Misguided Wolves

5. A Scent of Destiny

Elliott groaned as he rode his stallion toward King Jackson’s castle in Logi, the sunlit plains stretching golden around him. His cousin Kyle, riding beside him, smirked. “Geez, Eli, you make this visit sound like a chore.”

“It’s pointless,” Elliott grumbled. “I’m not the heir. Why am I establishing relations with Logi?”

Kyle shook his head, grinning at the stubborn prince. “You never know what might happen. Besides, your brother’s busy with Castiel. Think of it as a vacation.”

Kyle spat Castiel’s name like it left a foul taste. Elliott frowned. “He’s not so bad once you know him.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Reede can’t even figure out what he is. He doesn’t smell like a wolf, that’s all I know.”

“Your wolf’s been wrong before,” Elliott said. “I’m sure it’s just his pack’s scent. Leo would’ve warned me otherwise.”

Kyle shrugged, dropping the argument as they approached Logi’s castle. The ancient fortress stood sturdy but bare, its stone walls weathered and in need of repair. It lacked a woman’s touch, with only the essentials maintained, though spotlessly clean. Servants greeted them, taking their belongings to modest guest rooms. King Jackson emerged, his broad frame fresh from the training grounds, sweat-soaked and clad in a torn shirt and worn pants. At twenty, the young king had pale blonde hair, trimmed at the sides with the top braided, and a neatly cropped beard. His open smile radiated warmth.

“Welcome, gentlemen!” Jackson called, arms wide.

Elliott dismounted, offering a respectful bow. “A pleasure, Your Majesty.”

Jackson’s laugh boomed as he clapped Elliott’s shoulder. “Drop the formalities! Call me Jackson. I hope we’ll be friends. Come, let me show you around.”

Elliott nodded absently during the tour, half-listening as Jackson recounted Logi’s history. But as they passed a particular door, Elliott and his wolf, Leo, froze, captivated by a scent—crisp apples, like a fall orchard in bloom. It was intoxicating, stirring something deep in his chest. Leo urged him forward, eager to find the source.

“What’s in there?” Elliott asked, pointing.

Jackson’s smile faltered, his expression solemn. “The infirmary. My other guests were attacked en route. One’s injured, but our healer is the best.” He clapped his hands, brightening. “No worries, you’ll meet them soon. Now, let’s get you settled for dinner. The cooks have prepared a feast!”

The dining hall gleamed with polished wood, and Jackson spared no expense: fresh bread, roasted potatoes, duck, and venison on a bed of vegetables, paired with endless cold mead. The food was delectable, but Elliott couldn’t shake the apple scent. Leo badgered him to return to the infirmary, restless for answers. When maids brought apple tarts, Elliott’s hope flared, but the scent wasn’t the same. He sighed, disappointed.

Jackson nudged him, grinning. “Boring you, young man?”

Elliott blinked, shaking his head. “Young man? You’re barely older than me.”

Kyle snorted. “He turned eighteen a few moons ago and thinks he’s grown.”

Jackson laughed, slapping Elliott’s back. “Follow your path, lad. If you need guidance or a break, my home’s open. Don’t rush growing up.”

“How’d you end up king, anyway?” Elliott asked. “Logi’s tight-lipped about it.”

Jackson’s smile faded, his gaze weighing the two men. After a moment, he sighed. “If we’re to be friends, let’s start with a history lesson.” He grabbed his mead stein and led them to a library, its walls lined with countless books under a high ceiling. A stained-glass skylight depicted a sun and moon encircled by stars, casting moonlight onto a water basin below.

Jackson approached the basin, calling, “Hova, we have guests.”

A tall, slender woman emerged from a side room, her long white hair braided with beads and feathers, her tan skin adorned with glowing white and blue ancient symbols. A blindfold covered her eyes, yet she moved with uncanny grace. She smiled warmly. “Guests? A lovely surprise.”

Jackson’s face lit up as he gently took her hand, kissing it with care. “Always a pleasure, Priestess.” He gestured to Elliott and Kyle. “These two are from Vargr—”

Hova waved dismissively, interrupting. “I know who they are and what they seek.”

Kyle mind-linked Elliott, “Eli, this place is a den of crazies.”

Elliott nodded subtly. “Let’s hear them out. Keep them happy.”

Hova chuckled, as if privy to their thoughts, and chanted in an ancient tongue, her symbols glowing brighter. She removed her blindfold, revealing glowing white eyes, and waved her hands over the basin. The water shimmered, and she beckoned them to look.