Desired Fate

--- Caleb --- He leaned his elbow on the arm of the great stone throne. His chin rested in the palm of his hand as he looked disinterestedly at the older man in front of him. Over his shoulders he wore a large black cloak, and the clothes underneath were also made of a dark, thick material. His crown lay on a dais beside him; he refused to wear it on his head. Even on royal occasions, like today. They were approaching the end of winter, there was still a lot of snow everywhere, but the farmers and other wolfless people were preparing for spring. They wanted to sow and plow and now came with their lamentations to the king, hoping to be heard. Every year they did this and every year it interested him just a little less. The curtains of the throne room were drawn and there were only a few candles lit in the corner; he wanted as little light as possible. If he went out at all, it was at night and never in daylight, but he preferred to go out as little as possible. “… And it has been that way for years,” the man continued. Taxes are too high and revenues are too low. This is not profitable in the long run, my lord.” Caleb tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and turned his gaze to them. He stared at the four large rings he wore. The large gold rings gleamed on his fingers. One had a square black stone, while another bore the royal seal. Just below the hem of his cloak he saw the beginning of the tattoo he had placed over half of his body several years ago. Just after the darkest event in his life. "So what you want to say," he summed up the farmer in a loud voice. "Is that every hard-working farmer who manages to keep his head above water during difficult years will have to give up because your farm has been standing for decades?" The man nodded, but Caleb saw the doubt on his face. Surely he already understood where Caleb was going. Caleb lifted his chin from his hand and straightened his back. “Am I not protecting you well?” he said in a solemn voice. Fear appeared in the farmer's eyes. "Oh, but, King Alpha, that's not what I want to say… I…" “Then what do you want to say?” Caleb bellowed. “That you want to stop paying the necessary taxes that the capital of the Lapis Kingdom needs to take care of the weak, the elderly and the wolfless like yourself? That you want to work less hard just because you yourself have been too weak to produce male successors? “Lord…King Alpha,” the farmer stammered. “Out of my sight, you despise me,” Caleb spat the words contemptuously. Then he turned in his throne, to the boy standing next to him. His blond, curly hair had grown so long that he had tied it back in a bun on top of his head. He had his hands clasped and hanging in front of him, looking questioningly at his king, obviously not amused by Caleb's outburst. "I'm done for today," the last grumbled. “Send the rest home.” “Caleb,” Jean-Michèl hissed. “There are still about fifty people outside and everyone deserves to be listened to.” Caleb rose from his seat and gestured to the crown with his bezel-covered hand. “Then you put that thing on and listen to them. You have my blessings,” he cried, as the farmer's stutter grew louder, because two guards dragged him out of the throne room. "Or look for another moron to take my retarded place and listen to all the ungrateful whiners this kingdom has. Be my guest." He charged down a hallway of the throne room and was followed closely by his best friend. “Caleb, this must really stop,” the Frenchman cried in desperation. “It has now been eight years since Rue passed away. Every year you are more depressed, every year the castle gets darker and the people more anxious.” Caleb stopped walking abruptly, turned and raised a finger directly in front of his Beta's startled face. “Am I failing my people?” he asked harshly. "No, but," the Beta began, but he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. “Are our treasure chests empty?” Caleb continued. "No, they've never been this full, but your emotional state, Caleb,"—again, Jean didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. “If the kingdom is doing well, the people are living safely and prosperous, what exactly must stop?” Caleb summed up. Raising his hands triumphantly, he turned his back to his Beta and walked down the narrow, secret passageway until he came to the room where he could often be found. The room where he had five different sizes and strengths of punch bags hanging. Discarding his cloak, he hung it on the nearby peg before striding over to the basket housing his boxing gloves. After removing his shirt, he gazed at the gloves, but ultimately chose not to don them. Fuelled by adrenaline and frustration towards the numerous subjects who had pestered him throughout the day, he began to pound the bags with ferocity and intensity. As Caleb pummelled his favourite punch bag, relishing the satisfying snap of his fingers against the tough leather exterior, he heard the grumbling voice of his Beta behind him. "Your gloves, Caleb," the Beta muttered, but Caleb paid him no heed. It was only after his energy had depleted and sweat dripped down his face that he turned towards his Beta, who already knew what was required of him. “Caleb, this isn't healthy,” the Beta grumbled as he walked over to his king and began the arduous task of setting Caleb's broken and dislocated fingers. Caleb simply watched on, almost reveling in the pain. "I know it hurts, but you're only making it worse," the Beta continued. But Caleb remained silent, his eyes fixed on the Beta's work. After a moment, Jean paused, feeling a bone that had already begun to heal. "Looks like we need to break this one again," he muttered, much to Caleb's twisted delight. "Have you spoken to Camila?" the Beta asked; and immediately Caleb's anger returned. "I told you," he hissed menacingly. "That I don't want to hear that name." "It's been eight years now, Caleb," Jean replied to the king. "It's time you made amends.’’ "And who are you to lecture me?" the king bellowed in response. "My own mother abandoned me, so what makes you think you have any authority over me? If you want to know about her whereabouts, go seek her out yourself." Caleb observed as Jean finished repositioning the last finger, testing each digit one by one to ensure proper function. Thanks to his Alpha regeneration, his fingers would heal within minutes, no matter how severe the damage. "Do you want me to go to her?" Jean tried to exert an annoying psychology on his king. "f**k off," growled Caleb, turning his back to his Beta. “I want to be left alone.” As a clear signal that the conversation had ended, Caleb turned towards the punch bag and struck it with force, using his newly healed hand to deliver a resounding blow against the leather cover. He enjoyed the crunch of his fingers once again, savouring the intense sensation. --- Camila --- The morning sun streamed in through the expansive window of the Alpha's room as she studied her reflection in the mirror, clad only in her underwear. Meanwhile, Heath paced restlessly around the room, methodically opening each closet door and selecting his neatly pressed and folded clothes to wear. “Stop staring,” the Alpha said with a grin on his face. "You really don't see it yet." She stroked her belly and looked at her reflection with a droopy face. “Are you sure?” she muttered. “I think I really do see a little bump already,” she stroked her lower abdomen, trying to focus her gaze. She had lost her wolf for several years now and was getting more and more used to being truly human. She forgot more and more what it was like to be fast; to be strong. Or to be able to look closely, or to listen. “If you press your ear against my belly, can you hear anything?” she asked her husband. Heath laughed and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, placed his hands on her stomach and pressed three kisses on her neck. "Camila," he muttered. "You only know you're pregnant, since two weeks. It's so early… Just calm down a bit.” He pressed another kiss to her neck and added: "They also say that with a first pregnancy it can take up to six months before you really see anything." A grin appeared on Camila's face as she turned into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Heath," she played with him. "I'd almost say you've done your research." A glint appeared in Heath's eyes. "Research? Me?” he said in surprise. "Why would I? I already know everything.” Camila sniffed cynically. "Of course," she told him. "That's why I saw three pregnancy books on your desk yesterday?" “That one?” Heath asked directly. “There is an easy explanation for that; they are not mine. They belong to… Um… Andy's.” “Your Beta?” Camila asked him playfully. "Did he finally get someone pregnant?" Heath nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, isn't it awful?" He pressed a quick kiss on Camila's lips and then let go of her. “I have a meeting with McClawly, so I really have to go,” he said. "Heath," Camila got to the point quickly. "One quick question. That drawing of Rue which you've had in your desk for years now…" The Alpha, on his way to his bedroom door, abruptly stopped walking and looked with a less cheerful look in the direction of his pregnant Luna. “Yes?” he asked cautiously. "Can I have that?" He looked at her curiously. “For Caleb?” he immediately understood what his Luna was asking of him. Camila bit her lower lip gently and nodded. She had been trying to contact her brother for years now, but never got through. She had lost her wolf side and he was now a Royal Alpha, and she couldn't even make contact with him. It was as if he had put such a strong block on his mind that she could no longer reach him. What little news she got from the capital came from Jean, or other old friends, but everyone spoke of Caleb as if he were more of a ghost than actually present. The king was already approaching thirty, but had sworn off women. Since Rue's funeral, something had broken in his heart and mind, leaving him chasing nothing but adrenaline and pain. His extreme physical strength prevented him from dying; but judging from all the news, he often tried. "Maybe he'll finally let me in," she muttered. Heath nodded softly. "Good," he admitted. “Go ahead.” Then he put his hand on the door handle, but turned to his Luna one last time. "By the way, I got a call yesterday. Jean-Michèl is on his way to Moon Ray. He will arrive today or tomorrow, so you might want to put on some clothes.” A spark of hope and joy warmed her heart and body. “Jean?” she exclaimed enthusiastically. The boy came about once every two years; it always depended on Caleb. Whether he let the royal Beta go or not. Then she looked playfully at the love of her life. "I think it's better not to get dressed," she said. "Jean has always wanted to see me naked." Heath—who had finally opened the door—slammed it shut again and turned toward Camila territorially. She saw the red glow in his eyes that she loved so much and heard his menacing voice. "Not funny, Cam." She blew a kiss through the air. "Maybe not funny," she agreed. "But very entertaining." The Alpha wrinkled the corner of his mouth, looked playfully at his Luna, then shook his head in devotion. “McClawly can wait,” he grumbled, then stripped off his shirt in one smooth motion and approached his Luna.