by Logan Keys
I know my voice is filled with disgust as I call, “Bring the lion!”
And I leave her and the rest for the main room. For the throne.
I approach the intricately carved wooden chair like a live thing ready to grab me. It is painted gold, roses carved in a weave around the arms, and a giant wolf head resides above the cushioning. It is a throne for a king, and even as old as it is, it still seems new to me every time I see it.
This seat---this is what’s killed my father. I know it with every fiber of my being. When has a king of any realm died of old age? Most have been challenged and fallen, or died of suspicious causes, and now it’s my turn to take that risk for the wolves.
The seat next to it is slightly lower. The queen’s throne, which Liana may not sit until she has a coronation, and now it dawns on me with a pain, it is no longer my mother’s to behold.
It’s all happening so swiftly, and terribly. I want to mourn my father. I want more than anything to be alone. But I can hear the black wolf’s voice in my ear already: And that is what makes a king, Noble, what sets us apart. We cannot do what we want, we must do what is needed for the realm.
The throne is for the taking. I could let someone else sit in my place. Now is the time if I wanted to give it all up, perhaps I’d be happier. But then my father’s work to protect my secret would be all for nothing.
Every part of his life was to pave the way for me to do this exact thing right now. Can I just dishonor him when it is time? No, the throne is mine for the taking. That is how it’s always done in the Winter realm.
Before I can think more, in a swift movement, I sit upon my throne.
Hands rubbing the ridge of the roses, no doubt last touched by my father’s hands---it still feels warm, even. I watch as my people filter in behind me.
“Oren,” I say, and he comes forward. “Tell me what you can recall.”
He bows again, and I’m still unused to the sight. “Yes, sire,” he says. “It was during a fight. Men attacked the village, hunters, and we were so surprised to see them, that it was not a fairytale, that we stalled. It was my fault, sire. We hesitated and chaos, panic ensued. I was separated from your father. He was with the lions. They fought as well, and we beat back the hunters. I thought he’d been harmed by a man, but when we found him, in the end, it was a lion warden who killed him. Of that, I am certain.”
“And was he caught?”
“Yes, sire. We have him.”
My teeth snap together. An anger fills me like I’ve never felt before. “Bring him to me.”
Liana has pressed to the front of the crowd, her lionesses directly behind. She will demand punishment. She will require what I require. There can be no other way.
I rub my top lip feeling the strain of the day heavy on my shoulders, and a new duty for my people tightening around my throat. My emotions are rocking like a ship on a stormy sea. One moment I want to weep, the next I want revenge.
I finally risk a glance at Liana, but she is not looking at me, she is looking at her father who has come to the front of the gathering as well. He is nodding to her, prodding her, and she approaches me, head held high. “We should hear what he has to say first, Noble---, King Noble.”
The gasp from the crowd can’t deafen my own booming voice. “It is for me to decide.”
A rush of protectiveness for my people against hers is so thick I can taste it. We may be married but her kin has murdered mine. She must see that I will do what I must. Without the black wolf who will stop this tide of men and lions?
I am the one to do that now.
My people, who were jovial and celebrating, are now tight faced, shocked, angry, and weary at the sight of me on this throne. Not because they will not obey me. They will, even to death. But because they should have had many more years with my father, same as my mother and me.
The soul threatens to take over, to bring me to my knees, to make me rage and pour out tears at the injustice, but the black wolf has taught me well. I sit, like a king, stiff and proper, and I do not show one thread of emotion. I send my strength to my pack and they absorb it visibly.
Wolf wardens drag a tall blond man into the main room. He’s in shackles. Everything about him says lion, Summer realm, and he’s of noble blood, you can tell.
But all I can see before me is a murderer.
They force the killer to his knees before the throne.
Oren stands to his right. “This is the man who murdered our king. He should be brought to justice and swiftly. The old way.”
The crowd yells in agreement, fists shaking. “The old way!”
Some are dabbing at their eyes with tears flowing that I cannot allow for myself.
I sense that Liana will try and speak so I say, “Prisoner, did you murder a black wolf?”
“Yes.”
My hands shake with anger, so I fist them tightly. “Did you know who the black wolf was in human form?”
He glances swiftly at the lions and says, “Yes, sire.”
“Did anyone see him do it, Oren?”
“Many, sire.”
“You admit to the crime, then?” I ask, slightly surprised.
He nods his golden head tightly, just once.
Oren shouts amidst the chatter that ensues. “He doesn’t even deny it! He must pay! The Old Way, it’s tradition!”
“Tradition!” people begin to shout.
The wolves grow louder, and the lions move forward. Their king looks ready to argue, but it is Liana who steps in front of him. A lion. My wife. “There must be a trial.”
Oren sneers at her. “We wolves have no trial. If the pack says he dies, he dies. He admitted to cold blooded murder!”
The pack yells in unanimous reply, “Murderer!”
“Quiet,” I say, rising.
“Noble,” Liana says, her jaw firm, her eyes pleading. “He could have been coerced. Forced even! We need more information.”
“You will call him king,” Oren demands. “King Noble!”
The wolves shout agreement.
“I have not sworn fealty to any wolf king,” Liana says quietly, but then adds, “But Noble is my king, be he a fair king. There must be a trial. A legitimate hearing. That is our tradition.”
The hall erupts with lions and wolves arguing. The tension is high enough that someone is bound to change, and it would mean more bloodshed.
“Silence,” I snap, and Liana stiffens when I make sure she knows I mean her, too.
My anger threatens to undo me, and hearing her so…rational, it’s too much. I bend to it, to her, but the pack needs a firm leader, especially now.
I see my father’s body all over again from when I’d unveiled the wounds. His chest ripped open. The lion had not been merciful.
“Sire,” Oren prods.
“Bring me my sword!”
Liana rushes forward as the wolves loudly agree with my decision.
My wife latches onto my arm. “You mustn’t!” she cries. “He could have been in the heat of battle. Please, do this properly. We risk the peace, the lions demand trial. It could ruin all that we have planned. Noble, husband, we must hear his side.”
I shake her off roughly, and yank my sword from the sheath that Oren carries. Stalking toward the lion, I do not hesitate for fear that Liana is right, and for fear that I will weaken to her womanly thoughts and the lion’s traditions over my own.
“Blood for blood,” I call. “That is the wolf way!”
“Wait!” Liana cries.
I turn around, sword in hand, and point it at my wife.
Liana’s so surprised at the violent move, she backs away from the blade, eyes wide.
Her father lunges, the wolves press forward.
The room is mere moments away from pandemonium, but I cannot stop the anger, the rogue that demands that no one, not even Liana, will stand between me and my duty. What is owed to my flesh and blood.
Right is right.
Eye for eye.
Lion for wolf.
My voice shakes with rage, as does the sword in my hand that is still between me and what I promised to defend only hours ago. “My father was the one who decided we should marry. That there should be a union against the humans between wolves and lions to save the realms. And what did he get for that? Huh?” I motion with the sword at her, at all of the lions. “Your people murdered him!”
I glare at the king of the lions who is wise enough to see that his choice now may cause all-out war between us both.
Chapter 22
Liana
Stuck, neither of us willing to bend for the other. Stubborn hearts anchor us to our own cause.
Noble, my fierce Noble, is visibly broken by his father’s sudden death. Rage and disappointment roll off him in waves that slam into me. Guilt rises in me, knowing one of my own did this to him and his pack, but I smother it down, unable to give into such weakness, when my pride needs me. Both my pride and Noble’s pack need to see that Noble and I can rule together justly, that we can compromise our traditions as we did in our wedding ceremony.
Only the wedding is over. The perfect day ruined by the unforeseen death of the king wolf. Now, we must prepare for a funeral, and a trial if I have my way.
My chest tightens, my ribs seeming to collapse around my heart, and I fight back the onslaught of foreboding tears. Because I must remain strong and have my way – the lion’s way. There must be a trial so that true justice may be served.
Long seconds pass with Noble pointing his sword at me while I quietly dare him to act on his silent threat. I tip my chin, watching the rise and fall of his expansive chest behind his tailored suit. He’s dangerous and wild, and yes, still beautiful.
When Noble neither speaks nor acts, I walk away from him, careful in maintaining a strong appearance for my pride, and stop when I stand before the accused murderer, my cubhood friend Arlo, and place a firm hand on his shoulder. Brown eyes peek up at me from behind the messy mop of blond hair that sits across his face. Blood cakes his tan skin, the scent of his blood mixes with the great wolf’s blood and I can’t stop the aching in my chest from growing.
My husband, now the King of Winter, pounds his feet into the ceramic floor as he makes his way to us, his hold on the sword so strong his knuckles have grown an ashen white. Sadness and desperation war against one another, neither taking control nor letting go of the firm grip they have around my poor husband’s broken heart. I want to sooth him, to let him know he doesn’t have to face this alone, but I hold my ground, unwavering in my need to protect Arlo, who may very well deserve Noble’s wrath.
“There is a right way to do this, Noble,” I insist.
His body tenses and shakes in anger. The lines on his face contort and he opens his mouth, no doubt to bellow in my direction, but I cut him off.
“Rise,” I tell Arlo, giving Noble my back.
Noble’s pack mutter their displeasure at my defiance while my pride watches me with the respect I long ago earned. Already, I know I’m in the wrong, but I can’t seem to will myself to stop. Knowing if the roles were reversed, if wolves had killed my father, blood would have already been spilled, knowing Noble and his pack have shown far more restraint than my pride is capable of, doesn’t stop me. It only fuels me and my need to get my pride to safety and away from a pack that will surely never accept me as their queen.
“You will not rise. You will remain kneeled before me.” Noble’s voice booms and I tremble at the power and anger behind it.
Loyal to his pride and to me, Arlo keeps his head bowed and eyes downcast as he follows my command.
“My lady,” he says and then turns his face to Noble. “You are not my king,” he hisses, his lips pulled back as he bares his teeth. “You do not command my obedience.”
“Arlo.” My throat convulses when I try to swallow, but I keep my eyes steady, my voice strong. “You admit to killing the king wolf.”
He bows his head when he answers me. “I do.”
I cup his cheek, trailing my thumb over stubble on his chin. He turns into it and presses his face against my hand. “Of your own accord?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Noble growls and shoves Arlo back down. “Enough!” His voice ricochets off the walls and echoes in my hollow chest. I brace a hand against the drumming of my heart and reach for Noble, who steps away before I can touch him. With his sword still in hand he turns to his weeping mother and brings her to him for a tight one-arm embrace.
I move back to Arlo and too low for anyone else to hear me, I whisper, “Why?”
Familiar light eyes meet mine. “It was the only way. You’ll be queen now, my lady. As you should be.”
A slow smirk builds on his mouth and shaking my head, eyes wide I back away from him, away from my kin and collide into Noble’s hard chest. He grips my elbows, steadying me, but quickly lets me go as if the thought of touching me repulses him, as if the feel of my skin on his burns him.
Face pale, hands trembling, Noble lifts his sword, and I understand this moment for what it is. It’s archaic and medieval but it’s just and swift.
“Do what you must, my king,” I say, addressing Noble.
Dark, almost black eyes, dig into me. I fall to my knees and bow my head.
“Justice is yours to serve as you deem fit. But I ask you, my lord, please permit me to stay here as a witness to Arlo’s life and to his death.”
Strong hands grip me and force me to my feet. Noble’s face is no longer smooth but lined and reddened with anger.
“Did your murderous pride member grant anyone in my father’s pack the honor of witnessing my father’s death? Did he show any mercy when he spilled my father’s blood?”
“No.” My face tips down further.
“Then tell me, wife,” he sputters out, hatred warping the title into something vile. “Why should I grant this creature anything?”
I look up at him, my expression void of any emotion. “Because you are better than him. Because you are king.”
His grip on my arm tightens and I flinch in pain but stand firm in front of him. Toe to toe, we stare off, and I resist the urge to pull away from his hurtful fingers.
My father takes a stand beside me and puts a strong hand on Noble’s shoulder. I look back at him, my eyes narrowed in warning, but he only regards Noble. The wolf he betrothed me to.
“Your anger is understandable,” my father says to him, his voice booming over the commotion of the agitated crowd. "We, the lions, grieve with you, but Noble,” he dips his head slightly in recognition of Noble’s new title, “reign in your temper and act in a manner that serves your pack and not your dignity.”
“My dignity?” Noble scoffs, his grip on my arm intensifying. “This has nothing to do with dignity, but with your desire to save a murderous lion. I won’t have it.”
Crede steps away from our pride and when he turns to us, his eyes collide with Noble’s. Never breaking his focus on Noble, he pries Noble’s fingers from their grasp. I rub my arm, taking in the angry red marks left by my husband.
“Touch her again,” Crede growls and Noble stands so close to me I feel the heat of his body on my own, “and your father’s death will look merciful compared to what I’ll do to you.”
“Get out!” Noble yells, spit flying from his mouth and onto my face.
Two guards take hold of me, each on either of my side. I shrug away from their grasp and glare at Noble and at Crede.
None of us are wrong, but none of us are right either.
“We are given choices in this world. Choose wisely, husband,” I say with a finality I don’t feel, tasting the bitterness of our new relationship begin to end.
I’m guided out of the room of thrones, carted away like a prisoner. I hold my head high, my eyes meeting anyone who gazes in my direction.
Words of betrayal, of murder and conspiracies spread around me as I’m led to my room and I find it hard to keep panic at bay. Because they’re not completely wrong. It just wasn’t my betrayal that
killed their king.
A knot twists in my gut. An onslaught of remorse and fear and a glimmer of affection Noble and I had begun to feel for one another. And sadness. A desperate kind of sadness for the loss of a great king that affects us all.
Maybe me more than even Noble or his mother, because his death is on my hands. I didn’t ask for the king’s death, but it was given to me like a gift on my wedding day. Now I’m to be queen of a realm that rightfully cannot trust me, beside a husband who surely hates me.
Tired bones carry me over the threshold of my bedroom door. Defeated, I slump my shoulders forward and rest my face on my trembling hands.
“Remove your dress,” one of the guards instructs me.
“I will undress when I’m ready.”
The second guard stalks to me and before I can react, he grabs the top of my dress and tugs it hard enough to rip the fine fabric. I gasp, covering my exposed breasts with a hand while I ball my other one into tight fists. The other guard rounds behind me and tears into the back, the soft sound of my wedding dress being destroyed slashes at my gaping heart and I feel my body tremble in response.
A hard kick to my legs knocks me to the ground. On my hands and knees, I heave in deep breaths as I slowly give myself to the lion, letting the lion’s senses take everything in before I transition for the fight.
“Change and we’ll kill you,” one of the guards grumbles in my ear. “Then your husband will have two funerals to plan.”
The other man snorts. “At least we’d be celebrating one death.”
They both chuckle at their joke as I crawl away from them. As my father has taught me, I control my emotions. And I surrender. I can’t fight them, not without inciting a war between our realms so I keep the lion closed inside of me and hope these men have their fill of violence soon. Fingers dig into my hair and one of the guards pulls me back while his counterpart kicks me in the stomach.
Bile rises, and I taste blood when the back of my head slams onto the hard floor. Groaning, I bring my knees to my chest and hold myself while these men abuse my wasted body.
