No Wolf
1124 Words
“Now,” Gertal said, when dinner was over and he was alone with the young Prince. Lyria, knowingly, had shooed the younger children away with promises of games and extra candy, and King Wallace had retired to his study to attend some matters of state. Lyenna, tired and still feeling sick, had been more than happy to leave Gertal with Wyatt. “What is it you wished to discuss with me? I noticed you quieted when the others approached, so I assumed you wished to keep whatever it is to yourself.”
“Yes and no,” said Wyatt. “I have spoken to them, somewhat. But I find their advice… tiring. I suppose I am sick of being told that I must trust the Goddess, or that my worries are naught more than the rumblings of my emergent wolf.”
“What worries?” Gertal asked, tilting his head to one side. “It is true that wolves often speak loudest and most discordantly to us just before our first shift.”
“I know,” Wyatt said. “So I have been told, and read much of. But this doesn’t feel like… it doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay,” Gertal nodded. “Then explain.”
“No one has ever asked me if I wish to be King.”
“Do you?”
“How would I know?”
Gertal chuckled. “How do you ever know you wish anything? What to eat, or do? To read or to joust or climb a tree?”
“But this isn’t climbing a tree,” Wyatt protested. “For if I climb a tree, I can come down again. No Wolfsblood King has ever left his throne without bloodshed or death. Usually his own.” Wyatt picked glumly at a thread on his shirt. “When I read the histories, they depress me, Uncle. Wolfsblood Kings live narrow lives. Though the enemies and battles may be different, it seems to me that the Goddess ordains the same arc for us all. We shift young. We take the throne young. We mate young. We die young.”
“Are you afraid of death?”
“No,” Wyatt said. He shrugged. “Not really. But I’m afraid of dying without living.”
“And why is it that you are asking for my counsel?”
“Mother Lyria always tells us how you did not wish your fate. You did not dream of being King, or even really want the throne. Is that true?”
Gertal sighed. “Aye, yes. I had no designs on royalty.”
“So how did you reconcile your dreams with your fate?”
“Ahhh,” Gertal closed his eyes. “I see.” He opened them again, looking hard at the young wolf before him. “What are your dreams, Wyatt?”
“Adventure. Love. I dream of being free. Free to choose. Choose my mate, my occupation, my activities. I don’t dream of a life chained to this castle, to the throne, to the comings and goings of nobility and visiting dignitaries and laws.”
“Well, that is a trouble. For I cannot deny that regents are chained to those things. My dreams were simpler, I suppose, Wyatt. I wanted to marry Lyenna. To discover she was my mate. To look her in the eyes and tell her I loved her. Raise a family with her. To protect my Kingdom. To see Justice done. My goals could be achieved as King, even though I did not envy the crown and was somewhat put out to find it upon my head.”
Wyatt did not look as though this answer cheered him. He nodded without looking up at Gertal, staring down at the table.
He did look up at the sound of the serving door swinging open and the shuffling of several pairs of footsteps coming into the large dining hall.
Gertal watched as the young wolf’s eyes followed a female wolf who trailed behind the others, a pretty wolf with dark features and a sturdy build.
Wyatt’s eyes never left the Omega as she tidied up the table. The Omega clearly felt his eyes on her, and she blushed a little with each passing moment.
When she had left with her hands full of empty platters and pitchers, Gertal leaned forward.
“That wolf has caught your eye?”
“Yes,” Wyatt said. But the gloom crept back into his voice. “But what is the point? She isn’t my mate.”
“How can you be sure?”
“She’s already shifted,” Wyatt replied. “She’s older than me. She’s an Omega.”
“Your father’s mate was born to Omegas.”
“I–” Wyatt protested, “I didn’t mean that as a slight! But it is rare, extremely rare.”
“Yes, that is true.” Gertal shrugged, unable to repute the statement. It was true that royal wolves rarely met their mate below the rank of Warrior, and even Lyria had been a Warrior by rank despite her low birth.
“And as King, is it not unbecoming to court a wolf, knowing she is almost certainly not my mate?”
“Traditionally,” conceded Gertal. “However…”
“I just feel it is futile,” Wyatt interrupted. “It isn’t really about my mate. It’s about everything. What is left up to me?”
“Oh, dear Wyatt,” Gertal said. “You can shape a kingdom. The lives of every wolf in your care would be up to you. Is that not responsibility enough? Is it not burden enough?”
“It is burden too much! Who am I to rule a Kingdom if I cannot even rule myself?”
Gertal felt his brow furrow. “I confess, Wyatt, I don’t think I am the right wolf to assist you. You are very nearly questioning the Goddess herself.”
“I’m not…” Wyatt trailed off. “Not exactly.”
“And yet?”
“I suppose I simply do not feel as though I belong, Uncle. Not anywhere. I know that this many times is a sign of an emergent wolf but to me it feels like more. Something more sinister, almost. It feels like I am deficient in some way.”
“Have you sat with the Goddess on this?”
“I have,” Wyatt bemoaned. “I fear she has abandoned me in all but my dreams… and those are– well, my dreams scare me.”
Gertal leaned forward. “Scare you how?”
Wyatt paled as he met Gertal’s eyes. “What if I have no wolf?”
- Writer
