VARDER
The photograph is old. Faded. The edges worn from years of handling.
My mother smiles up at me from the frame—young, vibrant, her hand resting on my father's shoulder. He's seated, regal even in casual dress, the weight of the crown visible in his posture even in this private moment.
Before everything went to hell.
Before Davian.
I trace the edge of the frame with one finger, careful not to touch the photograph itself. It's fragile. Like most memories.
"You would have hated what I've become," I murmur to the image. To ghosts who can't answer. "Both of you."
A knock at the door. Sharp. Urgent.
I close the album carefully, sliding it back into the locked drawer of my desk. Some things are better unknown.
"Enter."
Theresa appears, and immediately I know something's wrong. She's paler than usual, her hands shaking worse than normal.
"My lord—" She stops. Swallows. "Forgive the interruption, but—"
"But?"
"The Elders are here." The words come out in a rush. "All three of them. They're demanding an audience. I tried to tell them you weren't receiving visitors, but Elder Cornelius insisted—"
"Let them in."
She blinks. "My lord?"
"You heard me. Show them in." I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled. "And Theresa? Stay calm. They can smell fear."
She nods jerkily and disappears.
I allow myself a moment to close my eyes. To center myself.
The Elders.
This was inevitable. I knew bringing Ariel here would draw attention. Would raise questions. I just didn't expect them to move this quickly.
Three sets of footsteps approach. Heavy. Deliberate. The gait of men who believe they still have power.
They're about to learn otherwise.
The door opens.
Elder Cornelius enters first—tall, broad-shouldered despite his age, silver hair swept back from a face that's seen seventy winters. Behind him, Elder peter—shorter, rounder, with shrewd eyes that miss nothing. And finally, Elder Thaddeus—thin as a rail, severe, the oldest of the three at nearly ninety.
All of them were my father's advisors. All of them think they have a say in how I rule.
"Elders." I don't stand. Don't offer the traditional signs of respect. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Cornelius's jaw tightens at the breach of protocol. Good.
"Your Majesty." The title comes out stiff. Formal. "We've come to discuss matters of grave importance to the realm."
"Have you." I gesture to the chairs across from my desk. "Sit. Discuss."
They exchange glances. Thaddeus looks like he wants to argue about my tone. Peter places a hand on his arm. A warning.
They sit.
"We'll be direct, Your Majesty," Cornelius begins. "It's come to our attention that you've taken in a... guest. Your brother's former mate."
"Her name is Ariel." I keep my voice flat. Disinterested. "And she's not a guest. She's under my protection."
"Yes. That's the problem." Peter leans forward. "Your Majesty, pack law is clear on this matter. You cannot harbor your brother's castoffs. It's—"
"Castoffs?" The word is sharp. "That's what you're calling her? My brother's castoff?"
"Forgive the crude language, Your Majesty, but yes." Cornelius spreads his hands. "She was his mate. He discarded her. By pack law, she should have been exiled from all territories or taken in by her family. Instead, you've brought her here. To Thornwood. To the seat of the crown."
"And?" I tilt my head slightly. "I'm the Werewolf King. I can grant sanctuary to whomever I choose."
"Not when it violates pack law," Thaddeus rasps. His voice sounds like gravel. "Not when it brings shame to the crown. Not when it gives your brother legitimate grounds to—"
"To what?" I interrupt softly. "Challenge me? Davian has been challenging me for fifteen years. This changes nothing."
"It changes everything!" Cornelius's control slips. "You've taken his mate—"
"Former mate. He threw her away."
"—and brought her into your home. Your territory. The people are talking, Your Majesty. They're saying you've grown... obsessed. That you're using her to antagonize your brother. That you've forgotten your duties as king."
Ah. There it is.
"My duties," I repeat slowly. "Tell me, Cornelius, what duties have I neglected?"
The three Elders exchange another look.
"Your Majesty," Peter says carefully, "you've been king for fifteen years. And in those fifteen years, you've refused every alliance marriage proposed. Rejected every suitable mate presented. You have no Luna. No heir. The bloodline—"
"The bloodline is secure. I'm alive. I'm strong. I rule effectively."
"But for how long?" Thaddeus leans forward. "You're thirty-five, Your Majesty. Not young anymore. And every year that passes without an heir weakens the crown's stability. What happens if you fall in battle? If you're challenged and lose? The throne passes to—"
"Davian." I finish the thought. "And that terrifies you."
Silence.
"It terrifies the realm, Your Majesty," Cornelius says finally. "Your brother is... ambitious. Ruthless. If he inherits the crown—"
"He won't."
"How can you be certain?" Peter presses. "You refuse to take a mate. Refuse to produce an heir. You're leaving the succession in chaos."
I study them. Three old men who served my father loyally. Who watched me grow up. Who remember when I was someone different.
Someone softer.
"What do you want?" I ask bluntly.
Another exchange of glances. Then Cornelius speaks:
"Take a Luna, Your Majesty. Choose a proper mate. Secure the succession. And—" he hesitates "—send the girl away. Before she destroys everything."
"The girl," I repeat. "You mean Aria."
"Yes. Your Majesty, she's a distraction. A political liability. If she remains here, your brother's support grows. He's telling everyone you've stolen his mate. That you're obsessed with destroying him. That you're unfit to rule."
"Let him talk."
"We can't afford to 'let him talk'!" Thaddeus slams his cane against the floor. "The northern packs are already wavering. The eastern territories sent messages demanding explanation. You're giving Davian ammunition to use against you!"
"And your solution is what? I send her away? Bow to my brother's demands?" I lean forward. "That makes me look weak. Submissive. Like I can be controlled."
"No," Cornelius says quickly. "Not send her away. Just... don't harbor her so openly. Find her placement elsewhere. With her family. With a minor pack. Anywhere but here, in the crown's seat."
"And the Luna issue?"
This is where it gets interesting.
Cornelius straightens. "My daughter, Your Majesty. Katalina. She's twenty-three. Well-educated. From strong bloodlines. She'd make an excellent Luna."
Ah. Of course.
This isn't about pack law or succession. This is about power. About getting his bloodline attached to the crown.
"Katalina," I say neutrally. "The girl who—what did I hear?—ran crying from dinner when I mentioned blood sports?"
Cornelius flushes. "She was young—"
"She was twenty. And terrified of me." I sit back. "Tell me, Cornelius, do you really think your daughter could survive being my mate? Could handle what that would require?"
"She's stronger than you—"
"She's soft. Sheltered. She'd break within a month." I shake my head. "I'm not interested in playing house with a woman who trembles every time I enter a room."
"Then someone else!" Peter jumps in. "There are dozens of suitable females. The daughter of the Eastern Alpha. The niece of the Western Elder. Pick any of them. Just pick SOMEONE."
"And if I don't?"
The threat hangs in the air.
"Then we petition the Council," Thaddeus says quietly. "We ask them to review your fitness to rule. To determine if you're capable of putting the realm before personal vendettas."
Treason. They're threatening treason.
Very carefully disguised. Very politically phrased. But treason nonetheless.
I could kill them for it. Right here. Right now. The Wizard of Crow doesn't tolerate challenges to his authority.
But that would prove their point, wouldn't it?
I consider my options.
Send Aria away—unacceptable. She's the weapon I need to destroy Davian, my wolf stirs against the thought.
Take a Luna from one of their approved candidates—also unacceptable. I won't be controlled by old men clinging to outdated traditions.
Ignore them—possible, but then they petition the Council, and I have to deal with bureaucratic nonsense for months.
Or...
An idea forms.
"You want me to take a Luna," I say slowly.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And you want me to deal with the Aria situation."
"Yes."
"Very well." I stand. They stand quickly, instinctively. "I'll take a Luna. I'll secure the succession. I'll end this political crisis."
Relief washes over their faces.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. We knew you'd—"
"I'll make Aria my Luna."
Silence.
Cornelius's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. "Your Majesty, you can't—"
"Can't?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'm the Werewolf King. I can do whatever I want."
"But—but she's your brother's castoff—she has no wolf—she has no power—" Peter is sputtering. "The people will never accept—"
"The people will accept what I tell them to accept." I move around the desk, forcing them to back up. "You want a Luna? Fine. She's my Luna. You want the succession secured? I'll secure it. You want the political crisis resolved?" I smile. It's not a nice smile. "Making Davian's discarded mate into the Werewolf Queen will resolve it quite decisively, don't you think?"
"Your Majesty, please—" Cornelius's voice has gone desperate. "Think about what you're saying. She's powerless. She can't defend herself. She can't defend the realm. She can't—"
"She can do exactly what I tell her to do." I stop directly in front of him. "Which is more than I can say for you three."
Thaddeus's cane trembles. "This is madness—"
"This is my decision." I look at each of them in turn. "I'll announce it publicly. Tomorrow. The whole realm will know. Ariel—" I pause over her name "—will be Luna of Thornwood. Queen of all werewolf territories. My mate."
"But you haven't even—she's not—there's been no mating ceremony—" Marcus's voice rises to near panic.
"There will be." The lie comes easily. "Soon. Very soon. We're simply waiting for the... proper time."
They're too shocked to notice I'm lying through my teeth.
"The proper time?" Cornelius repeats faintly.
"Yes. Surely you understand. She's recently been through trauma. Been cast aside by my brother. She needs time to adjust. To heal. To accept her new role." I return to my desk, sitting. Dismissing them with body language. "But rest assured, Elders, she will be my Luna. Publicly. Officially. Irrevocably."
"Your Majesty—"
"Was there anything else?" I pick up a document. Pretend to read. "I have rather a lot of work to attend to."
They stand frozen for a long moment.
Then, slowly, they bow.
"No, Your Majesty," Cornelius says hollowly. "Nothing else."
"Excellent. You may go."
They shuffle out like men who've aged twenty years in twenty minutes.