The First Queen: A Shifter Romance

by K. M. Carnoky

  I didn't mention the part about unraveling my husband's secrets; I doubted my maids would back me on that. However, my reason wasn't entirely untrue either. I wanted to be a strong and present queen: one who understood math and the delicate balance of the economy and loved literature. But, for now, it was mostly just a faraway dream.

  “That's very noble of you,” Lydia admired.

  “Yes, I think it's wonderful too,” Isabelle enthused.

  I gave her a smile, loving her eagerness. Over the time that I had been here, I watched her come out of her shell bit by bit. She was bubbly and kind. Her laugh could fill a whole room if she let it. But even though we had bonded over books and stitching, I sensed there was a part of herself she kept hidden. I wondered if it was because I was queen or if she never fully revealed herself to anyone. Regardless, I tried my best to always make her feel safe and welcome in my room, and she continued to support almost all of my ventures.

  ***

  A few more days passed in silence. I was spending most of my time with my tutor which was exactly what I wanted, for more than one reason. I loved learning how to read. It was very important to me that I be as educated as possible so my dear husband would see what a big difference it made in human beings. I also loved being in the library. I just felt infinitely more educated surrounded by old books, and I had hardly seen anything so grand in my life. Each book had a specific spot, and the shelves went so high, there were ladders to reach some of the literature. But I also wanted something to do to pass the time because there was moretension than ever between the king and myself, and I needed something that would consume my mind more than stitching and didn't have the mental restrictions that riding Jester did. In addition to this, I had an opportunity to find information I would never be able to get my hands on elsewhere.

  Every day, my tutor would take a break roughly two hours after we began, and he would always ask me if I would like to accompany him for tea or if I would prefer to stay and read more. I pretended to be heavily focused on a word I couldn't understand in one book or enamored with sweet sentences in another. But, as soon as he would leave, I would carefully select a book from a high shelf from a secluded area—a shelf I was not allowed to touch—and sneak it back to my bedroom where I would hide it underneath the decorative pillows that covered my bed. I would always return before my tutor got back, and I hoped I always appeared like I hadn't moved at all. Only a handful of guards and a single brunette woman had seen me marching back and forth to my room, and I doubted that any of them cared or understood the significance of what I was doing.

  But I couldn't read my books in front of my maids. I had no doubt that they had found the books before as they were constantly cleaning and re-cleaning my furniture and organizing my belongings. They had yet to say anything about it, and if I was caught and the king became irrationally furious, I didn't want them to be in the middle of the cross fire. For that reason, it was never discussed. So, on a lazy Saturday morning, I packed a couple of books in a basket when I thought my maids weren't looking and covered them with a blanket and some vegetables. Then I set off for the safety of the stables.

  “Hello, Jester,” I cooed when I made it to his stall. The guard who accompanied me bowed his head in dismissal and turned away while I fed the big beast a carrot. As kind and patient as the staff were, no one could handle the amount of time I spent with Jester which was something I was relying on today. “Have you been good?” As if on cue, he pinned his ear back and stamped a massive hoof. Another horse peered over at him inquisitively. “Of course you haven't.” I giggled then slipped into his stall.

  I spent a few moments patting his neck then I placed down the blanket across some clean straw and seated myself on it. I couldn't help but smile to myself when Jester lowered his big head and sniffed around at the blanket. After a few breaths, he gave up on it and began sniffing me instead. It was good to see my old friend in such good health and spirits. Maybe his antics would make this task easier. I gave his muzzle a gentle kiss then pulled out a book.

  The cover had a drawn image of an awful beast. Some parts of the body were covered in skin, others were covered in thick fur. The jagged teeth jutting from the mouth were purely animal, but the eyes were human and blood was all over it. It was a disgusting thing to see, and it made me feel like I was going to lose my breakfast. It seemed impossible that the man I deemed so handsome, the man who had seduced me repeatedly, might be able to turn into such a thing. I flipped open the book before I could fixate on the picture anymore and took several deep breaths to slow my heart rate. I was reading about my husband and his kind mother who had embraced me, not some vile creature of the night. But the book—a personal journal—had other things to say about my theory.

  Werewolves have been roaming the planet for centuries. Very few believed in their existence for years, and it is not hard to understand why. They are masters of deceit. Violent acts of murder and countless cases of cannibalism had been reduced to lies, and the savages were never held accountable. The reason that no one in court could believe that simple men did such awful things is because simple men didn't do anything of the sort. These monsters did. Not half man-half wolf but monsters covered in the skin of seemingly innocent men. They don't just come out at night. They come out whenever they please, and they do with our world whatever they see fit. There seems to be nothing that can stop them, and the more we turn a blind eye, the more powerful they become. If we continue on this way, it’s only a matter of time . . .

  I have not been able to understand if the women can also be werewolves, but many werewolf men are married and reproducing. I wonder . . . if the women are human, why they wish to stay with a killer. Surely, they cannot be oblivious to all that their husbands are. Are they under some kind of spell or curse? Or do they believe that, eventually, werewolves will murder every human being on this planet and feast on their flesh, and they are choosing to save themselves and their children? Regardless of why, it makes me sick. These werewolves are completely and wholly animals, going so far as to marry their brides with a savage bite to the neck instead of a ring on the finger or a white dress. Then they reproduce madly, having more children than the average couple, and the only way it is possible for them to keep from starving is to kill innocent men, women, and children and eat their bodies in secret. Perhaps, one day, I won't be the only one aware of this secret and man will unite to take down these disgusting creatures and their betraying wives.

  “You are as beautiful as ever,” a woman cooed with intense tenderness.

  Startled, I snapped the book shut and tossed it into the basket, moving so quickly that Jester lifted his head from his grain, confused with my actions. But when I looked up at the stall door, there was no woman standing there speaking to me which filled me with relief and confusion. I hadn't been caught, but who was she talking to if not me? With my brow furrowed, I stood up and tucked my stack of secret books beneath the blanket. I took two quiet steps over the straw before I was able to see a beautiful woman.

  She had warm brown hair that tumbled down her shoulders in lovely natural curls, but most of it was covered by the hood she wore, though I couldn't imagine why. It was warm outside, and having a cloak that covered your head down to the backs of your thighs was excessive for this season. Still, the hood didn't conceal her wide green eyes that sparkled in the light. Her facial features were all fine and feminine: high cheek bones, slim nose, soft eyebrows. And her body was the same: graceful, elegant, and full of womanly curves. And it dawned on me that this was the woman who looked at me with penetrating curiosity when I retrieved the books from the library. I had paid her no attention. And, now, she was standing outside of Cleopatra's stall, admiring my husband's favorite horse.

  Deciding it would be best to not be caught looking suspicious, I gathered my things and exited the stall as quickly and quietly as possible.

  “There you are, old boy,” I murmured, giving Jester the last apple I had. I had to focus on him and act lik
e I hadn't been doing something wrong and I didn’t notice this woman at all.

  Jester took it out of my palm greedily without hesitation despite the fact that I had been quietly feeding him all of the food I had brought while I was buried in that book.

  “Oh,” I breathed as I turned, pretending to be surprised when the woman moved away from me. “I'm sorry. I didn't see you there.”

  I might've been pretending, but the woman looked nothing short of horrified. Her doe eyes widened unbelievably, like I had just caught her doing something unlawful. Then those green eyes moved over my expensive gown and up to the small tiara that was nestled securely in my hair. She tried to cover her fear and her worry, but by the minute, it was becoming more and more apparent on her gorgeous face.

  “My apologies, my queen. I didn't realize you were here,” she rambled, dipping into a beautiful curtsy.

  “That's alright. I was just visiting my horse,” I replied while cocking my head.

  The woman opened her mouth like she was about to say something—maybe explain what she was doing here—but stopped suddenly when we heard the footsteps of approaching guards. With another curtsy, she excused herself then nearly dashed out of the royal barns, still looking as stunned and worried as ever.

  “Are you ready to go, Queen Willow?” James asked from behind me.

  “Yes,” I whispered, clutching my basket to my chest.

  When I turned to face him, he registered my muddled expression in an instant. “Who was that woman, your majesty?”

  “I'm not sure,” I admitted.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A week passed since I had my run in with the woman in the barns; on the day I read a couple of chapters from the journal. I tried to rid of those things from my mind, but I couldn't seem to shake either of them no matter how hard I tried or what I filled my time with.

  Who was that woman and why did she look so scared of me? Why did she run as soon as she heard someone coming? Her clothing was far from what I wore when I was a slave. It resembled what I was wearing now. She was of high birth; so how come she didn’t know who I was? And how did she get in our barns in the first place? Was she even worth thinking about this much? Presumably not.

  As for what I had learned in that journal, I was terrified. I tried to remind myself that it was from the point of view of a scared human who didn't know my husband or his parents, but it wasn't enough to soothe me. My husband had bitten me just like the book described. I wanted him every night, so badly sometimes that it felt like my skin was on fire, and I could barely control myself from calling out to him. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to have his children even though I knew he wasn't all human and he had done some things I didn’t exactly approve of. It was like I was under a spell. But I didn't want that spell to force me to populate this world with little werewolf children. It felt like it was too close to what the book said to not be true, and that scared me the most.

  So I was less than pleased when he invited himself into my room.

  “What are you doing here?” I grumbled as I stitched with Isabelle.

  I knew I should've just talked to him, but the fear was too much to keep in, and it reared its head as anger instead. Just seeing him was enough to make my heart flutter, and I hated it—hated that the book might be right.

  The king burst into my room with the same two doctors who were present after he had bitten me. All three men looked neutral and calm, but my stomach tightened with anxiety. I couldn't go through this again. Even having them in the room made me feel phantom pain on the side of my throat.

  “Could you give us a few moments?” King Archer asked the maids. And, as usual, they left without a second of hesitation, and once again, I couldn't blame them for abandoning me.

  “Are you going to tell me what's going on now?” I demanded, setting aside my stitching before I stood up. I wanted to look like I was in control, but I wondered if the king could see the nervousness on my face. Maybe he could sense it like any other animal could sense the emotions of a prey.

  “We are just here to examine you,” the kinder doctor murmured for all three of them.

  “Like the first time when I came to the castle?” I barked.

  Both doctors paused, their gazes flashing to King Archer. My husband just flinched, casting his eyes downward.

  “What was never supposed to happen. It was a massive overstep from a guard who did no consult me. I found out too late and couldn’t stop it, but nothing like that will ever happen to you again, Willow.”

  The kinder docor did his best to smile. “We will be quick and the examination will be painless.”

  I didn't believe them. I knew something was going on, but I allowed them to do whatever they wanted anyway. If I refused to, I would have to face the king, and it was more than likely that he would force this process anyway. Though my last punishment hadn't been painful, I didn't want to be put in that position again, especially not now when I was fighting so hard to unravel the methods the king’s kind used on humans. I needed a clear head and heart, but he had a way of affecting both of those things. So when the doctors squeezed the different parts of my body, I let them. When they checked my heart rate, I was quiet, and when they assessed the fading scar that was on my neck, I was still. I was going to be nothing but compliant until I understood why I couldn't keep myself away from the king. But my plan didn't matter because the doctors were eventually dismissed, and I was left alone with the man I was trying so hard to avoid.

  “What was all of that about?” I demanded through gritted teeth. Even though I hadn't technically been forced, I felt slightly violated. Thoughts of my arrival here and my first encounter with the doctors overtook my mind. I knew it was over but my anxiety had not yet faded.

  King Archer instantaneously appeared to be confused. “You're upset with me,” he stated. But that didn't stop him from taking slow, even steps towards me.

  “Why were they in here?” I snapped. The control I had over myself was gone. I was being controlled by fear and old resentment now.

  The king stopped a few strides away from me and tilted his head like he didn't understand what was happening.

  “I asked them to come so I could understand your health needs better,” he replied.

  “My health is fine,” I snarled.

  The king closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, but before I could stop him, he grabbed my hips and turned me around so that I faced the mirror I got dressed in front of every morning. And there, seeing the way he looked at my reflection over my shoulder and feeling his warm hands on my hips, I felt like I could hardly breathe. I knew I shouldn't want it—I should resist it—but I leaned back against his chest, the fight knocked out of me. Some part of me knew it was the spell, but it was certainly one hell of a powerful thing.

  “When you came to me, you were a slave, Willow.”

  I stiffened at his words, but he ignored it and continued on.

  “Your body showed it immensely. You were thin, malnourished. Your skin was pale, and your wounds weren’t healing. I made you my wife. That means that you are a queen and my responsibility. The second I knew you were my mate, I tried to do everything to ensure your health, and I was worried that you skipping meals and going on unsolicited adventures was impeding that. I asked the doctors here to make sure that we were still making healthy progress.”

  “And what did the doctors’ say?” I murmured back, loving the feel of his moving lips against my ear and his hands on my body. Even if his truth about my previous state tore at my soul, I loved hearing his voice. I loved listening to the honesty and concern that rang in every word. Knowing he cared so deeply about me made me want to kiss him, but I resisted. Barely, but I resisted.

  “They said you're ready,” he whispered.

  “Ready for what?”

  “To make you all mine.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” I demanded, but some part of me knew.

  The king brushed my hair to the side, ex
posing my neck before he placed a gentle kiss right below my jawbone, making me shiver and my knees go weak. I reached behind me, my hands gripping his shirt closely to keep myself upright, and my breathing stopped as he moved his mouth down the soft skin. I even tilted my head to give him better access and pushed my hips back against his pelvis, moving from an instinctual, basic, desire.. He let out a moan at the movement and gripped my hips harder.

  “Do you want to be mine, Willow?” he asked, breathing hard.

  I just let out a sigh.

  I felt and heard him take a shaky breath as he placed his hand on my chest, just in between and below the center of my collarbones. He placed the other on my stomach. It felt amazing to be in his arms; to have him hold me so tightly and possessively. But it was nowhere near as good as his kisses, so I tilted my head to the side again, giving him full access of my neck in the hopes that it would be enough to get him to run his lips along my skin again. But he still hesitated. It was like he knew the effect he had on me and how easily he had uncovered my true emotions.

  “Please,” I whispered out, closing my eyes. My mouth worked on its own accord now.

  And my wish was granted. His lips pressed against my neck for a moment, leaving me breathless. But a sharp pinch of pain came a second later—pain that caused all of the warm feelings to flush out of my body. I froze in fear.

  I knew what he was doing. I knew that the reflection of what I saw in the mirror was the same thing that had happened when he found out James had been in my room. His head was bent down and hidden, but I knew his sharp teeth had punctured the fragile skin, and his firm hands were keeping me upright and against him as he made soft sounds of pleasure. And I knew there was pain, but there was more.

  It was pleasure, and it caused my knees to get even weaker and my heart rate to climb even higher, though I should've been screaming so loud the guards would come running. The pain wasn't the same; it didn't burn through my whole body and make my eyes blurry with tears. It was a slight pinching sensation, and it was greatly outweighed by the warmth that flooded through my veins, starting at my neck and seeping through the rest of me. So I just stood there in a daze and watched our reflection until the king finally lifted his head.