The Anomaly: Crownless Heir

Super Wolves

“It is time for you to prove your worth, Kenneth,” the King’s deep voice still carried through the great chamber, echoing in the young general’s mind as if the words themselves had clung to the marble walls overnight. “Not to me, nor to your brothers, nor to the council gathered here. But to your people.”

Kenneth knelt where he had been commanded, his head bowed, his black hair falling forward across his brow. The firelight of the torches seemed to brush his sharp features, catching briefly in the strange blue of his eyes. His silence lasted just long enough that the air thickened with tension, but at last, he drew a deep breath and spoke with a steadiness that belied his youth.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the King’s. “I know what it means to be entrusted with this responsibility. I won’t fail you—or them.”

The King leaned back upon his throne, the weight of a thousand years of rule etched in the furrows of his face. Yet his voice, when it came, was not the distant tone of a monarch but the weary warning of a father who had seen too many wars.

“There have been sightings,” he said, the words deliberate, heavy. “Werewolf camps gathering on our eastern border. Scattered at first, but now swelling. My spies say they are not there merely for territory. They are trading. Acquiring something dangerous.”

The hall grew colder as the King’s words spread, chilling even the air between the flickering torches. Kenneth frowned, his voice measured, though curiosity sharpened it.

“What are they acquiring?”

“A drug,” the King answered grimly, his gaze tightening. “A concoction they buy from humans. One that fuels their transformation. It strengthens their wolf form beyond its natural limits—faster, stronger, harder to kill. They call them ‘super wolves.’” He paused, his eyes narrowing with the faintest trace of contempt. “Cowards, relying on human filth to amplify what was already too dangerous.”

A ripple of unease ran through the chamber. Even the older generals shifted uncomfortably. Kenneth’s mind, however, was already racing.

The King leaned forward. “As I said last night, you now command five thousand knights. Take as many as you see fit. Ride east, see the truth with your own eyes, and cut out this infection before it festers.”

Kenneth lowered his head again, silent. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, and his jaw worked as he thought. He let the pause stretch longer than most men dared, then lifted his eyes—not to the King, but to the broad figure standing a few steps away.

“Darien,” Kenneth said at last, his voice steady but softer than before. “You’ve led our knights into battle longer. Tell me honestly… do you think they can stand against these wolves, fueled by this drug?”

The hall seemed to hold its breath. Darien, broad-shouldered and grim, did not immediately answer. His arms crossed over his chest, and his dark eyes avoided Kenneth’s piercing blue for a moment. Then, low and flat, he spoke one word:

“No.”

The sound of it struck like a blade. A single syllable, final, undeniable. Kenneth’s lips pressed into a thin line, his heart heavy but resolute. Slowly, he rose to his feet, black hair falling about his pale face.

“Then I cannot take them,” he said, his voice growing firmer. “If our men would die without hope, it would be better that I go alone.”

The words echoed through the chamber, and a murmur stirred among the generals. A boy of seventeen, refusing five thousand knights, daring to claim the burden for himself. The King’s expression darkened.

“You will not go alone,” he said, the command iron-clad in his voice. “This is no mere errand, Kenneth. This is war brewing in the shadows.”

Kenneth did not flinch. “That is exactly why I must go alone. To see it for what it is. If I march with an army, the wolves will scatter. I will learn nothing. I will achieve nothing.”

The King stood, the heavy weight of his robes flowing around him as he descended the steps of his throne. His footsteps echoed like thunder in the silent hall. He stopped before Kenneth, looming over him. The room held its breath.

“I lost you once,” the King said, his voice lower, breaking from command into confession. His eyes, dark and heavy with years, bore into Kenneth’s. “When Thorne’s blade struck you down. I thought you gone. Slain. I will not endure that loss again.” His voice hardened, iron returning. “You are my son. I forbid it. You will take knights.”

Kenneth’s lips parted, stunned not at the command, but at the raw c***k in the King’s words. For a moment, his throat tightened. But before he could speak, another voice slid into the silence.

“Perhaps,” Aurelius said, smooth and sharp, “it would be wiser to grant him his wish, Father.”

All eyes turned to the newly crowned Prince. Aurelius stood with casual grace, though the glint in his eyes betrayed the calculation beneath his calm expression. He folded his hands neatly, as though his words were reason alone, but Kenneth felt the faint, cold edge of malice beneath them.

“If he goes alone,” Aurelius continued softly, “he risks nothing but himself. If he fails, no army is lost. And if he succeeds…” He spread his hands in mock fairness. “…then he proves the greatness you believe he has. Surely it is the safest course.”

The King’s glare hardened, his jaw tightening. “You think I would gamble his life?”

“Not gamble,” Aurelius replied smoothly, inclining his head with feigned humility. “Trust.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Kenneth’s hands curled at his sides. He knew Aurelius’s smile too well. He knew the hidden wish that his brother hoped would bloom—that Kenneth would not return.

“No,” the King said at last, his voice thunderous. “He will not go alone. I forbid it.”

Kenneth drew in a breath, then released it slowly. His eyes softened as he looked back to the King, though his voice remained steady.

“Then let me take only three,” he said. “No more. Three knights, no banners, no marching legions. Enough to defend, but not to provoke. That is the only way I will do this.”

The King’s jaw worked, torn between fury and fear. At last, he exhaled, heavy and tired. He stepped closer, so close Kenneth could feel the weight of his presence.

“You are seventeen,” the King said softly, almost painfully. “Do not forget that. You are my son, and I cannot protect you forever.”

Kenneth smiled faintly, though his eyes betrayed the sadness buried deep. He stepped forward, and before the hall, he embraced the King. The gesture was startling, breaking the cold formality of court.

“I know,” Kenneth whispered. “But I’ll be all right.”

His arms tightened once, then released. His smile lingered, soft but bittersweet. For though the King’s arms had been strong, Kenneth’s heart knew the truth the man did not: he was not his father. Not truly.

The King said nothing more. Kenneth turned, his black cloak sweeping behind him as he strode from the hall. Outside, the air was cool, the night lingering faintly as dawn threatened the horizon. A carriage awaited, and he climbed within, silent, his thoughts heavy as the wheels bore him toward the estate.

When he entered his home, his mother was already waiting. The Queen had not slept. Her dark gown shimmered faintly in the candlelight as she rose from her chair.

“What happened?” she asked quickly, worry cutting through her calm voice.

Kenneth hesitated, then sighed. “He’s sending me east. Werewolves are gathering, trading with humans for drugs that make them stronger.”

Her eyes widened, fear piercing her noble composure. She stepped closer, gripping his arms. “Kenneth, you don’t understand. The werewolves are already stronger than us. Faster, more resilient, with stamina we cannot match. They heal from wounds that would kill one of us. And worse—they can consume the flesh of powerful beasts, and by doing so, their own bodies grow stronger still. They are monsters of nature itself. Even without this drug.”

He smiled faintly, brushing her cheek with his hand before pressing a kiss gently to it. “I know. But don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

She closed her eyes, gripping his hand as if refusing to let go, then released him with a trembling breath. Kenneth moved past her, ascending to his room where he began to pack.

The door opened without warning. Seraphine slipped inside, her dark hair falling about her face, her eyes already heavy with worry.

“You’re leaving,” she said softly.

Kenneth glanced back, managing a crooked smile. “You always notice before anyone else.”

She stepped closer, her hands curling nervously at her sides. “I heard the rumors. Is it true? The wolves? That you’re going to face them?”

“It’s true,” he admitted, turning back to fold a cloak into his pack. “But don’t look at me like that. I’ll be fine.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes shimmering faintly. “Don’t joke about this. They’re dangerous. You can’t—”

“Seraphine.” He turned, grinning faintly, tilting his head. “Have I ever let you down?”

Her anger faltered, replaced by something softer, rawer. Her hands trembled. Before Kenneth could realize it, she closed the space between them, her lips crashing against his.

His eyes widened. The world froze. For a heartbeat, Kenneth did not breathe.

Seraphine broke the kiss almost instantly, her face flooding crimson. She stumbled back, mortified, her hands covering her mouth.

“I—” her voice cracked, desperate. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t hold it back anymore. I love you, Kenneth. I always have.”

He stood frozen, still staring, his heart pounding in his ears.

Her face fell. She mistook his silence for rejection. She turned quickly, pain twisting her expression as she moved toward the door.

But Kenneth moved, catching her wrist before she could escape. His grip was gentle but firm.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. She stopped, trembling. He drew a breath, searching for the right words. “Don’t think I don’t care. You mean more to me than I can say. I just… wasn’t ready for that.”

Her eyes filled, tears threatening.

“I like you too,” Kenneth said softly. “Maybe more than I should. But let’s not decide this now. When I come back, we’ll talk. I promise.”

Her breath hitched. He leaned down, brushing his lips to her forehead. Then he ruffled her hair lightly, teasing despite the heaviness in the room.

“Don’t cry. It doesn’t suit you.”

She laughed shakily, tears glimmering.

Kenneth smiled once more, then shouldered his pack. Without another word, he left the room, his steps steady as he moved toward the military base.

There, among the five thousand knights sworn to him, he would pick his comrades.

And with them, he would ride into the shadows of the east.