King Draven
King Draven returned to his chambers late at night, hours after the hunt and his royal duties. Waiting for him by the window, was First Lord Sylien, the only person allowed to enter his private chambers.
Sylien bowed silently. He walked over to the desk and began pouring some wine. "Should we perhaps talk about the hunt?" He asked, his voice a soft, honeyed whisper.
"Not a word about it," the King replied.
His mind was in disarray, and a day spent grooming his Morbeasts and intimidating unruly court officials didn't help. He rubbed the base of his horns, sighing softly as the ache slowly dispersed. He drank most of the wine.
"She killed all seven of them, my King." Sylien offered as he refilled the wine glass. "That, that needs to be discussed. And there's the issue of the bond too."
The bond.
King Draven had felt it. The very moment he was about to behead the hunter.
The flare of heat and magic inside him. The runes on his horns glowing. His wolf immediately growling "mate" over and over again.
A werewolf and a Lycan. No law of nature permitted them to be mates. All they were, all they could ever be were enemies.
Especially Hunters. A wicked breed of werewolves thirsty for golden Lycan blood.
"There was no bond." King Draven grunted, casting a sharp look at Sylien.
The First Lord simply bowed, a curving smile on his lips. "There was. I felt your magic flare, my king. It was sweet."
Flaring of magic, a trait that mage lycans said to possess. In this world, Magic was a vile act on its own. The use of lost souls to cast spells. At such, it had a peculiar scent to it.
Bitter, burnt, acrid.
For a Mage's magic to smell sweet, they had found their mate.
King Draven glared at Sylien. "You're still a bitch, Sy."
Sylien chuckled. "I aim to please. Her magic, did you notice it too?"
The king reclined into his chair, tipping his head back, groaning as his horns put strain on his neck and shoulders.
Her magic, he thought. At most, it was one soul's worth. Flimsy, by all means. Probably belonging to a family member too.
"She's weak." King Draven said. "Her magic is of no importance to me."
"It was sweet too."
The King didn't reply. He didn't need to. The implications of Sylien's words hung in the air between them.
Sylien stepped forward, standing behind him. Their eyes met. "What do you plan to do now? Concerning that bond?"
"Break it." King Draven replied. He picked the wine pitcher from Sylien's grasp and drank straight from it. "I will not be mated to a pathetic hunter."
Alarm flashed in Sylien's face. "My King, bond breaking is dangerous. You could lose your mind, or worse!"
King Draven rose to his feet and faced Sylien. "You're saying I should stay mated to her? Crown her Queen and present her to my people? A mere hunter?"
Sylien took a step back but didn't lower his gaze. "That's not what I mean. There are other ways to go about this that don't involve potential madness. Your people need you, my king. You can't die now. In addition, High Priestess Cordana is retired, my King. Her magic has waned, along with the lands."
"I don't care. Send for her."
"My King...this could be dangerous. Please think about it and—"
"Do I need to make it an order?"
Sylien bowed. "Of course not. Your word alone is my command. I'm only protesting because I'm your First Lord, it's my duty to make sure you make informed decisions."
"Informed decisions indeed." King Draven scoffed.
He walked over to the windows, his hands clasped behind him, eyes focused at the winter landscape outside.
His cold heart stirred, filled with pain for his people. His people, forced to endure three centuries of barrenness and harsh winters. Driven to the edge of the world, hated for simply existing.
Hunted for sport, for their golden blood, their horns hung up as decoration.
Lycans lived long, up to eight centuries. But without heats, without pups, they are bound to die out. The people would have frozen to death if not for the Mages. They would have starved to death if it weren't for the fear that drove werewolves to continually send peace tributes.
King Draven thought about the Hunter.
Surely she had never known cold, or hunger, or war. It was all over her innocent, fair face. And those eyes, those eyes he wanted to claw out. Those eyes that brimmed with raw innocence and purity.
The kind of purity that was untouched by evil of the world.
Offensive. Rancid. Repulsive.
No doubt she had been sheltered, trained to fight an enemy she had never laid eyes on. Fed lies about said enemy.
A stupid hunter.
With her eyes like glass beads in the summer sun, her small face and plump red lips. He thinks that he's only stating facts, and is in no way appreciative of her beauty.
Afterall, she's just a hunter. A disgusting, lying species that destroyed his people and caused this dreadful curse. Her kind caused this. Their greed and evil led to the war that gave birth to the winter curse.
She asks for death? She will never find it. Not until he's done with her and her entire pack.
"My king, please rethink this." Sylien called out. "Madness is not a fate suited to you."
The King turned, glancing over his shoulder at his First Lord. "I have you. How could I go mad?"
Sylien blinked, biting down on his cheek. "This ...this is different, my King. I wish for your eternal happiness. And your mate—"
"One more word about my mate and I will cut your tongue out."
Sylien went still. He took a step back. Then bowed "I apologise. I overstepped."
King Draven turned back to the window. "That was four words,"
"I'm sorry."
"You're still fucking talking."
Sylien went silent for all of two seconds. "Shall I send for Lady Amarinthe?"
For some strange reason, the King thought about how that hunter slayed seven Morbeasts with her bare hands, survive both the cold and his arrows, yet had enough strength left to ask for death.
It would appear she was stronger than she looked. At first glance, she was frail, weak and pale. She barely spoke, but was quick to flash haughty eyes and speak without titles or respect. And that magic, just one soul's worth, yet she killed seven Morbeasts with it.
A foolish, proud hunter.
In an instant, a dark idea took root in his mind. He turned to Sylien, his face bright with a nihilistic smile.
"Sy, I have a brilliant idea!" He strode over to the First Lord and grabbed his shoulders. "I have it. The solution to this endless winter!"
Sylien frowned, suspicion swimming in his eyes. "What is this idea, my king?"
That hunter had potential. If trained, she could prove to be a valuable weapon in this war between Maellys and eternal winter.
King Draven already formulated his plans, laying them out in mere seconds.
That hunter will be the key to ending the curse. All she had to do was kill just one person. Should be easy for her.
"Send for that hunter. Now." The King said, dark excitement in his eyes.
"What?!" Sylien exclaimed. "You said—" He suddenly paused, his eyes widening.
King Draven's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
"Lord Cassius has reached the fourth stage of the frost sickness." Sylien said, his voice tight.
The King's eyes darkened and he headed for the door, urgency in his steps. "Come." He commanded, and Sylien fell in step behind him.
***
When he arrived at Cassius' residence, King Draven was once again reminded just how much his people were suffering.
Cassius was a loyal official. He had been by the King's side since the Cold Wars three centuries ago, he fought as one of the soldiers, and later as captain of a regent.
Yet here he was. Lying helpless in a bed, his flesh dried out, bones jutting out, half his body already turned to ice. His horns had disintegrated, turning to dust above his head.
Cassius' mate, Andrea, sat by the bed, weeping. She held her mate's frail hand, her body trembling as she cried her heart out.
King Draven's face was hard as he approached. Cassius turned to him weakly, and his watery eyes brightened.
"My King..." He croaked, his breath forming wisps of ice. Andrea looked up and bowed, her eyes bloodshot.
Sylien pulled a chair closer, but the King ignored it and knelt beside Cassius. He reached out, his hands that were capable of so much violence and bloodshed, were kind as he stroked the dying Lycan's head.
"How are you, my friend?" He asked. His voice sounded calm, to anyone else he may have appeared cold and unfeeling.
But inside, his heart was bleeding.
Frost Sickness, yet another ill fate brought on by the curse. Caused by years of harsh winter, such extreme weather eroded the mind and the bodies of Lycans, driving most of them to insanity. Some lost control of their wolves and had to be put down. Others slowly dried out till they turned to ice. It wasn't the same each time. It had no cure.
"It doesn't hurt," Cassius said, attempting a smile. "It's just...cold,"
"Don't leave me, Cas!" Andrea sobbed. "You promised! You said we'd...you said we'd one day have our pup, you said you'd give my flowers again! You're not allowed to die!"
King Draven bowed his head, the gold on his horns glinting in the candlelight, his thoughts scattered.
When will this end? How many more of his people will be lost to this dreadful illness?
Andrea sobbed and sobbed, her cries piercing through the King's heart like hot daggers. Cassius' replied, his voice getting weaker and weaker.
"My...King..."
King Draven lifted his head, his eyes having lost all their brilliance, turning a deep, sorrowful black. "Cassius," He replied, his voice strained.
Cassius smiled, a tear slipped down his eye. The ice in his body had spread, only his face was left. "It was an honour serving you, my King." As the last words left his lips, his entire body solidified into ice. His last breath left his lips, vanishing into the air.
Andrea let out an ear piercing scream, throwing herself over his body.
King Draven rose to his feet, his movements solemn and slow. He said a prayer in the ancient Lycan tongue, one used to mark souls that will never be harnessed into magic.
Yet another Lycan dead. Another Lycan who didn't get to see summer again. Or smell the flowers. Or taste the fruit of the land.
King Draven glanced at Andrea, and pity for her filled his heart. She wouldn't be the first grief stricken mate he's had to comfort.
She also wouldn't be the last.
Unless something was done about this curse. And the answer lies with that hunter.