To Rule the Alpha's Heart

11. The Alpha King

CALLA VORONÍN

Calla wrapped her arms around Vilma and Ester's neck, sorrow clogging her throat as she apologized, again and again.

Perhaps she'd been a fool for thinking that she could convince Einarr to forgo his offering of slaves to the Alpha King. Perhaps she'd sorely overestimated the influence that she might have on the male. He was a savage– a shifter warlord that terrorized the northern edges of the world. He would not see reason.

Calla realized this as soon as he offered to give Lucia and Iva to her. Rather than refuse his offer and risk their lives, she accepted Einarr's so-called gift. The very thought of it made Calla feel sick.

Vilma and Ester tried to comfort her as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. The widow and the young woman even thanked Calla for managing to save Lucia and Iva from a life of servitude to the king of werewolves. Calla did not feel like she deserved their thanks.

When one of Einarr's men walked aboard the longship to take Vilma and Ester to the other shackled humans, Calla squeezed their hands twice.

"I promise to free you. I promise to free us all," she whispered, clamping her eyes shut to cement the vow into her own mind. Calla opened her eyes again, and the two women were being shuffled away.

Little Lucia ran to her side, wrapping her thin arms around Calla's waist. "Where are they going?"

"To the Alpha King." Calla swallowed the lump in her throat and looked between Lucia and Iva. "But you are staying with me. You both are."

With one arm wrapped around Lucia's shoulders and the other extended to hold Iva's trembling hand, Calla turned toward Cyril. The blonde translator had been watching her say goodbye to her friends from across the longship, but, when their eyes met, he slowly approached once more.

"Are you ready to go ashore, Luna?" Cyril stood upright, his posture immaculate, like a soldier waiting to do his Queen's bidding. But Calla regarded him as much more than a common soldier– she'd come to rely on his expertise and guidance. Despite his past mistakes, Calla valued Cyril's company and advice more than he knew. She supposed, one day, she would thank him.

For now, however, she couldn't let her guard down. Not as she prepared to step off of the longship and traverse the stronghold of her enemy. Calla simply nodded. "I'm ready."

Cyril extended his hand toward the ramp that descended to the shoreline, and Calla began walking, flanked by the only women that Einarr had chosen to spare.

The translator walked a pace ahead, glancing over his shoulder to address Calla and her companions. "You should not leave my side, Calla, once we enter Roandör. With any fortune, the King and All-Luna will not notice you."

Calla frowned, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "What of Einarr?"

"He is the King's most prized Alpha," Cyril explained. "He will demand the rulers' attention, and, gods willing, he will lead us out of Roandör this eve."

"And if the King and All-Luna notice me?" Calla questioned, holding her chin high. She refused to be pushed into submission by the mere idea of the Nortend monarchy.

Cyril stepped off of the ramp, his feet crunching against the pebbled shores of Nortend. He held a calloused hand out to help Calla step down, which she took. As her foot landed on Nortend soil, Cyril held her gaze. "Let us pray that does not happen, Luna."

Cyril's ominous words weighed on Calla's mind as they shuffled up the black-pebbled shoreline toward a steep path that led away from the fjord. Einarr led their group, navigating the rocks and loose dirt with astonishing grace. Calla walked in the center of Einarr's men, flanked by Cyril, Lucia, and Iva, just close enough to watch the Alpha's impressive dark braid sway across his muscled back.