Secrets in the Wolf King's Castle

Royal Tears

Gertal took a long moment to consider before he answered. “Why would you think such a thing?” he asked. The older wolf tried hard to control his face, to keep the confusion off of his lips and eyes, so that the younger would not feel judged.

“I just feel so… out of place,” Wyatt mumbled. “And the more I read the histories and the accounts of the past, the more I learn about what wolves go through, the less I believe I am like those wolves. And if I am not like them, and if I am not feeling the things that they are feeling, then what does that mean? Does it not seem like the most likely answer is that I am not like those wolves because I am not a wolf?” It was clear that this was what had most been weighing on Wyatt, this logical conclusion that he had seen and could not, now, get out of his head.

Gertal tilted his head and thought. “Have you ever checked the histories of prophecy regarding your birth?”

“No,” Wyatt paused. “Father never mentioned that there were any. Prophecies, I mean. Related to me.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he wondered if there was some calamity that could explain his feelings.

Gertal frowned slightly, recognizing the panic that beset the boy at the idea of a prophecy foretelling some wolfless future for him. “Well, there were some such prophecies. It’s traditional for prophecies to be made for Royal births. It would be unusual if there were no prophecies at all, but perhaps none were noteworthy. That happens more often than not, that a prophecy simply says a child shall be a great King, or a wise leader, but nothing of unusual import.”

“How do you know so much about the Wolf Kingdom?”

Gertal laughed. “Well, we considered ourselves to be at war with you for most of my lifetime, so I suppose it was my business to know as much as possible. And so many of our populace were defectors. It was natural that we learned much.” The King shrugged as if to ask what else could be possible, then said, “and now, of course, we are allies! So it is in my best interests to know how our customs both meet and diverge.”

When Wyatt made no answer, the King leaned over to rest a hand comfortingly on Wyatt’s shoulder. “I don’t think you it is so dire as you believe that it is. The time before a first shift is full of so many emotions, my dear boy.” For a minute, Wyatt ran his hand gently over the surface of the table. It was rutted and uneven with years of use, and Wyatt let his fingers swirl over the dark knots. He traced them over and over again as he considered Gertal’s words.

“I know that, but I’ve scoured the archives. I can’t find anyone who accounts that they worried that they were not a wolf, or who felt disconnected in the way that I feel.”

For a moment, Gertal seemed puzzled. His mouth was slightly open, and Wyatt could tell that he was thinking quite hard, his eyes darting slightly back and forth.

“I have to admit, Wyatt, that I have not heard of the same exact scenario which you describe. I can relate to some of what you are describing but I don’t want to speak unwisely. May I have some time to consider the problem you are facing? I want to help.”

Wyatt smiled, and it surprised Gertal. He was not expecting it to lighten the young wolf’s mood. His fingers ceased their perusal of the wood, and the anxiousness seemed to leave his body for a moment. He seemed to relax slightly into his seat as his body stilled.

“I appreciate that,” Wyatt said. “You are the first person I have confided in who has admitted that perhaps my circumstances are unique.”

The two shared a small smile.

“I am going to go to bed, and spend some time thinking over this issue. We will talk again soon, Wyatt.” Gertal clapped his shoulder familially as he walked past Wyatt toward the door. “I won’t bother you with trivialities or empty words. I don’t want to demean your experiences. But I do think it is worth considering that, whatever you are feeling, it may be something else. It doesn’t have to be the worst case scenario. Even if you feel that the Goddess, or your own heart, is leading you in a different direction, I know you will do great things.”

“Thank you Uncle.”

“And it’s very important to remember that your Father and Lyria will always love you. I can see that that worries you in your eyes.”

“It does… I don’t want to disappoint them.” The confession returned Wyatt’s nervous energy to his body. His fingers once more began to traverse across the table, caressing the wood’s crevices and the distorted parts of the planks where they had expanded or contracted against one another.

Gertal lingered, still standing above Wyatt and looking down fondly on the boy. “You know, when I first met your mother, she was alone. In a foreign land. And being threatened with death by my… predecessor.” Gertal’s face slightly belied the distaste he had felt for the Mad King, “I was worried about her. I was certain she would fret over her own safety first, and often, and constantly. But she worried for you. Almost exclusively. Her care for herself was so minimal at times I thought she was mad. She challenged Mad King Winstian, never for herself… always out of fear or protection for you. The fact that your family reunited and was unharmed and whole was all she ever wanted. Never doubt that.”

He stopped, and waited, but when Wyatt did not speak, he swept out of the room.

For a long time, Wyatt simply sat at the table, slight tears in his eyes. Whether or grief or love, he did not know.