Secrets in the Wolf King's Castle

A King Arrives

Annicke was still giggling when she skittered to a halt just outside the front doors of the castle. She was surprised to see a whole flock of people marching up toward the castle. They were dressed in strange garb. Many, those who walked in front and behind the group, wore matching tunics of strange shimmering material that Annicke did not recognize. They fabric was light blue, but when the light caught it, it appeared almost grey. She stopped, fascinated.

More fascinating still were the carriages that seemed to be draped with the same fabrics, held up by delicate poles of ornate gold and silver. Underneath, the carriage itself sparkled with heavy jewels.

“Whoa,” Weston said, startling Annicke, who hadn’t noticed him catch up to her. “Look,” he said in a breathless whisper, pointing to the crest on the largest carriage.

“What is it?”

“That’s the crest of the King of the Northern Kingdom,” Weston said. “They’re humans!”

“The human king?” Annicke said, shocked. “But last I heard he was not expected to arrive until the week’s end!”

“He must have hurried,” Weston replied, puffing up proudly, “for Wyatt’s birthday. He wouldn’t want to miss anything! You know,” he looked around, then dropped his voice even further and leaned into Annicke conspiratorially, “I’ve heard he’s old.”

“Like forty?” Annicke asked. She didn’t look over at her brother, her eyes still following the procession of carriages. They were less grand now, but still ostentatious. However, she knew her father had many equally beautiful carriages. She wondered if she would get to ride in one while the human king was visiting. It seemed as if the castle was showing off all the best features of the Wolf Kingdom, and Annicke had always wanted to ride in the beautiful green gilded carriage that her father only used for the most important occasions.

“Older. They say his grey hair is not by birth, but by living so long that it turned that color!”

“Impossible!” Annicke said. “That would make him older than granfer and grandferra…” She quietly tried to do math in her head, ticking off numbers using her fingers. “You don’t think he could be sixty?” Annicke’s brow furrowed. Though Wolfsbloods were historically short-lived, her Moonglow ancestors often lived into their sixties. This was considered an extraordinary age for wolves.

“Older!” Weston said. His tone was reverential. “I’ve heard he’s nearly a hundred!”

“That’s impossible,” Annicke scoffed. “His daughter is only seventeen,” she added.

Weston shrugged. “I read about it. The library has a lot of records of the human kingdoms, but no one ever checks them out. The librarykeeper was so surprised when I started reading them.”

“And they really said he was that old?”

“Yes. His wife is younger though. Almost half his age, I think!”

Annicke rolled her eyes. “Mother says that sometimes wolves believe silly things about humans. I think this is one of those.”

“You’ll see,” Wyatt muttered.

“If he was that old, wouldn’t he have many children?” Annicke asked, adding, “Mother and Father have us five, and they aren’t even that old!”

“Yes, but some wolves have less children,” Weston reasoned. “Perhaps humans prefer to have less children too?”

“Perhaps,” Annicke replied, but she was once more distracted. In the distance, by the massive carriagehouse, the first of the carriages were stopping. “Look, they’ll be getting out!” Annicke said. “Let’s go see! I’ll race you,” she said over her shoulder, already running.

Weston groaned, but nonetheless began to run. Annicke was wearing a more comfortable, practical outfit for gallivanting around the grounds, dressed in simple grey-brown pants and a flowy red shirt. Weston, however, wore more formal garb, his pants made of thick material lined with golden threads, that did not bend as easily as linen. He had not expected to be running around the grounds that day.

And though he perhaps would never admit it, he preferred to dress up. His siblings had never cared for it, and though common linens were more comfortable, he liked that he could set himself apart a little by wearing his nicest clothes. He felt there was precious little else to elevate him above his siblings.

Away from him, up the lawn a little, Weston was surprised to see one of the men in the blue-grey tunics stop Annicke before she could approach the carriagehouse.

He loomed over her, and appeared angry. Weston furrowed his brow, quickening his pace as he approached, watching Annicke seemingly yell back.

“I’m the daughter of King Wallace,” she was saying as Weston approached.

“A Princess in little more than rags?” the man, who appeared to be a guard, sneered. “I doubt that. Perhaps no more than some illegitimate urchin of the King. But that you dare to approach our Royal carriage…”

“What’s going on?” Weston asked as he came to a stop beside Annicke. The guard looked over Weston with a more forgiving eye.

“This girl is trying to approach the Royal carriage.”

“Yes, we just wanted to watch.” Weston could see, out of the corner of his vision, the Royal carriage doors opening. Annicke, however, seemed to have forgotten all about it in her outrage.

“And you are?”

“Her brother,” he replied. The guard’s eyes darted between the two of them, Weston in his fine clothes, and Annicke with her hair pulled back, an air of wildness to her.

Before any of them could speak further, the castle doors opened wide and his father strode out. Slightly behind him, Wyatt came hurrying along. Wyatt wore a crown, which was unusual for him, and it was slightly askew. Weston snickered when he saw it, and Annicke’s face softened slightly as well.

“Children!” The King’s voice boomed across the lawn. With hardly a backward glance at the guard, Weston and Annicke took off toward their father. Next, Lyria came through the doors, holding the baby Aertia in her arms and with Baiden waddling along next to her.

“Father,”Annicke said as she pulled up alongside the King, matching his stride toward the carriagehouse. No one would question her now. “Father, that guard said–”

“Shush, now, Annicke,” King Wallace replied. “We must greet our guests.”

Weston’s eyes were glued on the fancy carriage ahead of them. Still, no one had emerged, but servants bustled about it, laying out a small stepstool and producing parasols, which they clutched but did not open.

King Wallace stopped a respectful distance away, and the rest of the family gathered around him. Annicke had a storm lingering on her face, but she did not press her father.

“Annicke,” Lyria said in a low tone as she caught up to the others, “please change as soon as possible.”

“I will,” Annicke hissed. “It isn’t like I knew that I would need–” she stopped speaking as the King shushed her, placing a hand on her shoulder and casting her a fond, but stern, look.

A foot appeared at the carriage door, and then a leg. As it rested on the stepstool, a long grey gown fell to cover it. A servant reached out, and a hand appeared from inside the carriage.

With the servant’s assistance, a beautiful young girl emerged. She had dark skin and rosy cheeks, with an elaborate hairstyle that seemed to be made of never-ending curls. Her grey gown was actually more silver in the light, with blindingly bright silver jewelry and a small tiara to match perched in her hair.

The young girl stood to one side, her eyes on the ground, as another foot appeared and another person climbed out of the carriage. Another lady emerged, wearing a gold dress. Her crown was large, ceremonial, and looked heavy. She was older than the young girl, but no less beautiful. She appeared like the glowing sun, and Weston almost felt it was offensive to look directly at her.

She, too, stood to the side, taking her place near the girl. Weston knew that they must be the Queen and the Princess.

The man who emerged the carriage next was quite unlike the women before him. He, too, was dressed finely, in gold, but it seemed to overwhelm him. He was tall, and not uncomely, but he was clearly old. Weston nudged his sister as this elderly King emerged. She shifted, annoyed.

His hair was indeed grey, and his face heavily lined. He had a long grey beard and his skin was pale, nearly as pale as Weston’s own. He had kind eyes and spoke softly to the servants assisting him, Weston noticed.

Weston’s father seemed to recognize the man. “King Reginald,” he said, his voice one of genuine pleasure. “It has been a long time.”

King Reginald turned toward the Wolfsblood family, smiled, and nodded. “I am most pleased to finally meet your family,” he said.

Behind him, the young Princess finally raised her eyes, examining the Wolfsbloods. She wore a small, kind smile.

Weston liked them already.