The Wolf Queen's Prophecy

Danger Lurking

After lunch, Lyria wandered the halls of the castle, somewhat restless. Despite her show of bravado, the Mystic Major’s prophecy was still on her mind. Without realizing it, her feet were bringing her to the King’s Hall, the long, low-ceilinged walk that separated the library from the King’s offices. Portraits of the former Kings and their Luna Queens lined the walls, smaller portraits of the Royal children and marble sculptures of the Kings’ wolves underneath them. Each sculpture was inlaid with the name of the King to whom the wolf belonged, and the name of the wolf.

She stopped at her beloved husband’s statue, set just between a portrait of the King with former Luna Queen Madelyn and an empty space where her portrait with the King would hang when it was completed. She chuckled gently to herself as she touched the plinth, gazing at the inscription.

Like most wolves, the King’s wolf had a name that was a palindrome, or near palindrome, of the King’s name. Therefore, King Wallace’s wolf was named Ecallaw. Her own wolf was named Airyl. As she touched the lower part of her stomach tenderly, she felt Airyl stirring in her chest, excited by Lyria’s thoughts about the King and his wolf. Excited to be carrying his child. She smiled softly.

“You’d never let anything happen to our young one, would you?” she whispered, still looking fondly at the little miniature of Ecallaw. It was a good representation, and the artist had perfectly captured the way the King’s fur went from short around his head and ears to long, flowing, down his body.

Lyria thought about the first time she and Wallace had shifted together, just beyond the walls of the city. Lyria was not yet Luna Queen, so she could not shift in Cyrrillest. They’d made their way to a pretty glen west of the castle, where a brook flowed freely toward a larger river, a river that fed into the Bay of Bone. Though Lyria couldn’t swim, Airyl could, and it was instinctual to wolves. Lyria and the King had picnicked, and then as the day grew long and neared its end, they’d shed their clothes, running as Ecallaw and Airyl toward the rushing river, where they had frolicked with abandon.

It had been a perfect day, the start of so many perfect days. When they had fallen, in human form once more, breathless and in love, onto the banks of the river, Wallace had taken Lyria by the hand and whispered that she would never worry again. He would protect her always.

But to be a mother was to worry, she thought to herself as she remembered that promise. And she knew that now as she carried worry in her heart to match the growing infant in her womb.

She didn’t know what had led her here, to the King’s Hall, but she felt slightly better surrounded by the many Wolfsblood Kings who had come before her husband. Fighters and protectors, each of them, and he was the best in that long line.

She comforted herself with that knowledge.

“My love!” came a shout of joy from behind her. It was the King, and she had scarcely turned around before he scooped her into his arms and twirled her. “I thought you were in the city. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to rescue you,” she said, a teasing twinkle in her eyes, “from all the dreadfully boring statesmanship that running a Kingdom requires.”

“Oh, thank you,” the King said, clutching his chest in an exaggerated gesture. “I am like to perish from the strain.”

Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately, so passionately that she felt the world spin just a little. She smiled as he pulled away.

“There,” he said. “That’s much better. I am revived.” Then he pulled away further, and asked, “so, to what do I really owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I finished in the city early,” she replied. “I found the perfect dress, too. Then I had lunch with Aertis…” she trailed off, wondering if she should tell the King what had happened.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, sensing her hesitation.

“Nothing,” she said, waving it off. She wasn’t ready to tell the King her news, and therefore she wasn’t ready to tell him what had happened. “Just something strange that someone in the city said to me. Really, it was no issue.”

“Are you sure? I’ll have them brought before the full court if they upset you,” he offered. She laughed, and he winked at her.

“Come for a stroll?” she asked him. “You’ve been working so hard of late,” she added.

“I know,” he sighed, but he took her hand all the same and began to walk with her toward a side door to the garden. “But there is much to do. Not only is Gathering Dark approaching, and that requires quite a lot of planning, but we still have not figured out the strange disease that has plagued the crops in the western part of the Kingdom. It spreads, too. It’s creeping closer and closer toward the capital and I fear that it will decimate our bloodfruit grove here.”

“The medicine stores,”Lyria said, understanding the gravity of the situation. Bloodfruit was a rare and precious crop. It grew in only one orchard, kept by the Wolfsblood family, and the vast majority of it was used to create painkillers, medicines, and infusions. It was also a delicious fruit used for special occasions as a dessert, and even turned into wine, but that was not such an important use. The Kingdom would suffer if Healers couldn’t readily access the medicines of bloodfruit. “Do we have much saved?” she asked. She knew that Wallace’s father, during his reign, had begun the practice of saving a little of the medicines each year in reserve. Wallace had continued the practice, but it was for emergencies and would not last long.

“Enough to last the Kingdom a few months, perhaps,” the King said. The lovers emerged into the sunlight and a gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair. “And of course, we have other problems as well. Lord Wetherole, of Open Brook Pack, is upset that Lord Highston of Growing Glen has refused an offer of marriage between their eldest children.”

“Wetherole… isn’t his son…?”

“Verille Wetherole, yes. You danced quite closely with him at a party during the contest,” the King said with a little bit of a smirk on his face. “To make me jealous.”

“Well, it was Aertis’s idea,” Lyria muttered, turning red.

Wallace just laughed. “It was a good idea. I mean, not for me, but still. It was torturous for me. It looked like a nice enough time for you,” he teased.

“It wasn’t unpleasant,” she replied. “He was charming and handsome. Of course, the entire time my mind was on a much more charming and handsome wolf close at hand…”

“Duke Greyfur, I imagine.”

The two of them shared another laugh, winding through flowery paths in the garden with no fixed destination in mind.

“So,” she asked when the laughter had passed. “Why is Lord Wetherole trying to arrange marriages for his children?”

“I fear that he has been spooked by what happened to Aidria Windmere,” Wallace replied. He looked a bit saddened to admit it. “Though publicly many claim to be past such bigotry, I’m afraid that the idea of a child finding their mate in an Omega is still profoundly unacceptable to some of the Alphas of the Kingdom. I think Lord Wetherole hopes to cut off any possibility that his son and heir will mate with a ‘less pedigreed’ wolf by having him married off to a wolf of appropriate standing.”

“That makes me sad for Verille,” Lyria said, thinking of the witty young wolf with pretty brown eyes who had conspired with Aertis to make the King jealous. “He deserves to find his true mate, not to have his mate bond severed by a forced marriage pact.”

“I agree,” the King sighed. “And if I could make it illegal for men to think such thoughts, I would. It is illegal to coerce someone into marriage, naturally, but to prove that Lord Wetherole is doing so is a difficult thing. And I can’t make it illegal for Lord Wetherole to make inquiries about an arranged marriage, if both wolves are of age.”

“Still, there must be something we can do,” she mused. “Perhaps we can get word to Verille that he would have our support if his father tries to force marriage on him.”

“You just want him back at court,” the King said. He laughed when Lyria opened her mouth to protest, then leaned forward quickly to kiss her full on the lips and quiet her. “Sorry, my darling, I can’t help but to tease. You are simply adorable when you are embarrassed, and doubly so when being embarrassed makes you angry.” He leaned forward for another kiss.

Lyria grinned, her lips still pressed against Wallace’s lips. “Quiet, you,” she muttered, one hand on the back of his neck drawing him in again. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him, and his arms circled her waist, cradling her lovingly while they kissed.

It was beautiful, and their love warmed Lyria as fiercely and fully as the sun on their backs while they embraced. It was easy for her to let go of her fear and her doubt, in that moment, to forget what the Mystic Major had said. It was easy to be at peace.

It was easy to be so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t see the danger lurking just outside their vision.