The King Without a Queen Book 2

Book 2: Taming the King

SYLVIA

I can still recall the seventh birthday of my life when my father gifted me a handmade crocheted bunny. I knew he’d crafted it himself, having taken up crocheting just a month before. My father was the kind of man who was always eager to learn something new. Before he discovered his love for crocheting, he’d tried his hand at knitting but found it too challenging.

He was a man of many hobbies. The paintings that adorned our walls, the paper flowers tucked away in drawers, the books that filled my room—these were all extensions of my father. He had a passion for creating, for doing, for living. My mother once told me he was on a mission to try everything the world had to offer.

Crocheting was just another item on his list, but it seemed to hold a special place in his heart. When he presented me with the pink and white bunny he’d made for my birthday, I knew it was something I’d cherish forever. To this day, it remains the best gift I’ve ever received.

When I was nine, my father was killed. His life was taken by a packmate he’d trusted. I remember hearing whispers of “half-wolves” in the aftermath, but I was too consumed by grief to pay them any heed. My world had been shattered; nothing else mattered.

I can still hear my mother’s sobs, a sound that terrified me even now, at twenty-one. Seeing my strong, resilient mother reduced to tears was a sight I’d never expected, and one I hoped to never witness again.

I remember going to my younger brother’s room. He was crying too, but for a different reason—he was hungry. He was only three at the time. I fed him, doing my best to soothe his tears. Perhaps that’s when my protective instincts toward him were born.

I was twelve when I heard the term “half-wolves” again. I was told that my father had been killed by a half-wolf, and so my disdain for them began. I learned that wolves who craved power allowed their wolf side to dominate, often losing their human rationality in the process. I despised half-wolves for this reason.

As I grew older, I came to understand that half-wolves, too, were victims of circumstance. My mother explained that not all half-wolves sought power. Some were simply weary of the world. Anxiety, trauma, and even sadness could lead to the wolf taking over.

I still couldn’t bring myself to like a half-wolf, but I understood it wasn’t their fault. But was it my father’s fault? He deserved to live.

So, the idea of being mated to the alpha of the half-wolves was far from appealing. I felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on me.

“My mate is the alpha of the half-wolves?” I had asked my alpha, disbelief coloring my voice.

His eyes had flickered to his mate, uncertainty clouding his gaze, but he nodded. “Yes, that’s what Aria tells me.”

I didn’t want to hear that. I’d already asked the alpha twice, and both times he’d given me the same answer. I had no choice but to accept it.

I was frustrated with how the day had unfolded. I’d been discussing my future with my mom, wondering whether I should pursue further education or find a job, when my little brother burst into the room.

“The alpha and the luna are here.”

My mom and I both stood up in surprise. “The alpha?” she said.

“The luna?” I echoed.

“Yeah, I saw them from the window,” my brother confirmed.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and moments later, I found myself sitting with the alpha and the luna.

They regarded me as if I were an important guest.

I tried to maintain a neutral expression in front of the alpha and the luna, but it was hard to act normal under their intense scrutiny.

I fiddled with my hands, giving them a curt nod. “Okay. I get it.” I paused, then added, “Do you have a picture of him? I just want to prepare myself.” I was also curious to see what my future mate looked like.

“Yeah.” The alpha scrolled through his phone before handing it to me.

And there he was—my mate. The moment I saw his picture, I knew he was the one. The only thing left was for me to accept him.

But acceptance wouldn’t come easily. I was terrified of half-wolves. I didn’t hate them, but I was scared. Scared of their potential to lose control. I felt guilty for my fear, but it was an instinct I couldn’t suppress.

The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. They stared directly into the camera, and I felt as if he could see right through the phone into me. It was an unsettling thought. His eyes were a shade I couldn’t quite make out, but I guessed they were gray. His face was relaxed, his jawline sharp, and a small smile played on his lips. He wore a black stud in his left ear, and his brown hair was slicked back perfectly. He was handsome, but there was something eerie about him. He reminded me of those attractive villains we all secretly find ourselves drawn to.

I stopped scrutinizing the picture, reminding myself that people often look different in photos from real life.

I handed the phone back to the alpha. As he took it, a thought crossed my mind. When I was sixteen, I’d been infatuated with Alpha Silvic. I’d thought he was the most handsome man on earth, and I’d fantasized about becoming a luna. I’d prayed to the Moon Goddess every day, begging her to make me a luna. Now that my wish was coming true, I found myself regretting it. I made a mental note to think twice before making any more wishes.

I sighed. “A half-wolf, huh?”

Then I looked up at them. “So, what’s the plan?”

They exchanged a glance.

“I’d love to tell you the plan right now, but I really don’t want to burden you with any more information,” the luna said, a gentle smile on her face. “But I just want to ask if you are comfortable enough to do this? Because I know he is your mate, but he is also a half-wolf.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m not really sure, Luna. But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

To a human, my acceptance might seem alarming. Where was my spirit of resistance? But as a wolf, there was one universal truth: we never questioned the visions of the messengers. If Aria believed my mate was the alpha of the half-wolves, then it must be true.

To a human, this might sound like cult mentality. But this was how it worked: The alphas might be the leaders of the pack, but the messengers like Aria were the ones who communicated with the Moon Goddess. They were revered and held in high regard, not just within our pack, but within the entire wolf community.

The luna shook her head. “No, you have a choice. You can opt out. Jerome doesn’t know you are his mate yet.”

So, his name was Jerome.

“It’s fine. I can do it.” Despite my fear of half-wolves, I wouldn’t let it stop me from accepting my mate. His actions would determine my feelings toward him.

Finding a mate was one of the most wonderful aspects of being a wolf, and I wanted to experience that joy too.