✨You know those times when you have random thoughts in the shower that spring up out of nowhere, this was one of those. I'm happy to say this turned out well, even though three quarters of this was written around midnight, but I digress.🤭
😊Hope you all enjoy, especially the tiny little easter egg for y'all to chew on. Hehe.😉
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It had been one day since the assassination of Alpha Mogrem Galsin by the High Luna Queen's hand. One night since messenger falcon's flew from the hands of noble Alpha scouts. Their burdens carrying detailed note of the occurrence of black tulips sprouting from the newly frozen ground as the last days of Autumn waned into freezing Winter.
One of these falcon's arrived on that very eve to the dark stone keep of the Gray Valley Pack. With swift wings it flew past the dying gray oaks and elm that gave the quaint land of stately stone homes and small hovels its name. Arriving at a third level balcony of the castle keep, the falcon screeched once before the doors opened and the graying Count Herron stepped out into the chill night air.
Though in his nightclothes of fine blue lawn, the aging Alpha still striked an imposing figure to any watchful eye. Snatching the small wrapped missive from the bird's ankle, Herron reads the simple message in his large hand with intrigued peridot hued eyes.
"Little news I have my lord, only that the crown seems wary of his mate. A mate that has taken to her chambers alone, as is her fate."
Though no signature is given, Herron knows which spy of his deigned to relay him news from the Silver City a handful of leagues to the north. His luckless third child of low birth, a sniveling daughter compared to his strapping twin sons, Horus and Hadren. The only heirs he ever got from his mate Indela, a female that had not warmed his bed for two decades.
To Herron it was no sad thought, Indela was a wolf of vanity and found more pleasure in her fading beauty than him. She could rot in her grand chambers on the other side of the keep, for Herron had plenty of other fine choices from the multitude of traveling merchants and enterprising females wanting a chance for a night of excitement with their great and fearsome lord.
"At last that brat is of use," Herron muses, tucking away the missive and ushering the falcon off with a wave of his hand. The flapping of the birds's wings echoes in his ear as the count goes back inside to his warm bedchamber, lit by the crackling burning logs in the fireplace grate.
Long strides guide him over to the fire after shutting the balcony doors. Looming over the flickering flame, Herron warms his callused hands. Strong knuckles and muscled skin earned from years of honing all sorts of weapons in previous battles for the long dead High Alpha King Midas. A wolf king worthy of honor in all ways in the manner of werewolf tradition, heritage, and birthright.
All the trapping Herron had plotted to have since his son, Evander, rose to succeed his father as the old king lay dying in the fields of the last great battle between the Kingdom of the East and the Wild Packs of the West. Herron's plans and schemes were wavering, and it left the power hungry alpha starving to find a crack in the young king's defenses.
"What troubling times our king finds himself in," Herron wonders out loud, watching the flames flicker and furl as a sound pierces the silent solemnity of his chambers. A voice soft yet commanding in its tone, a voice that garners the old werewolf's attention, making him turn round to find a cloaked figure reclining on his bed.
"But aren't all times in this world trouble Count Herron?"
To the count's wary eyes he sees how jarring the figure stands out amidst the fine trappings of his chambers. The carved and painted walls of gray stone covered by magnificent tapestries threaded with silver, depicting the old tales of the wolf kingdom and the divine Moon Goddess. The few cushioned chairs, floor to ceiling bookshelf by the balcony door, chest of drawers, and bed frame made from the rarest of mahogany wood.
YOU ARE READING
Forest of Lies
WerewolfA thousand years past, the world was run by humankind. But it changed, when countries became embroiled in a war that gave the werewolves the opportunity, to recreate the earth in their own image. Now humans are the lowest on the food chain, little m...
