THE CONFLICT #2

CHAPTER 18

NOVENA

I allow Nina to assist me as I dress in the light silver gown provided for the Regius’s dinner tonight. Whenever I move, the dress seems to glimmer, sparkling under the man-made light. The material is as beautiful as any found in South Continere and yet, I find myself hating my appearance. Dressed up like a pretty little doll, that's what's happening here. His newest pet, his shinniest toy… I shudder thinking of all the Werewolves that will be in attendance, hoping to catch a look at the Mace Princess - at me. I'll be the latest entertainment for them all. Nina clips my hair back with nimble fingers to make it appear sleek and smooth as a smile plays on her lips. She has a look of contentment that evokes my irritation. What does she have to be happy about? What could any human being around here feel happy about?

“Why are you so content to remain here?” I ask, watching as she completes my look.

It’s obvious to me that the humans here are treated simply as the help. Necessary but disposable. Nina strikes me as a smart girl – a confident girl. Why would she put up with this degrading lifestyle? I frown, another though occurring. I’ve never heard of a human coming across the border to us for refuge before.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asks.

I huff, shaking my head, “Your worth to the Werewolves is as a slave! Surely you want more from your life?”

Honestly, can’t she see that? I can’t imagine tolerating such an insult. She shrugs good-naturedly. I’m about to say more when a thought occurs to me as I watch Nina through the mirror, her strawberry-blonde hair and strikingly lovely blue eyes holding my attention. I might very well need someone, someone who is free to move around – someone willing to be on my side.

I turn in my seat – in front of the dressing table, “If you were so inclined, you would be accepted in my country. I could offer you safety.” I watch her face closely for a reaction.

She c***s her head to the side, thoughtfully, “And what would I do in your country? Your society, your people rank each other on intelligence and education. A system where people's livelihoods are determined by who can afford to send their children to… varsities is it? Is that what it’s called? I remember seeing you in Foreign Muse. If you aren’t smart enough or rich enough, then who are you in South Continere? What would someone like me achieve there? Here, people are born knowing their place. There is no disappointment when there was never a chance to begin with. It’s a far less stressful system, where you are who you are born to be and that is it.”

“Our system is fair. Everyone has equal opportunities to succeed. If you don’t have money but you work hard, there are other options that a person can explore. If you aren’t academically inclined, there are other professions that are just as rewarding.” I insist, “This system of the North doesn’t care how hard you’ve worked or how much you deserve it. You are what you are.”

She laughs critically at my words, and I have to school my features so that she doesn't see the offense she's caused.

“And you are not born to be a Princess and the next Ruler?” She asks. "What about your dukes and duchesses? Are they not born into their positions?"

“That’s different.”

She smirks, “Really? Do tell.”

I glower at her, “The position as a Duke or a Royal is not one that you can just simply walk into. You can’t study to rule a country within a few years. We spend our entire lives preparing for the role and still there are systems in place to ensure that if someone is unfit, they can be removed and replaced.”

She ponders this as I place my shoes on my feet, “Here, if you are unfit for a position of power, you are challenged for the right. I am able to challenge anyone I desire for a position higher than the one I’m born into.”

My interest sparks, “What kind of challenge?”

“Goodness me, with a look like that, I’d think you were planning to challenge the Prince.” She laughs and I lose some of my earlier interest.

Her sky-blue eyes shining, “A challenge of arms – a death match.” She bursts out laughs at the horror that must be evident on my face, “What’s the matter? Is that too brutal for a Mace?”

“It’s barbaric.”

Nina grins widely as I rise to my feet, “Maybe, but it is effective.”

Disgust is evident on my face and in my words, “I can’t imagine how.”

I scowl as the double doors to my room open revealing Zelus in a three-piece navy-blue suit. Crossing the length between us in somewhat of a stroll as his long legs stretch out beneath him, he smiles, pleased at what he sees.

“You look lovely.” He says as he passes a heated look over me.

“I don’t want to go.”

He pouts playfully, “Don’t be like that and after Nina’s put in so much work to make you look presentable.” Nina beams at his praise.

I cross my arms over my chest angrily, “Nina will understand.” I say as Nina raises her blonde eyebrow at me before moving away.

“Why suddenly is my presence requested? That’s the motive?” I question growing suspicious.

Zelus sighs, placing his hand on his hip in frustration as if he were scolding a child. “Why must you be so difficult? Would you prefer to stay here, locked up all the time?”

I didn’t trust that reasoning. There are other ways of allowing me freedom. A mass dinner is not a good option unless there is a purpose behind it.

“How thoughtful of you. Do you do this with all your prisoners?”

He grins wickedly, “Only the pretty ones.”

I scowl darkly, “I am not some pretty face to flaunt! I am Royalty and you insult me by treating me any differently.”

Zelus tsks, shakes his head, “Let me put this situation in perspective for you, Princess.”

He smiles, touching my face, sending shockwaves through my body. His touch is like fire and my body ice. The slow stroke makes me hold my breath lest I make my desire evident.

He seems breathless himself when he speaks, “You can either accompany me of your own free will, or I can call the guards watching your door to give you a hand. What shall it be?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I snarl, all heated thoughts flying out the window.

He grins, “You know what? I have a better idea.”

My green eyes widen in surprise as he hoists me up and over his muscular shoulder. I screech in outrage as he smoothly continues on his way to the dining hall.

“How dare you manhandle me! Put me down right now!” As he strolls through the passageways the servants and guards cast curious looks.

“Ag! This is so childish!” I scream.

“Please stop hurting my ear.” He replies dully, like he’s already bored of my company. The thought is like gas to a fire, fuelling my rage.

“You know what? Screw you!” I shout, hitting his back and kicking my legs and still he carries me with ease like I’m weightless, like I’m a child.

Finally, he places me on my feet in front of a solid hardwood door, with the commonly used circular white piece in the middle, representing the moon while the door handles frame around it. I angrily straighten my dress, smoothing it down, before he takes hold of my elbow and basically drags me in.

“Let go!” I snarl under my breath as we approach the gathered Werewolves in their human forms, seated down the length of several elegantly long wooden tables across the length of the hall.

I feel my face turn bright red as those gathered turn sharp eyes on us, singling me out while they whisper under their breaths. Their inspection never waivers as Zelus marches me up the golden stairs and onto the platform. An arched dining table seats his family members, all lavishly dressed. Selene with her lips curved slightly at the sides, chin thrusted forward, the air of royalty clinging to her as she perches prettily. Phobos’s face is stern, disinterest rolling off of him as if he barely tolerates the very existence of the air he breathes. Zelus pulls a chair out next to the table’s centre. I sit sullenly as he stands in front of his seat in the middle, his grandpa on his left while I sit to his right. I feel my cheeks burning as I notice Pallas smirking next to me. His cheek resting smugly in his hand as he grins, amused by my embarrassment.

I raise a brow at him in annoyance, “Something you’d like to say?”

He smirks, “Just how beautiful flushed cheeks look on you.”

I roll my eyes, irritably, as Zelus welcomes his guests with a much longer speech than is necessary. It strikes me how he holds his court's attention. How they gaze at him so thoughtfully, like he could tell them anything and they would believe him. And the respect that adorns their faces is unnerving, I think as they smile warmly from their seats. Like he is something more than just a young man trying to be a King. And maybe he is, I think as I allow my eyes to travel over his body while he speaks, gazing out at his audience. He has such a powerful stance – a graceful manner while his tongue is as silver as his hair. I almost envy his authority. Not even Ragnar holds such control over our people. I wonder if Zelus rules with a stern hand to create such obedience in his people. Then again, I think remembering my talk with Nina, maybe they all resigned to their role of adoring him because they are born to do so. As Zelus takes his seat the hall fills with the sound of music and everyone gets up to dance. I watch them twirl and spin around in their suits and pretty dresses as a distant memory of Werewolf culture plays in my mind.

Leaning towards Pallas, I ask, “These people are in the same pack?” Looking out at the gathered people, I would say that there are at least a hundred or more.

“Most are. Majority here are our family’s pack members. Everyone besides those on shift are here, Omega to Alpha. As it is every mealtime. His entire pack lives either in the palace or in the surrounding area – or both.”

“That’s a bizarre thought. I never thought that the social classes would mix. Aren’t the Omega’s not good enough for you?” I ask sarcastically, as I notice a guard running up to Phobos and whispering something to him.

Pallas laughs, his elongated canines flashing, “There’s a hierarchy of authority for a reason – a very important one.”

He takes a long sip of his drink as he contemplates whether or not to continue. His easy nature towards me makes me think that he’s had a lot more to drink than he’s letting on.

“In our country, the ones with power and riches are the individuals who are responsible for protecting the lives of others. If your character only allows for you to be a servant, then why should you have the same privileges as the individual risking their lives for your safety?”

It is certainly an interesting thought. However, I couldn’t see it working in my own country, I think to myself as I watch Phobos leaving in a hurry. Strange – he doesn’t strike me as someone who is fused over anything simple. Whatever has called him away must be serious indeed.

“I believe you have police that monitor your people and an army for fighting your wars. What is their lifestyle like?” Pallas asks, genuinely curious as he finishes his glass.

An omega emerges, from where I did not see, to replace Pallas’s empty glass.

“Well, they are paid very decently and all of them have insurance, which are companies that pay their families huge amounts if they die in the line of duty.”

“Such peculiar terms.”

My mouth almost falls open, “How so? You don’t have insurance or companies?”

“What for? Everything we need we get from within our packs or we trade.”

It sounds so primitive and yet I look around me at the stunningly designed dining hall. I think of Zelus’s suite and the luxury items that decorate the interior. I look at their clothes, as richly garnished as I am at home. How is this possible without businesses?

“I admit this sounds extraordinarily unusual for someone from a different economic system. Who do you trade with?”

Pallas sighs as if the conversation is beginning to bore him, “Other packs. Some of their leaders or ambassadors are here now. You see, Zelus is not only the future Munditia, but a Regulus as well, which is the leader of a territory if you didnt pay attention to our customs. Unlike your country we don’t have provinces. We have settlements of smaller packs residing under the rule of a Regulus who usually has a stronger and larger pack. They provide protection for the smaller groups in a territory from feuds and rivalry. And then all the packs from all corners of the North fall under the Munditia.”

“That sounds like a lot of unnecessary work.”

“Not entirely, the individual packs are quite good at maintaining their own order and we seldom need to intervene. But on occasion, when necessary, either Selene or myself go between territories to sort out disputes.”

“And what of Phobos and Huntley?”

Pallas raises an eyebrow in interest, “What about Huntley?” He asks with far too much curiosity.

I blush automatically, “Is he not a Regius?”

Pallas laughs loudly, drawing Zelus’s attention to us followed by a scowl. My cheeks heat at Zelus’s attention, his eyes lingering longer than what makes me comfortable. I nervously glance towards him before snapping at Pallas.

“What’s so funny?”

“He is not a Regius.” Pallas says ‘he’ like Huntley is something dirty. Something Pallas would never want associated with his name.

I feel my blood heat in anger at his slight towards Huntley, “But he looks exactly like a Regius? He has your families hair colour and skin tone and eyes. He looks exactly like you.”

Pallas shrugs his wide shoulders in such an unprincely way, “That’s just the thing.”

He looks out into the crowd and I follow his gaze to the third table from the right to find Huntley with an older couple. Both sport black hair which I know means that they are part of the Legatus group. Black wolves. They touch him without reserve, seeming to fuse over him as if he is something precious. The contrast between how they seem to treat him and how Zelus’s family treats him is vastly different.

Pallas leans closer to me, his tone dipping as if he were about to tell me a great secret, “I would be careful showing so much interest in another male if I were you.”

I meet Pallas silver eyes, bright with mischief. His voice dips, turning quiet, “Zelus might take it the wrong way and poor little Huntley already has such a hard time here at court."

"Because of you?" I question.

"You want to know who he is? Selene’s favorite toy. But Huntley isn't the only pet around here." He tells me with mocking laughter in his voice, "Zelus would never let you see the real court of wolves. He is too scared that his pretty little doll will hate him more than she already does. But I have no reservations." Pallas says grinning like a cat, mischief shining in his eyes as he leans back into his chair to sip on his drink.

I drink from my own to hide my emotions, taking on a bland expression. I catch Zelus watching me. I raise one perfectly arched eyebrow at him in challenge. I dare him to sour my mood further.

He c***s his head, “What are you talking about with Pallas?” The interest in his voice puts me on edge. Still, I hold his gaze.

I turn my body to face Zelus fully, “Just how big he thinks his c**k is.”

Zelus narrows his intense eerie eyes at me while Pallas – who had been attentively listening in for my response – chokes on his drink, coughing loudly beside me. After catching his breath, Pallas angrily stands and leaves the table. I grin as I watch him go, satisfied with the result that I've caused.

“Was that necessary?” Zelus drawls, disapprovingly.

I shrug my slim shoulders, “From where I’m sitting, it certainly was.”

I see the corner of Zelus’s lips tilt upwards as I smile sweetly at him. My mind quickly wonders back to what Pallas said. I find myself wondering if this dinner is all just an act at being civilized for my benefit. I return my attention to gazing out at the crowd before me, finding it fascinating how the Werewolves interacted with each other. I watch as Huntley stands, excusing himself from the two middle aged men, the ones with jet black hair gracing their heads. One of the men holds his hand longer than what is considered decent in werewolf society, and I find myself wondering how he knows them and if they aren’t related somehow.

“Can Werewolves have affairs?” I find myself asking before I can filter my thoughts.

Zelus seems surprised by the question, “That’s a difficult question to answer.” He says carefully, “A Werewolf can have more than one mate. It is rare but it does happen. However, Werewolves cannot breed with a wolf that is not their mate. It is physically impossible, which is one of the reasons for the mating ritual.”

An affair seems unlikely then, regarding Huntley. The mystery surrounding him deepens, holding my curiosity. It's only curiosity, I tell myself.

“Is that what you wanted to do with me and that woman from the throne room?” I ask, uncaring that he dislikes my line of questioning.

I notice his lip tug downwards at one side, the only indication of his unwillingness to have this discussion, “It’s a rare female or male that would accept such a thing. The only time it ever happens is when a couple mate, without being true mates. And then the true mate happens to suddenly show up.”

“How does that even work?” I can’t help the distaste in my voice.

I find the idea of sharing a man to be quite displeasing, especially when I think of Zelus – although I know my feelings for him are only from physical attraction and the influence of the mating bond. Without it, not even his attractiveness would be enough to hold my attention when he is the reason for all my troubles. For all my heartache.

“The mating ritual isn’t just a physical ceremony; it’s a spiritual one as well. It binds a couple's mind and soul so that they are whole. Then when a true mate comes, it’s as if that individual has two mates. They cannot distinguish between where one mate begins and the other ends or who the original mate was.”

“I’m sure this is news to some males out there.” I joke.

Zelus chuckles darkly catching my meaning, “More often for a werewolf that’s already lost their mate without having been mated and then settles for someone else only to find out they had a second mate. Sometimes, it happens when people have more than one true mate.”

“But that’s not true for you. You didn’t think I was dead, and that woman isn’t your true mate.”

“I grew impatient.” Zelus takes my hand in his. “But you are here now, within my grasp.”

A shiver runs the length of my body. Something about the hint of obsession playing in his eyes makes me uneasy. I wonder how much the bond affects him in comparison to me or if he feels the same way I do.

Pulling my fingers out of his larger hand and placing them in my lap, I smile reassuringly, “Not by choice.”

“Don’t be cruel.” He says, narrowing his eerie eyes.

“Me cruel?” I barely hold my voice at a civil tone.

“If we are going to talk about cruelty, how is my friend – whom you never let me see? Despite my continous requests after her well being. All I get is that she is alive. Alive does not mean well."

"Your friend is well. I shall arrange for you to meet with her…"

I interrupt him, "How is my father? Why is he not shown the same respect as I am? Why isn’t he here sitting at the table with me as your guest or is he rotting in a dungeon somewhere?” I shake my head angrily, “You are the cruel one.”

“Your father is dead.”

The whole table falls deadly silent as Huntley stands next to Selene who had been speaking to her grandfather. I hadn’t even seen him approach. His eyes catch mine as I gap at him in horror.

“What did you say?” I couldn’t have heard him right. There must be some mistake.

Selene cuts Huntley sharp look as Zelus stares at me in obvious guilt.

My face distorts with uncontrollable rage, “Did you execute my father?” I feel my lips tremble as the words fall out of my mouth. Please! Please don’t let it be true!

“No Nova," He rushes to say, "it was an accident, I swear...”

Zelus tries to explain as my hand curls around the steak knife on the table. Zelus pauses, seeing it coming and yet he doesn’t attempt to stop me as I stab him in the chest. But the knife doesn’t go further than an inch or two deep, while the force of the impact causes my hand to slip over the blade. I remember too late that ordinary metal cannot penetrate the skin of a Werewolf so easily. I cry out through gritted teeth as the hall falls silent at the smell of blood. I clutch my bleeding hand against my chest as the steak knife falls to the floor.

“Let me see.” Zelus whispers softly, trying to take my hand.

I barely hold my tongue against the pain as I meet Zelus’s eyes. He perches on how special the bond between mates is – and yet he is responsible for more of my pain!

“You are an enemy to my family, Prince Zelus Regius!” I speak loud enough for my voice to travel around the hall. "I will never forget this!"

I stand in a rush, my chair falling backwards hard, echoing through the hall. My breath coming fast, I flee, leaving the hall as the pack growls and snarls at my passing with Zelus’s presence pushing against my mind.

Novena.

The way he says my name almost makes me want to turn around and look at him, but I wouldn’t dare. If war is what Zelus wants with my people, war is what he’ll get.