Fated to the scarred Alpha

   The Tower, Snow Moon castle, Wolfshire.  Winter, 1844 *Stephan*  Tonight is the night we die.  At just fourteen, I, Stephan Rafe, the eighth Alpha of Snow Moon, yearn to confront our fate with the fearlessness and valor my father would have desired. Yet, I'm petrified, my mouth parched, unable to summon the defiance necessary to challenge whoever approaches us.  In the ancient tower, no hearth offers warmth or comfort. Even if one existed, I doubt my uncle, Beta Danix Rafe, would allow us the solace of a fire. No blankets protect us from the icy wind that seeps through the window bars. All we have are the clothes we wore when brought to the tower "for our own safety" after our father's interment in the family mausoleum this morning.  Perhaps my uncle expects us to succumb to the cold, sparing him the trouble of ending our lives. As I peer through the tiny window, the moon remains hidden, stars filling the sky. It's the perfect night to vanish three troublesome boys.  "I'm starving," Tristan grumbles. "Why can't we just eat the mutton stew?"  "Because it might be tainted," Raphael counters, desire evident in his tone. Hunger gnaws at each of us. And beneath our pride, terror lurks.  Distressed, Tristan asks, "Why would Cook poison us? She likes me. She slips me extra biscuits."  "Not Cook, you fool," Raphael snaps. "Uncle."  Their bickering continues, subdued enough that it no longer distracts me as I gaze into the darkest night I've ever witnessed. No torchlight reveals guards or servants on patrol. We are alone, with our uncle confident in our confinement. The pack house clocks must have chimed midnight long ago. My brothers and I should be asleep, but I won't surrender easily. I've examined the bars; they remain unyielding. Only a tiny bird could slip through the gaps. Our avenues for escape are fading. I once thought I would lament our mother's death during childbirth, but now I'm grateful she won't suffer the pain of losing her children. Perhaps Uncle Danix would have spared her even that grief.  "But I'm so cold." Tristan's voice escalates with exasperation, as if he needs his brothers to comprehend his misery, as if we aren't all enduring the same hardships. It's not his fault he's not as resilient. He's only ten, and as the youngest, he's been pampered.  "If you don't quit whining, I'll give you a real reason to complain …a bloody nose," Raphael warns.  "Let him be, Raphael," I command. As his twin, I'm a mere twenty-two minutes older, but with that time comes authority, status, and obligation. I fear I won't fulfill all three, disappointing my father beyond the grave.  "But his incessant complaints are irritating," Raphael grumbles.  "Both of you, be quiet so I can think," I insist.  I hear movement, and soon Raphael stands beside me. We lack candles, lanterns, or lamps, yet I can envision Raphael perfectly in my mind. He's my mirror image: tall for his age, with untamed dark hair that perpetually obscures his hazel eyes … Rafe eyes, as my father called them. Identical to mine. And our accursed uncle's.  Beta Danix returned our injured father to the Rafe castle, our ancestral home, after a supposed riding accident. He claimed our father fell from his horse, but he was an exceptional rider. He would never have been unseated without foul play. I suspect he had dismounted to address something when someone struck him from behind. Hard. And I have a strong suspicion who that someone was.  "So, what's your brilliant plan to escape?" Raphael inquires softly. "I won't reveal it, even if he tortures me in the dungeon."  The dungeon contains various instruments of torment, remnants from the time when the first Alpha of Snow Moon served the old lycan king and executed his more unsavory orders. It seems a penchant for ruthlessness runs in our family. I can't shake the feeling that my uncle covets what my father possessed, and that means three more deaths.  "Do you even have a plan?" Raphael questions.  "You and I will ambush whoever enters next. You go low, target their knees. I'll go high," I explain, aware that I'm taking the greater risk if that person is armed. Instinct will drive me to strike what I can see more clearly: the enraged boy aiming for their face.  He looks at me. "Then what?"  "We saddle our horses and make a break for it," I reply.  "I'm in favor of confronting Uncle now. We kill him swiftly, and it's over," my twin brother suggests.  "Are you so foolish, Raphael, that you can't see the truth? Our imprisonment here means we have no allies," I argue.  He appears almost hurt. "We must have some. You're the rightful heir."  "But who? Who can we trust? No, our best course of action now is to flee, then separate. We will return when we're grown men to reclaim what's ours," I explain.  He lightly shakes his head. "What evidence will we have to prove our identities?"  "How many twin sons with our eye color do you think there are?" I also wear my father's ring on a chain around my neck, as my finger isn't yet large enough to hold it securely. But one day...  "I don't agree...," Raphael begins.  "Shh!" I warn.  I hear a distant shuffling, growing louder and closer.  "Someone's coming." In the dark, I find my brother's slim shoulder without error and give it a reassuring squeeze. We lack physical strength, so we must rely on surprise and agility. "Don't hesitate. Be swift and precise. Make it count."  I hear Raphael swallow and sense his emphatic nod.  "Tristan, to the far corner," I command.  "Why?" he inquires.  "No questions. Do it, Brother," I demand sternly. Tristan is too young to be of much help; besides, it's my duty to protect him.  I hurry to the door, aware of Raphael trailing behind. The only obstacles in our path are a small table and two stools at the room's center, likely used for signing confessions, I think with a touch of irony.  Holding my breath, I press myself against the wall, feeling the cold stone bite into my skin. I hear the key enter the lock, scraping as it turns. The door opens, light floods in, and I lunge forward...  The girl launches herself onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. Her tears chill my cheek. "You're alive," she chokes. "I was so afraid I'd be too late!"  As I hold her close, I feel her shivering. A lantern abandoned on the floor in the hallway casts a dim light into the room. She must have brought it and left it there while unlocking the door. "Shh, Mary," I whisper tenderly, "keep quiet. What are you doing here?"  Miss Mary, the Alpha of Wind Hill's spirited daughter and our neighbor, stifles a hiccup and sniffles as she presses her face firmly against my shoulder. "I was searching for you when I overheard... someone saying they wanted you dead."  "Who?" I inquire.  Barely audible, she replies, "Your uncle."  "Damn him," Raphael mutters. "I knew it!"  "Quiet," I command. Carefully and gently, I help Mary regain her footing. Her lanky frame is light as a feather. Once she's standing, I grip her shoulders and meet her vibrant green eyes. Two years my junior, Mary is a daring soul who frequently escapes her father's estate to join me on unsupervised adventures. Together, we explore ruins and ancient sites, with the nearby abandoned abbey being our top choice. Just last week, she boldly shared a kiss with me there. Had my father discovered our secret, I would be in hot water… I'm not supposed to kiss an Alpha’s daughter unless marriage is the intention.  But Mary isn't merely an Alpha’s  daughter; she's my closest friend. I have taught her to move stealthily, and she has mastered many skills typically reserved for boys. I adore her fearlessness. However, right now, she appears ghostly pale, her freckles standing out in sharp contrast. "Who did he tell?" I ask.  "I didn't see," she admits hastily. "I rushed to your room, and when you weren't there, I thought to check here."  "Did your father accompany you?" I question.  She vehemently shakes her head. "I rode here alone. I knew you would be grieving your father's death, and I wanted to support you... just like you did for me when my mother passed away." At ten, she lost her mother to fever. That night, I rode over, scaled the tree outside her bedroom, and slipped into her bed, comforting her as she mourned. "I was sneaking around to find you when I overheard the conversation."  "We must act swiftly. Raphael, stay close to Tristan," I instruct.  "I don't need babysitting," Tristan protests.  "Quiet!" Raphael snaps. "This is no game. Uncle wants us dead."  Our youngest brother appears hurt. "Why?"  "Because we're all that separates him from everything. Now, let's go," I say.  I take Mary's hand and exit the room. She retrieves the lantern, and we all hurry down the stairs, our brothers trailing behind. At the bottom, a guard lies unconscious, a large branch discarded beside him.  "I snuck up behind him and knocked him out," Mary reveals.  "Excellent work, Mary," I praise her.  Mary's radiant smile briefly lights up her clover-green eyes before worry returns. Hand in hand, we dash outside, her long legs keeping pace with mine. With the grace and swiftness of a young filly, she matches my stride. Our friendship dates back to our earliest memories, and her fiery red hair, now neatly braided, has always been uniquely vibrant.  Upon reaching the stables, my brothers and I saddle our horses, while Mary's steed awaits nearby. I help her mount before getting on my own horse.  "I will catch up, Raphael. I will ensure Mary gets home safely first," I call.  "No, we will stay together as long as possible," my brother replies.  I nod. "Then let's ride like the wind."  Guided by Mary's lantern, we traverse the shifting shadows with urgency. We can't gallop too fast for fear of our horses stumbling, but the need for haste prickles my skin. It would have been easier if we had been Old enough to have had our first shift.  Halfway across our property, I feel compelled to stop.  "Wait a moment," I command.  Everyone obeys, recognizing me as the Alpha. I dismount and approach Mary's lantern-lit area. "Mary, can I have your hair ribbon?"  She hands it over without hesitation, a testament to our unwavering trust. Retrieving the handkerchief my father insisted a gentleman should carry, I kneel.  "Stephan, what are you doing?" Raphael questions. "We don't have time. We must leave."  Yet, I can't depart without a piece of home. I dig up a handful of rich soil, touched by previous Alphas, kings, and queens. Wrapping it in the linen, I secure it with Mary's ribbon and stash it in my pocket. We remount and continue our journey.  We halt outside her father's stables. Dismounting, I approach Mary's horse.  "Come inside. My father can help you," she urges.  "It's too dangerous for you and your family, and likely for us as well," I reply.  Determined, she says, "I will accompany you then."  "No, you can't follow where we are headed," I softly respond.  Her eyes glisten. "Where are you going?"  "If you don't know, you can't say," I say, protecting her from potential harm. Lifting her off the horse, she clings to me.  "Don't leave me, Stephan. Take me with you."  "As Alpha Snow Moon, I can't bring you, but I promise to return. In ten years, on this night, at the abbey ruins." I brush my lips gently against hers, a fleeting touch like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. "Thank you, Mary. I will never forget what you did for us."  A tear escapes her eye. "Be careful."  "With a confidence that belies my youth and apprehension, I reply, "Always." The future remains uncertain.  "Send word when you're safe," she says, not grasping the true danger.  Holding her hands, I implore, "No matter the outcome, never reveal what you heard or did. Keep it secret for all our sake."  "I promise," she solemnly agrees.  Lost for words, I remount and urge my horse into a gallop, my brothers beside me, leaving Mary behind.  As we charge into the unknown darkness, I swear to return to Wolfshire and reclaim my birthright. This vow will shape the man I am destined to become.