The Fallen King and the Princess of the Moon
1491 Words
Chapter Seven:
The Blood that Binds
Alaric Blackwood's POV
The rogue stench hit me long before we reached the clearing.
My Beta, Damon Veylor, mindlinked first — a ripple of urgency cutting through the bond we shared.
"Alpha, there's a disturbance at the southern border. Heavy rogue activity. Not natural."
Not natural.
That was all I needed to hear.
Within minutes, the patrol was mobilized — warriors snapping into formation as we followed the trail of torn earth and shattered trees.
The closer we got, the thicker the magic felt — cloying, sharp, foreign.
Something...
wrong.
When we broke through the treeline, I stopped cold.
In the middle of the chaos —
my son.
Kieran stood crouched over a crumpled silver-haired girl, her body limp in his arms, her skin flickering with traces of power like embers not fully extinguished.
Around them, rogue wolves circled, snarling, their eyes blood-mad.
And in the air —
hanging heavy and wrong —
a magic signature so ancient, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The girl.
The magic was coming from her.
"Move!" I barked.
Our warriors surged forward, falling into formation without hesitation.
Steel flashed.
Teeth tore.
Blood sprayed the trees.
We slaughtered the remaining rogues in minutes.
And just when I thought it was over —
the world shifted again.
A ripple of dark magic rolled through the clearing like a disease.
A figure stepped into view —
tall, cloaked in Brotherhood black, face hidden by a silver death mask.
An assassin.
Here.
On my land.
And he wasn’t here for me.
"I came for the girl, mutt," the assassin hissed, his voice like sandpaper and venom. "Hand her over, and I'll let you live."
Kieran clutched the girl tighter against his chest, baring his teeth in a silent snarl.
Proud boy.
Brave boy.
Good.
I stepped forward slowly, my laughter rolling out low and dangerous across the clearing.
"Get off my territory, assassin," I said, voice cold enough to freeze the marrow in his bones. "Or you’ll start another fifty-year war."
I smiled, all teeth.
"The girl is under my protection now."
The assassin tilted his head, amused.
"Look at that," he said mockingly. "A king without a kingdom."
He threw his head back and laughed — harsh and broken.
"I don't give a f**k about treaties, Blackwood. My mission won't be delayed. Not for a fallen king and not for a—"
He spat the next word like a curse.
"A Vaelora."
The ancient name — one I hadn’t heard since my exile — twisted through the air like a blade.
And then the assassin whispered something else — in the old dead wolf tongue, the forbidden language of prophecy:
"Born of wolf and the fallen,
She will bring destruction unseen,
Blood will stain the sun,
And kings will fall beneath her feet."
The words chilled even me.
I narrowed my eyes.
Vaelora.
A bloodline long thought extinct.
A bloodline cursed and hunted because they were too powerful, too wild, too untamable.
And now...
one stood before me.
In my son's arms.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The assassin tensed, sensing he had overplayed his hand.
"Leave," I said again, my voice a low growl, the weight of command wrapping around every syllable.
"Or die here."
For a heartbeat, he hesitated.
Then he vanished into the shadows — a coward’s retreat.
Typical Brotherhood scum.
I turned slowly back toward my son, who still knelt protectively over the unconscious girl.
Silver.
The name echoed in my head from Kieran’s earlier mindlinks, though he hadn't known I was listening.
Silver.
Born of wolf and fallen.
A Vaelora.
And clearly...
mine to protect now.
I would deal with the consequences later.
For now...
she was under Blackwood protection.
And any fool who came for her next...
would find out just how far a "king without a kingdom" would go to keep what was his.
From the Shadows
Unseen by all —
another figure watched the scene unfold.
A man cloaked in twilight itself, hidden even from the keen eyes of the royal warriors.
He smiled faintly, his golden eyes gleaming beneath the hood.
"Soon, little one," he murmured, watching Silver as she lay unconscious. "Soon you will remember who you are. And the world will remember too."
Then he vanished into the mist, as silently as he'd come.
They call me the Lichen King.
The Fallen One.
The King Without a Crown.
A mutt.
A disgrace.
A ghost of the bloodline that once ruled the supernatural world with pride and power.
They tell stories about me around fires and in drunken halls —
how I killed my brother, the Crown Prince, in a duel meant to be a lesson.
How I was cursed for my ambition.
How my father — the true king — cast me out like rotten meat, exiling me to the broken remains of a dying pack and damning me to wear my title without honor.
What they don't say —
what they don't know —
is that my brother forced my hand.
That the duel was his.
That the death was not a murder, but a sacrifice.
Mine.
Because I lost more than a crown that day.
I lost everything.
My family.
My home.
The woman I loved.
The only thing the gods left me was my son.
Kieran.
And I have built this kingdom of ruins for him, stone by bleeding stone, fighting back the traitors and the assassins, trying — failing — trying again to make something worthy of him.
I had long given up the dreams of reclaiming the throne.
Until today.
Until her.
The girl — Silver — lay still in Kieran's arms, her silver hair tangled with blood and dirt, her skin still glowing faintly from the storm of magic she unleashed.
Kieran knelt beside her, whispering her name like a prayer, desperate and helpless in a way that twisted something deep inside my chest.
"Wake up," he begged softly.
"Please, Silver. I’m here. You're safe."
I watched him for a long moment, feeling something shift in the air.
Fate.
Destiny.
Change.
Then the witch arrived.
Her name was Maeve Moonwater — an ancient being who had lived on our lands since before my exile.
She moved like smoke between the trees, her black cloak whispering against the grass, silver runes etched into her skin glowing faintly under the moonlight.
"Step aside, my king," she said gently.
"Let me see the child."
Kieran hesitated, his arms tightening around Silver protectively, but I gave him a nod.
Maeve knelt beside them, her gnarled fingers brushing lightly against Silver’s forehead.
The ground beneath us thrummed.
The air thickened, charged with something old and primal.
Maeve's eyes rolled back, and when she spoke, it was not with her own voice —
but with the voice of prophecy.
"Born of wolf and fallen star," she intoned,
"She is the Bayer Wolf — the sacred bloodline touched by the Moon Goddess herself."
"Her veins carry the light of heaven and the wild fury of the earth."
"Daughter of the fallen prince, heir to the first kingdom of the sky."
"She is the Princess of the Moon — the last bridge between worlds."
Maeve's voice broke into a low growl, and the trees seemed to bend inward, listening.
"She will bring evil to its knees. She will heal the world torn by greed and blood, if she reigns true."
"But first..." Maeve's voice softened, almost tender,
"She must die. For someone she loves."
"Only then will she awaken her immortality. Only then will her wings unfurl. Only then will the world kneel to the new age of kings."
The magic lifted as suddenly as it had descended, and Maeve sagged forward, gasping.
Kieran caught her before she fell.
I stood frozen.
A Princess of the Moon.
A Bayer Wolf.
A half-angel heir to a throne long forgotten by mortal and immortal alike.
And she was sleeping in my son's arms.
Maeve straightened slowly, her face pale and strained.
"Protect her, Your Majesty," she whispered to me alone.
"The False King already knows of her rebirth. He will not rest until she is dead or enslaved."
I felt cold fury burn through my veins.
The False King — my brother.
The one who wore the crown stained with betrayal and lies.
And now...
now he would come for her too.
Good.
Let him come.
Because for the first time in decades, I had something worth fighting for.
Silver stirred in Kieran’s arms.
Her fingers twitched.
A faint, broken sound escaped her lips.
Kieran leaned closer, tears shining in his blue eyes.
"Silver," he whispered. "I'm here. I’ve got you."
And from the shadows —
unseen by any of us —
another presence watched.
Golden eyes gleamed under a dark hood.
A low voice rumbled like distant thunder:
"Awaken, my little moonlight. The war has only just begun."
- Writer
