The Royal Wolves

Prisoner of War

* * * Florence’s POV * * *

Boredom is that invitation for the brain to play, to let the self soak into a moment and see the richness in the minute subtlety life offers. So I let it in, allow my thoughts to float without direction, and soon enough they find paths to run down, new paths rather than the same old worries that can play over and over each day. That's when ideas come... and that's when boredom ends.

I’ve laid on what is a surprisingly comfortable cot for about an hour when I hear a commotion. In order to not draw attention to myself, I remain still, with eyes closed, and use my sensitive wolf hearing to figure out what is going on.

There’s a lot of yelling, a lot of bangs and clashes. Somebody is venting their anger and frustration by throwing what can only be described as an almighty temper tantrum.

Half-awake is underrated, it's where I see my most vivid of visions, it's where my dreaming brain speaks to me in visual puns and condensations of such. It is where my premonitions occur.

Once again, I watch the scene unfold. A young woman with raven hair and a ethereal glow to her eyes, smiling with joy as she walks towards a war weathered young man. He has a deep scar running the side of his face, and yet the love in his eyes as he watches her approach him, makes him the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

The vision is interrupted when I hear the sound and a metal door slamming. Harsh words are uttered about the use of Wolfsbane and I realise there is another Wolf here.

Cracking my eyelids open, just slightly, I allow Kate to use her Wolf vision to see a figure in the cell next to mine. He’s covered in dried blood, his wounds already healed. His eyes scouring the area around him, no doubt trying to figure out his escape.

“Hey up,” the voice of my earlier guard calls.

I slightly raise my head to look at him, and realise he was talking to me.

“I’m going to lift the hatch door slightly and put in your food. Please don’t try anything,” he tells me. I watched as he carefully sits a tray on the ground and unlocks several locks. À part of the metal cage slides up and he gently pushes the tray through the small gap, then closes and locks back up. “Eat it while it’s hot. It’s not great, but it will keep you going,” he smiles kindly.

Is kindly the right word? He’s part of the group holding another wolf. Can there be kindness?

Rolling off the cot bed, I cautiously approach the tray. After all I have heard and seen about the werebears, I would be surprised if the tray exploded. I slightly lift the lid and and catch a glimpse of what appears to be soup and bread.

It appears to contain some form of meat and veg. It really doesn’t look great, come to think of it, it doesn’t smell great either.

‘Stop being a princess and just eat. It’s not just us any more,’ Kate tells me and sends thoughts of our child running through my mind.

My eyes clench shut and I manage to prevent bile rising as the taste his my mouth. ‘What the hell is this?’ I curse to Kate.

‘Squirrel. It’s not great, but it will sustain us,’ she replies.

Somehow, I manage to stomach half of the soup. The bread roll isn’t bad, but I stop half way through. ‘What’s wrong?’ Kate asks me.

‘They haven’t brought him anything. He’s a wolf. We look after our own,’ I tell her.

“Excuse me,” I whisper as I walk to the metal bars between us.

“What’s up?” He replies, casually as though he weren’t a prisoner of war.

“I noticed they didn’t bring you anything.”

“They probably only brought you because you’re pregnant,” he says without malice.

“How can you tell?”

“Your scent keeps changing.”

“Ahhh. Anyway. We wolves have got to stick together. It really is awful but would you like some?” I offer.

“You need to keep your baby nourished. Thank you, though.” He smiles.

“Nonsense. If they are feeding me because I’m pregnant, then I have more food coming. What if I get moved? You need to make the most of shared rations,” I tell him firmly.

“And how do you suppose you are going to get the bowl through the bars?” He smirks and raises a brow.

“Well, I didn’t think that far ahead. But I could feed you. I think I get the spoon through the bars.”

“I can help,” a tiny voice says firmly, making me look the the door of my cell. A tiny child is peering through the bars at me.

“Hi. My name is Florence,” I tell the child.

“I’m Oliver. I’m four,” he says proudly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Oliver, but I don’t think you can help. It was very kind of you to ask,” I say gently, trying to not offend this young boy. His golden hair sits below his shoulders, the camps lights flicker and make it seem as though he is wearing a halo.

“Use my sippy cup. It fits through,” he tells me as though it was an obvious solution, and pushes it through the bars of my cell.

Once I remove the lid, I pour the remaining soup into his sippy cup and push the bread roll in. I try to pass it through the bars to the captive wolf, but my fingers keep catching the bars. I gasp and hold in a curse as I feel my skin burn.

“Bring it back to me. They don’t hurt me like they do you. I can pass it,” he smiles proudly.

“Thank you, kid. Why are you helping? You’re a bear aren’t you?” The captive wolf asks.

“My name is Oliver. And I am bear. Or I will be when I am bigger like my dad. I don’t like the moving and fighting. I just want to be happy.”

“You’re very smart, Oliver. My name is Chad. Is your dad here with you?”

“Yes, he is……”

“OLIVERRRR!!!” Screams a voice I think will haunt my nightmares.

“How many times must you be told. Do not talk to a prisoner of war. Every f*****g time you defy me. This is the last,” King Edward barks and grips the boys chin.

The werebear king pulls out a blade from a sheaf attached to his pants and holds it to the boys face.

Oliver tries to thrash and scream as his skin begins to singe behind near the blade. An ear piercing scream makes my stomach churn as Edward draws the tip of the blade down the side of Oliver’s face. “If you defy me again, I will take out an eye, boy,” he spits and drops him to the floor.

“You shouldn’t hurt your son!” I challenge him as I glare through the bars of my cell.

“He is born out of necessity. My daughters will make better warriors than him. What does it have to do with you what I do to my own blood?” He scowls at me, his eyes flashing black.

“Because, when the gods gave me a message, they did so with visions. Oliver is in my visions. The message is about him,” my voice hold firm, and my legs don’t tremble, but inside I’m a cowering wreck at speaking so defiantly to the king of the bears.

“Then I’d say you and I are overdue a little chat. Wouldn’t you, little wolf?”