Willa
The King's command echoes in the silence of our departure. It is not a request. It is a re-chaining. My father’s face was a mask of grief as he watched us leave. Finn walks beside me now, his jaw set so tight I fear it will crack. He, my cousin Roric, and two of our steadiest warriors, Lyra and Kael, are the chosen 'delegation'. We are five exiles walking into the heart of the kingdom that threw us away.
We do not travel for days. We simply arrive. One moment, the scent of pine and wild earth is my only comfort. The next, it is gone, choked out by the stench of too many people, of woodsmoke, and something cloying and sweet, like rotting flowers.
The capital is a wound of sharp stone and glittering glass. Towers pierce the sky, arrogant and proud, casting long shadows that swallow the sun. The people here move differently. Their steps are quick but aimless, their eyes darting, never settling. They stare at us as we follow the King’s Royal Guard through the streets. They see our worn leathers, the scars on our skin, the wildness that clings to us like a second pelt. They see primitives. Savages.
They do not see the hunger in our children’s eyes or the strength it took to survive in lands they abandoned.
The royal castle is an obscenity of wealth. Polished marble floors reflect the light from impossibly high windows. Tapestries depicting great hunts and forgotten wars cover the walls. Every surface gleams. It is beautiful, and it makes my skin crawl. This is not a home. It is a cage made of gold and lies.
King Theron leads us into a vast hall filled with people. Men and women in silks and velvets stop their quiet conversations to turn and stare. Their faces are a mixture of shock, curiosity, and undisguised contempt. The air grows thick with their judgment. My wolf paces, wanting to bare her teeth at the pack of peacocks who dare to look down on us.
I keep my chin high. I meet their gazes one by one, letting them see the predator behind my eyes. I am not prey to be cornered.
Theron seems oblivious to the tension. He stands taller here, the weight of his crown invisible but felt by everyone. The restless energy that clung to him in the forest has settled. He looks at me, a brief, fleeting glance, and I feel that strange pull again. The quiet in his eyes is unnerving. It is a quiet he draws from me, and I do not know what he leaves in its place.
“My King, you have returned,” a voice says, smooth as honeyed wine.
A woman detaches herself from the crowd. She moves with a liquid grace, her gown a river of deep blue silk that clings to every curve. Her hair is a cascade of spun gold, intricately braided with pearls. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and her eyes, the color of a summer sky, are as cold and hard as ice.
She glides to Theron’s side, placing a delicate hand on his arm. It is a gesture of casual ownership. He does not pull away, but I see a muscle twitch in his jaw.
“Lady Seraphina,” he says, his voice flat. “We have guests.”
Her gaze sweeps over our small group, a flicker of distaste crossing her perfect features before it is smoothed away. Her eyes land on me. They linger, sharp and assessing. She sees more than the others. She sees a threat.
“So I see,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a smile that does not reach her eyes. She steps away from Theron, closing the distance between us. She stops a few feet away, tilting her head. “The Alpha King travels to the blighted lands and returns with… curiosities. How wonderful.”
Finn takes a half step forward, a low growl rumbling in his chest. I put a hand on his arm, a silent command to stand down. This is not a fight for fists or claws.
“I am Lady Seraphina,” she says, her voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. “And you are?”
“Willa of the Crescent Fang,” I say. My voice is steady. I will not let her see how this place constricts my throat.
“Crescent Fang,” she repeats, tasting the words as if they were poison. “Ah, yes. The exiled pack. I had heard the stories. I must say, they do not do you justice. You smell of the wild. Of blood and dirt. How very… authentic.”
Her followers titter behind her, their laughter like the chipping of ice.
My hand rests on the hilt of my knife. The worn leather is a comfort against my palm. “Where I come from, we call that the smell of survival.”
“Survival,” she muses. “A rather base instinct, don’t you think? Here, we prefer to thrive. To cultivate beauty. To engage in pursuits more refined than… digging for roots and wrestling beasts in the mud.”
Her blue eyes rake over my scarred knuckles, the mended tear in my tunic from the stag’s antler, the dirt beneath my fingernails.
“Our beasts are blighted,” I say, my voice dropping. “They are twisted with a sickness that spreads across this land. A sickness that will not care how refined your pursuits are when it starves your people and poisons your wells.”
The laughter dies. Seraphina’s smile tightens. Her polished mask has cracked, just a little.
“The King has brought you here to advise him on this… unpleasantness, I take it? A pack of outcasts to solve a problem his own council cannot?” She shakes her head, a gesture of mock pity. “He must be more desperate than we imagined.”
“Desperate men often see solutions others are too proud to acknowledge,” I reply.
“And you believe you are the solution?” Her voice drips with condescension. “A wild girl with a knife and a chip on her shoulder? Tell me, what wisdom can you possibly offer the Alpha King?”
I meet her cold gaze without flinching. “I can offer him the truth. It is a language this court seems to have forgotten.”
A gasp ripples through the onlookers. Finn’s hand grips my shoulder, a silent message of support. I can feel Theron’s eyes on me, heavy and intense.
Seraphina’s beautiful face contorts for a second, a flash of pure venom, before it becomes a mask of serene superiority once more. “The truth, from a savage? How novel. We shall see how long your truth serves you here, Willa of the Crescent Fang. The wolves in this castle have sharper teeth than any you have faced in your forest. And they have learned not to growl before they bite.”
She turns her back on me, a deliberate, final dismissal. A queen turning from a peasant. She moves back to Theron’s side, her expression shifting to one of sweet concern.
“Theron, you must be exhausted from your journey,” she says, her voice soft again. “Let me have your guests shown to their quarters. They must be… overwhelmed. I am sure they will want to wash the road from themselves.”
Her meaning is clear. Wash the wilderness from yourselves. Wash the stink of your exile away before you dare to walk these halls.
Theron looks from her to me. For a moment, I think he will agree, that he will let her win this first skirmish. But then he speaks, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the whispers of the court.
“No.”
The single word hangs in the air. Seraphina freezes, her hand still on his arm.
He takes a step away from her, toward me. He stops before our small group, his stormy gaze sweeping over us before settling on me. The raw power emanating from him silences the entire hall.
“These are not just my guests, Lady Seraphina,” he says, his voice ringing with royal authority. “They are my chosen advisors. They will be treated with the respect due to their position. A position granted by me.”
He looks directly at me. “Willa will sit at my council. She will have a voice in all matters concerning the blight. Her word will carry the weight of my own.”
Stunned silence. Seraphina’s face is a storm cloud of fury. I feel the weight of a hundred hostile eyes on me. He has not just welcomed me. He has placed a target on my back.
He did it to keep me close. I know this with a sudden, chilling certainty. His cure. His quiet. That is all I am to him.
“A servant will show you to your quarters,” Theron says, his tone softening slightly as he addresses me. “They are in the Royal Wing. Near my own.”
Near his own. I am no longer just a guest or an advisor. I am a possession. A remedy to be kept within reach.
He turns and strides from the hall without another word, leaving a wake of chaos and speculation behind him. The courtiers erupt in a buzz of scandalized whispers. Seraphina stands rigid, her eyes fixed on me with an expression of pure, murderous hatred.
I have been in this gilded cage for less than an hour, and I have already made a powerful enemy.
I look at Finn, at Roric, at the strained faces of my pack. I led them here, into this den of shimmering, smiling vipers. Survival in the forest was simple. You fought, or you died.
I am beginning to think this place is far more deadly.
