Her Unwanted Kings

Seven

Zephyr of Nymeria

"Get the prisoner," I ordered, my voice carrying the weight of authority ingrained in me for centuries. The guard bowed deeply, showing he got my command, and quickly left the grand hall. His footsteps echoed as he walked away.

Cassian.

Was this another one of his tricks? He was clever and tricky, skilled at fooling others. An Astraean entering Nymeria felt like one of his planned moves in a chess game, meant for a specific outcome. But what was he hoping to achieve?

My fingers lightly tapped on the throne's armrest. If Cassian was indeed behind it, he wanted my attention and a reaction. The question was whether I'd fall for his trick or make my own decision.

Amid my inner turmoil, the air shifted. A familiar scent reached me—an unmistakable Lycanthrope smell. The very essence I had come to detest. The revulsion was visceral, my senses pulling back from the scent that brought back memories of battles and conflicts with my enemies.

Then, I heard footsteps, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked at the hall entrance, and two guards appeared, escorting a shadowy figure. They moved with purpose, leading the prisoner into the torchlit hall.

My focus sharpened on the newcomer. My werewolf eyes tried to make out her features in the dim light, but her head was down.

Who is this woman?

"Kneel before your King." The guards' words hung in the air like a command, an expectation that the prisoner would submit to the authority that I held within my realm. And she did, as expected.

As her head lifted, my gaze met hers, and for a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow. It was as though the world around us faded into insignificance, leaving only her and me in this moment of connection. A torrent of thoughts raced through my mind, colliding and conflicting. My wolf instincts sharpened, catching the nuances of her expression, the emotions that flickered in her eyes.

I felt a distinct pang in my chest, an unfamiliar sensation that I struggled to define. The guard's words, my realm's power—none of it mattered as much as the fact that she was before me, defying her fear and lifting her gaze to meet mine.

Her face was incredibly beautiful, adorned with delicate features and a graceful charm that captivated and disarmed. I couldn't help but be almost mesmerized, studying every detail as if trying to remember it all.

In that moment, my feelings teetered on the edge of something elusive. There was an undeniable charm to her, a tug I couldn't ignore.

And then, as if recognizing the gravity of the moment, my senses reasserted themselves. The guards, the throne room, the weight of my responsibilities—it all crashed back into focus. I was a King with duties and ambitions, I couldn't let myself be influenced by appearances.

I pushed all my emotions away and snarled, "Who are you?"