The first light of dawn crept through the high windows, dragging me from the scraps of sleep I'd managed. Wolves usually relish the night, but last night it clawed at me, every flicker of shadow, every whisper of silence carrying one name
Adrian.
I had dreamt of him, though not in ways I could admit aloud. Not to my court. Not to Selene. Hell, not even to myself. His eyes, ice carved into flesh had followed me into sleep, and his voice, smooth as silk, had curled in my ear with words that were never truly spoken.
I groaned and dragged a hand down my face, the coarse stubble of my jaw scratching my palm. No more dreams. It was morning now, and a king had no use for fantasies.
My chambers smelled of smoke and iron, the remnants of last night's fire mingling with the polish of weapons mounted on the walls. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and planted my feet firmly against the cold stone floor.
"Your Majesty."
The voice came from the door, steady, cautious. My steward, Harland, stood with a bow as the heavy oak creaked open. He was always too early, too sharp-eyed, too dutiful.
"Spare me the formalities, Harland," I muttered, rolling my shoulders. "Speak."
He stepped forward, a bundle of scrolls in his arms, his expression carved from worry. "Messages, my king. Three urgent, two from the council, one… sealed with the mark of Veylor."
That last name snagged at me like claws in cloth. Veylor. The vampire kingdom. Adrian.
I forced my expression to remain even.
"Place them on the table."
He obeyed, arranging the scrolls atop the dark oak surface by the window. "Also, the generals await your presence at the morning meal. The hunters report movement along the northern borders."
"Of course they do," I muttered, standing and stretching the tension from my muscles. "Tell them I'll join shortly."
Harland hesitated. "Majesty… you look weary. Shall I send for the healer?"
I gave him a sharp look. "Do I look like I've been felled by a wound?"
"No, my king." He lowered his gaze quickly. "Forgive me."
With a dismissive wave, I turned away. He lingered a moment longer before retreating, the door shutting behind him. Silence filled the chamber again, but it wasn't peace.
It was the silence before a storm.
I dressed quickly, donning a dark tunic of leather and steel-trimmed pauldrons, the attire of a king who never knew when he might be forced into war. My sword belt hung at my hip as naturally as a limb.
At the table, I unrolled the first scroll. Council script. Long-winded accusations, warnings of raids, demands for retaliation. Always the same, blood for blood. As though vengeance were a currency they could spend endlessly without cost.
The second scroll was little better complaints of waning loyalty among lesser packs, whispers that the vampires plotted fresh invasion. I set it aside with a growl.
Then came the third.
The seal was unmistakable black wax pressed with the insignia of a raven, wings outstretched. Veylor. Adrian.
I broke it open, heart betraying me with an extra beat.
King Damien,
The council of Veylor requests your presence at a gathering in neutral territory, to discuss the matter of recent border raids. You are expected tomorrow night, under the crescent moon. Bring no more than five of your generals. We will bring the same.
By order of King Adrian Veylor
The words were neat, elegant, too precise to be written by anyone but him. My eyes lingered longer than they should on the signature, the bold curl of his name.
Tomorrow night.
I exhaled slowly, rolling the scroll shut. A meeting. A negotiation. A battlefield of words instead of steel. And him.
It was both blessing and curse.
By the time I entered the great hall, the scent of roasted venison and fresh bread filled the air, carried on the growls and laughter of my generals. The long table was cluttered with food and goblets, the men already halfway through their meal.
"Finally!" One of them, Garrick, slammed a goblet on the table. "We thought the dawn swallowed you, Majesty."
I smirked faintly, sliding into the high-backed chair at the head of the table. "If it had, I would have taken half of you with me."
A ripple of laughter followed, easing the tension. My people loved bravado, it was the glue that kept fear from showing.
Selene sat nearby, her sharp eyes watching me more closely than the rest. My sister never missed much. She tore a piece of bread, dipped it in honey, and spoke casually. "Rough night, brother?"
I met her gaze briefly. "Only dreams. Nothing more."
She tilted her head, but said nothing. Clever girl. Too clever.
As the meal went on, reports flowed, raids near the northern ridge, human traders caught between borders, whispers of unrest in smaller packs. I listened, responded, ordered reinforcements where needed.
Every word I spoke was measured, every command decisive.
That was the mask of kingship, steady, unshaken, unbending. Even when inside, my thoughts tangled around a single man's name.
When the plates were cleared, I finally unrolled the vampire's message, letting my generals see it.
"A meeting," I said flatly. "Tomorrow night. Five of you will ride with me."
Murmurs rose instantly. Garrick scowled. "Trap."
"Likely," said another.
Selene leaned forward, her voice sharp. "And yet, you'll go."
I met her gaze again. There was no point in denying it. "Yes. Because peace won't come if we hide behind walls. We meet them on their ground, and we show them we are not prey."
My words earned nods, though unease still lingered in their eyes. None dared question me further, not openly. But Selene's stare followed me long after the council broke apart.
The day dragged on in endless duties, audiences with lesser lords, reports from scouts, training in the yard. I sparred with my warriors until sweat soaked through my tunic, every strike of my blade a release of restless energy. But no matter how hard I fought, the ache remained.
By nightfall, I stood at the battlements, looking out across the darkened forest stretching toward the horizon. Somewhere beyond those trees, under the same stars, Adrian prepared as well.
What would he wear? What mask would he choose for his people? Cold, untouchable king? Or the other side, the one only I had seen, the softness that lurked behind the ice?
I cursed under my breath, gripping the stone so hard it cracked beneath my palm. This was madness. Wolves and vampires were oil and flame, we did not mix. To love him was to betray centuries of blood, my people, even myself.
And yet, tomorrow night, I would ride to him.
Not because of duty. Not because of politics.
Because I wanted to see him again.
And that truth was the heaviest weight of all.