Alaska ✓

2 | King

2 | King
❝I'm headed straight for the castle, they wanna make me their queen.❞

A thousand eyes pierce my skin as I walk by. Being around so many people made my body tingle, and feel as if I had opened up my chest and exposed my soul. I wasn't good around people, especially those who were not classed as my race.

A hand shoves my back, forcing me up the steps towards the majestic palace. "Move it, bitch." One of the pack members demands, and I comply. There was nowhere I could run, and human nature was forcing me to continue walking; no matter what, I didn't want to die. My parents had saved me for a reason, and I would live up to their names.

The doors of the castle are a rich mahogany that squeak slightly on the hinges as they are forced open. Of all the places I had envisioned myself to be at this point in my life, I hadn't expected to be here.

The journey to the kingdom of Arla had been a long one through the night. The wind had battered my body, and my hands still felt as though they were frozen blocks of ice. That was Alaska for you; harsh and cold just like myself. Or at least others would say.

The inside of the castle was luxury I had never seen. Red curtains were draped from the top of exquisite windows that scaled ten meters into the air, set in crumbling stone. The air was still frozen, even though flame torches licked the darkness. Before me was a set of stairs, red carpet laced with gold running along the rough stone.

I hear the guards murmur something to another werewolf who was standing at the door. Despite having extremely sensitive hearing, I was unable to pick up their conversation. I didn't want to either. God knew whether they were talking about releasing me or killing me. It was most likely the latter.

The guard abruptly drags me after him, and we mount the stairs before I have time to complain. It didn't seem right for me to be in a place of such beauty. I was a worthless, good-for-nothing rogue to them.

But what shocks me more is the werewolf waiting for me, and by his side, another well-groomed werewolf with clean hunting clothes and a cape that was coloured a deep emerald. It was a strange sight, but as soon as I laid eyes on him, it was obvious that he was the Alpha King.

His eyes were pale crystal with age, and his skin sagged around his face like a rotting apple. His hair still managed to cling to his head, but the grey pigment provided me with enough evidence to realise that his days were limited.

They took me to talk to the Alpha King. The fricking Alpha King!

The guards continue to escort me towards the man who ruled over the packs. Somewhere between the stairs and the 'great' man, my legs give way: this was the man who had ordered to kill my group of 'rogues'. This was the man who had innocent blood on his hands.

As the guard forces me to kneel, I can't bring myself to look him in the eye. All that I can think is murderer. I was a murderer, yes, but I had a reason to be. He, on the other hand, didn't have a good reason.