Secrets in the Wolf King's Castle

Customs and Conversation

Lyria was nervous. She wound her fingers through her hair in circles, a nervous gesture, as she sat at the head of the table, across from her husband, with King Grimsaul and his company. The dining hall was full, and the guests of honor sat at the head table with King Wallace and Queen Lyria. More than thirty sat around enjoying the many delicacies that the castle’s kitchens had prepared, though most at smaller tables at the edges of the room. The human King’s lesser attendants and guards were feasting on the lawn, where they had set up tents and where King Wallace had invited them to make themselves at home. The nobility who had made the journey with King Grimsaul, and the personal guards of him and his family were to be housed in the castle. Lyria knew that behind the scenes, many Omegas were working quite hard to prepare the many rooms which needed to be readied.

To her left sat a man nearly as old as King Grimsaul himself, with hair that was nearly as grey. He was clean-shaven and his eyes were dark and fiery like coals, but not fiery with anger. There was something hardened about the man, something that threatened like sharp Warrior’s claws. But Lyria was unafraid of him. His claws, whatever they were, pointed elsewhere. She could sense it. Still, she knew he was not a man to cross.

“Duke Ironburgh,” she addressed the man, “I apologize, could you please remind me of your titles? I fear you are so decorated a man that I have forgotten some of them.”

The Duke laughed. He wore a uniform like the shimmering blue-grey ones of the common guard, but with elaborate medalry and silver gilding up and down the edges of the garment.

“I am, of course, the Duke of our duchy of Ironburgh, the third largest duchy of Astyvia. The Northern Kingdom, as you call our land. I am the Captain of the King’s Guard, the Blue Men, as we are affectionately referred to by our people. I bear the title Protector of the Royal Family, though that’s a ceremonial role.”

“Leave it to Thomasse to be modest,” said King Grimsaul from across the table where he sat at the right hand of King Wallace, a place of honor. “The ceremonial role he speaks of is our most honored position. Moreover, it cannot be granted by me. Only a unanimous vote by the Council of Dukes, conducted in such secrecy that even I know not when it is occurring, can confer this title.”

“That is interesting,” King Wallace said. He leaned back in his chair. “And what is it that this role symbolizes?”

“It is my duty and honor to sit in the stead of the King, should he be incapacitated.”

“I see,” King Wallace said. He turned to King Grimsaul. “It is interesting that you are not permitted to choose that role for yourself.” Wyatt nodded from his seat halfway down the table, and Weston looked equally intrigued. Annicke, however, was seemingly uninterested. She played with her food, cutting a large slab of meat on her plate into increasingly small triangles. The politics of the kingdom had never interested her. Lyria supposed it only made sense that the politics of another kingdom interested her even less. Annicke had the heart of an adventurer, a Warrior, not a monarch or a scholar.

“If I could, I would choose Captain Tiller anyway,” said King Grimsaul. “Still, it is considered the right of my noblemen to ensure that, in the event that I am incapacitated, someone with the best interests of the Kingdom be in charge.”

“And what of you, Lady Tiller?” This question was asked by Isadorna Greyfur, turning to the woman sitting next to Queen Lyria. The Greyfurs had remained mostly silent throughout the dinner.

There was a pause. Queen Trienna, sitting to Wallace’s left hand, tilted her head in confusion. The Duchess of Ironburgh, a tall and impassive woman with straight white hair and a face almost impossibly unwrinkled given her age, pursed her lips.

“What do you mean?” The Duchess finally asked.

“Do you have any titles? Other than Duchess.”

Queen Lyria interjected. “The women of Astyvia do not bear their own titles,” she said. “Only the counterparts to the titles of their husbands.” She remembered that fact from the many works scholars had written on the Northern Kingdom. She was already finding that her knowledge had many large gaps in them. She was unprepared for their way of speaking, which was at once fast and, somehow, tended to drag out vowels so that words sounded different. And though she had been aware that they dressed quite differently, it was something else entirely to see it in person.

Lady Greyfur blushed slightly. “My apologies.”

“So the women of the Wolf Kingdom can bear their own titles?” asked Princess Giannetta. “I find that interesting.” The Princess had a timid voice, but a beautiful one. It had a musical quality to it.

“We can,” Queen Lyria replied. A silence fell over the table. It seemed that no one knew what to say. Lyria reached across the table to pull a serving dish toward her. It was heaped high with cuts of meat. She served herself an ample amount. “Would you all like any more?” she asked, to fill the silence.

She pushed the platter toward the center of the table. The meat was edible for both wolf and human. For vegetables, the kitchen had filled square dishes with harrowroot and buttered squashes, favored by wolves. In circular bowls, they had prepared the coight tubers which were toxic to wolves but beloved by King Grimsaul. At the very center of the table, a variety of breads and cheeses spilled off a platter. Wine was readily available and flowing, with juices for the young children and ales available as well.

“You eat quite a lot,” the human Princess said.

“And you don’t,” replied Annicke. She glanced pointedly at the Princess’s plate, which was still piled with food that had been heaped onto it by the Omegas who had served them.

“Annicke,” Lyria chided at the exact moment that Queen Trienna said, “Now, Giannetta, be polite.”

“Sorry,” both girls said at the same time. They exchanged shy glances and both girls giggled slightly.

“I suppose we have much to learn about each other,” Lyria said, looking kindly at Queen Trienna.