his hands visible, his eyes flitting over them as he strode in their direction. He kept his movements slow, hoping they wouldn’t run off as he neared them. But he knew they might perceive him as a threat, with his dominating Aura radiating that of a Lycan and not of a werewolf. There was a prevalent difference between their kinds, with Lycan being far superior than the wolf.

“I am Prince Rían and I mean you no harm,” he whispered, as to not alert anyone else on the homestead. If they were like the werewolves back in the Earth realm, then they must have similar —if not the same— senses, and most definitely had heard him. Rían continued walking, focusing on the wolf in the center of the line, wondering if that possibly could be the head warrior, head scout, or maybe even the leader? “Is your Alpha with you? Can I speak to him or her?” With that request, the wolf’s ears perked slightly.

“Boys – time to eat!” Brett hollered from the main house.

And just like that, the long wheat shuffled in a crescendoing bustle of waves, as the wolves retreated deeper into the crop field.

“Dammit!” Rían hissed, taking a few steps forward, only to pause and place his hands on his hips in frustration. He had to hold himself back from shifting and chasing after them, just for the chance to speak with them. But when Rory nudged to follow him back to the house, he forced himself to let it go.

“If they’ve been tracking us, I’m sure we’ll see them again,” his brother muttered.

When they were within a few yards of the house, Isak’s shoulders rose as he took in a big pull of air. “Duck meat pies.” He smirked at Chaz, “I win.”