The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Though they share a brief hesitant glance, when they move aside it is clear that tales of her abilities have proceeded her. Pushing the large doors open, she calmly strides inside much to the surprise of the occupants.

“Queen Namora,” King Wallace offers amiably though he doesn’t mean it, “so good to see you again.”

He, Sheyenne, their advisors and Philip are all sitting around a crescent shaped table in the middle of the room. Mora comes to a halt, staring them down from behind the sheer veil still covering her face, “It appears that you have moved the time of our meeting.”

Sheyenne narrows her eyes at Rick, “We were just having an informal discussion over mid day meal, is all.”

“An informal discussion, with your advisors and a scribe? If I didn’t know better, it would seem that the pair of you are attempting to form an alliance against Derven.”

“Please,” Wallace says while waving his hand about, “it is nothing like that. However, Sheyenne and I have come to an agreement in regards to the fate of Alumenia. As majority vote would enact it I am afraid that your opinion wouldn’t hold much merit.”

“Is that so. Pray, tell me, what decision you’ve come to?” Mora casually walks forward and perches herself on the edge of the table, leaning back onto her hand to emphasize her lack of fear in their decisions.

Wallace shifts awkwardly, taken aback by her demeanor, “Sceadu will take over rule of Alumenia. As they are the closest nation it makes the most sense.”

“You have no right to that throne,” Rick snaps, unable to remain silent any longer.

All eyes turn to him though it is his mother who replies, “Oh? And I suppose you believe your future wife has a stronger claim? Having been engaged to the King she then murdered in front of everyone?”

Mora’s laugh cuts through the air, “Well, at least you and I finally agree on something, Sheyenne-neither of us has a right to the Alumenian throne. The point is moot however because there is someone who does.”

“Who?” Wallace demands.

She raises her slender hand towards the cloaked figure behind Rick. Irving steps forward. There is no hesitation in his movements, his confidence and sureness would never belie the fact that he was living alone, in a cabin in the woods just a week ago. His voice is smooth as he pushes his hood back, “I do.”

“May I introduce Irving of Alumenia, Irron’s only son and heir to the throne,” Mora’s voice is quiet and her eyes drift from Irving’s handsome face over to the surprised ones at the table behind her.

“You-you think that just because he looks like Irron that means he has a right to-” Sheyenne stutters out, clearly flustered.

Laren cuts her off immediately, producing a parchment from his cloak, “A signed affidavit by both King Nathanial and your own father as well, my King.”

If it were at all possible, Sheyenne’s face becomes more pale as she examines the document along with Wallace. When she attempts to speak, Mora interrupts her.

“King Irving’s ascension to the Alumenian throne is whole heartedly backed by myself, Derven and our army. Should either of you choose to dispute his claim, well, I suppose we could schedule another battle on the meadow. I do not have plans for later this week, if your schedules are free?” Despite the flippant nature of her comment her voice is flat and threatening.

“No need,” Wallace says quietly, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, King Irving. Please accept my hospitality while you are here; I shall have rooms prepared for all of you at once. Perhaps this evening we can meet for supper?”

“I whole heartedly accept, thank you Wallace,” Irving’s voice is warm and friendly, enough to offset Mora’s threat.

Mora knows that it isn’t the red tinge of the veil but rather the rage flushing to Sheyenne’s cheeks that give them their glow.

…

Laren arranges for both Irving and Rick to remain in the large suite assigned to Mora; smoothly wording it to the palace staff that he has an obligation to both the King and the Queen and as the Queen’s betrothed, the Prince should not be far away. The five of them, Jackson included, carefully check the large drawing room and the four smaller rooms adjoined to it before they all relax in the seating area near the fire place.

Mora removes her crown before carefully unwinding the fabric of the veil until her head is finally liberated.

“The veil was your idea?” Rick asks Irving; he continues after getting a nod, “Brilliant. She was utterly terrifying with it on.”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

“Oh?” Mora laughs, “why is that?”

“Red is not a common color in our land,” Philip’s voice drifts over as he silently shuts the door behind him, “at least not in so much abundance on one person. Combined with your stature and presence and you are like both an angel and death in one being.” He bows deeply to the gathered group, “You sent for me, Varicken?”

“Indeed,” Rick says, motioning for him to take a seat, “I think it is time that the lot of us has a discussion. While I have brought Laren up to speed on the situation in Geofen, there is still the other matter we have yet to broach.”

Mora frowns deeply, her eyes fixated on the fire as she stands before it. She can feel Laren’s gaze trying to bore into her, in fact everyone stares at her.

“Advisor Jackson, would you please step outside and guard the room?” Mora asks quietly.

He hesitates momentarily but obeys her wishes none the less. Once the door is shut, Mora draws in a deep breath, steeling her nerves before turning around. Rick and Irving glance briefly at each other before returning their gaze to her.

Philip’s handsome, rich brown face wears a slight frown; though he has a life time of experience navigating tense situations it is clear that he is nervous. Laren, on the other hand, appears somewhat bored, a slender graying eyebrow cocked, his arms crossed over his chest.

Seeing her mentor, her teacher retain his composure at such a time gives her peace of mind. “It is my intent to become the Sovereign Queen of our lands. That seems to be the only way to ensure that all four nations will remain in harmony with one another.”

Philip startles slightly, “Oh,” he says, taking a moment to process the information before he glances at Rick and Irving, “Oh. Now I understand why you two are so… calm.”

Irving turns to him, “This is all dependant on you, Philip. Namora will not be able to claim Sovereignty without a claim to the Geofen throne as well.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes growing wide as it dawns on him. He finally turns to Mora, catching her gaze. She can see the shock in his eyes as he processes the options.

“If you need some time to consider it,” Mora offers with a casual wave of her hand, providing Philip an opportunity to take a moment, despite the fact that they both know neither of them have a choice if they want to save Geofen as well.

“There is no need,” Philip replies smoothly, regaining his composure. A few steps bring him before her, where he kneels down on one knee, extending his hand towards her, “Queen Namora, it would be my honor if you would become my wife.” She places her hand in his, her lightly colored skin contrasting against it. Philip gently kisses the back of her hand while gazing up into her eyes, “Thank you, Queen Namora.”

Offering a gentle smile with a nod, she watches him rise, the third man that she knows will become hers, she his.

“I must say, this is a rather brilliant plan,” Laren speaks. “If memory serves me correctly, though, you will have to choose a husband of Derven as well, to rule as King there.”

Mora stares down at the mosaic tiled floor, slightly nervous at what she is about to say next, “I already have.” There is no response as the men wait in anticipation of her proclamation; when her gaze slowly raises and fixes on Laren, she watches her mentor’s facade crumble for the first time in her life.

“No,” he fumbles, “I am too old for you.”

“It does not matter.”

“You are like a daughter to me, I could never-I can’t even imagine-”

“You will be my fourth husband, Laren, or I will not do this at all. You are the only man worthy to speak for that country. You are the only man I could ever trust to raise my Derven child properly in my absence. You have given your life for our land, sacrificed you own personal happiness to serve the throne without even batting an eye. This is the least I can do to offer you thanks for that, to repay you for all that you’ve done for me. For all that you have done for Derven.”

Laren looks away from her, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

Though the other three men are in shock, it is Rick who speaks as the voice of reason, “Mora is right, Laren. You are the only one who can be trusted with Derven.”

She walks over to Laren, surprising everyone when she gets down onto her knees before him. He looks upon her face, his own wrought with conflict as he gazes upon the woman that he helped raise from a child, the woman he trained to fight, to rule, the woman he considers as a daughter.

“Will you be my fourth husband, Laren?”