I’m certain she’ll take my offer. It’s too tempting to resist. As I leave her room, a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I’m pleased with how smoothly everything’s going.
Weirdly, my beast side is practically dancing with joy. I don’t get why, but I guess it’s thrilled to be back in control of my throne.
The council is going to lose their minds when they find out I’m getting hitched in two days. They’ll no doubt start yammering about pups and heirs.
I’ll humor them for now, until the day I boot that woman out of my castle.
I don’t plan on spending the next two days with her. It’s not needed, even if she’s about to become my wife and queen. I stay in the castle, doing my usual king stuff.
Elijah is helping me with the preparations, or to be honest, he’s doing all the preparations. I don’t give a damn about the wedding—the flowers, the ceremony, the guests, or the clothes.
I just want it over and done with—fast—so I can reclaim my place as the undisputed ruler of Phanteon, not just a puppet of my late father’s decrees.
Despite my clear instructions, Elijah is excited enough to keep me updated on the woman’s activities over the past two days.
From the snippets I pay attention to, he tells me she’s staying in the east wing of the castle.
To continue, Elijah has assigned her the top professor in the kingdom to teach her our ways and the history of our realm.
He’s also brought in the best seamstress to fit her for her wedding dress and everyday clothes.
Of course, I cringe at the last two ideas. That woman doesn’t need to know about our history or our traditions.
She doesn’t even need a wardrobe since I plan to send her back to her realm right after the wedding—the next day if I can.
But Elijah, with a suspiciously smug grin, ignores my complaints. He keeps on reporting her activities.
It’s full of songs and dances and plenty of food and drink, all leading up to a mass shifting and a unified howling. I had Elijah go to that one for me.
I didn’t realize he’d use it to subtly introduce her to the public.
Damn it.
Elijah says she’s a natural at socializing.
She seems comfortable talking to the alphas of my kingdom and the high-ranking officials of my court who are at the celebration, and she’s even been seen helping out with kitchen duties.
Thoughtfully, he didn’t let her see the shifting and the howling. If I’d been there, I would have let her watch, to see if she could handle seeing my subjects shift into their werewolf forms.
That would have been interesting.
All this talk about her makes me want to punch something. I hate how she’s slowly making her mark on my land.
Again, if I’d been at those events, I could have minimized her presence as much as possible, but my brother reported these activities to me too late. I have a strong suspicion he did it on purpose.
When the morning of the wedding arrives, I wake up to find the whole castle buzzing with excitement.
Servants, both male and female, are rushing around as I walk down the hallways to my throne.
The female servants don’t even bow when they see me pass, unlike before. They just lower their heads and clear a path for me.
I can still sense their fear of me, but it’s less than before, and I think it’s because of the news of my upcoming wedding.
There are white flowers everywhere, but they’re most abundant in my throne room. I cringe at the sight. Elijah has really outdone himself.
I walk over to look at the castle courtyard from the throne balcony and see flags with the kingdom’s crest hanging from a line stretched from one corner of the castle roof to another.
I’ve never seen it done like this before. It’s a nice change, but still, I want these flags taken down once the wedding’s over.
Using my lycan hyper-sight, I see the amphitheater a few miles away from the castle is decorated too. From what I remember, the kingdom usually holds weddings there.
I grip the balustrade so tightly it cracks at the base. But it’s not enough to vent the anger bubbling up inside me.
I need to let it out, so I do the next best thing.
I shift into my lycan form and bolt out of my throne room, out of the castle, out of hearing range. I run to the highest snowy mountain of Phanteon, and there I thrash and howl as much as I can.
When I get back to my castle, the sun has already set. Elijah meets me in my room with a raised eyebrow, but he doesn’t ask where I’ve been. I know he has an idea.
“Brother, clean yourself up,” he says seriously. “Your bride is waiting for you.”
“Give me ten minutes,” I snap and head into my bathroom to wash.
When I come out eight minutes later, I’m all cleaned up. No matter how much I hate wearing the official royal uniform for my wedding, I don’t have a choice.
If I’m going to stage the biggest fake wedding my kingdom has ever seen, I have to play the part and play it well.
The amphitheater is packed when I arrive in a coach.
The realms, after they were created, chose their own ways to travel; and my father chose the simple, eco-friendly one—a vehicle pulled by horses.
Werewolves and lycans can travel fast, much faster than horses, but on occasions that need a bit of flair and showiness, we have to use other means of travel.
I'm pretty sure the same coach that brought that woman from the castle to the amphitheater is going to be our ride later. Just the thought of her in this tight space is enough to put me in a bad mood. But I have to keep reminding myself that this is all part of the act, a necessary performance to convince my people of our union.
When I step out of the coach, the crowd goes wild. I wave and flash my best, well-rehearsed smile. They're all here to witness a miracle—me getting married, tying the knot with a woman, something I've always been vocal about hating.
They probably think I'm a fool for finally falling for a woman's charm. But as I scan their faces for any hint of mockery, I don't see any. All I see are genuine, warm smiles.
I've only attended a few werewolf weddings when I was younger, before I declared my hatred for the female population. I remember how the high priest would officiate them.
Knowing how it's supposed to go, I walk to the farthest corner of the stage. The groom is supposed to stand on the right, the bride on the left. We're supposed to meet in the middle, right under the spotlight of the full moon.
Once I get there, I look across the stage and see my soon-to-be wife. She's standing tall and regal in her pure white dress, a lace headdress covering most of her face. Her hands are clasped near her stomach, her shoulders straight.
For a moment, I feel a pang of longing, but I shake it off almost instantly. Everyone waits for the full moon's light to hit the center of the stage.
When it does a few minutes later, the sound of trumpets fills the air. The high priest appears in his emerald green robe and a stiff, pointed ceremonial headdress decorated with the kingdom's insignia.
He looks at me, bows his head in respect, then turns to the bride and does the same. I see her return the gesture before the high priest signals for us to approach the center.
An older woman standing next to her motions for her to step forward. As she does, I do the same, until we're both standing under the full moon's light.
I can't quite make out her expression, but from the brief glimpses I get of her eyes through the lace, she seems just as eager to get this wedding over with as I am.
The high priest starts making some hand gestures and launches into a long speech about the union of an alpha and a luna, a man and a woman, two people in love.
He also talks about the blessings of the Goddess and how our union will be fruitful and harmonious.
The only thing on my mind is fulfilling my father's wish. If he wants me to get married and have a queen, then that's what he'll get. But after the wedding and all the other ceremonial nonsense, it'll be on my terms.
My rules. My word. My desires.
No one will challenge it.
The woman and I stand face to face while the high priest keeps talking. But when it's time for the ritual, he signals for us to hold hands.
