Chapter 3
1176 Words
The chamber smelled of herbs and smoke, the air thick with the bitter tang of medicines Aedric himself had prepared. He sat at his father’s side, the great Alpha King reduced to a shadow of his former strength. Once, his father’s voice had shaken halls, his presence had stilled entire packs. Now, his breaths rattled like dry leaves in the wind.
“Father,” Aedric whispered, his hand trembling as it clasped the King’s. His calloused fingers dwarfed Aedric’s, but they were cold now, drained of the fire that had once burned within them. “Please. Stay with me. I’ve done everything—every tincture, every remedy I could find. Moonwort, feverroot, bloodvine—I’ve used them all. Please… don’t leave me.”
His voice cracked, raw with the weight of years. “I can’t do this without you. I’m twenty-five, Father. Still wolfless. Still cursed. How can I rule without a wolf? How can I lead them when I am already their shame?”
Tears burned in his eyes, but he bowed his head, pressing his forehead to his father’s frail hand. “Don’t go. Please don’t go. I am not ready.”
For a moment, there was only the rasp of shallow breaths. Then, slowly, his father stirred. His eyes fixed on his son.
“You are ready,” his voice thin but firm. “You have always been ready. A wolf does not make a king. Strength does not rest in fangs or claws. It rests here.” His trembling hand lifted, pressing weakly against Aedric’s chest. “In the heart that refuses to yield.”
Aedric shook his head violently. “No. Without a wolf, I am nothing to them. They will never accept me. They—”
“Hush.” His father’s breath rattled, but his gaze did not falter. “They will accept what I command.”
The chamber door opened softly. The High Priestess entered, her robes whispering against the floor, her eyes already damp with grief. She moved to the King’s side, bowing low.
The Alpha King’s voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it carried like a decree carved into stone. “Hear me, Priestess. My heir is my son. Only my son. No council, no doubt, will change this. He is mine. And he will rule.”
The Priestess bowed her head deeper, her voice steady. “As you will it, so shall it be.”
The King’s gaze lingered on Aedric one final time. A faint smile touched his lips, weary but sure. “Lead them, my boy. Not as they expect you to. Lead them as only you can.”
His hand slipped from Aedric’s grasp. The breath rattled once more—and then ceased.
Aedric’s world cracked open in silence.
The bells tolled low and heavy, rolling across the stone courtyards like thunder dragged through the earth. The palace gates were covered in black, wolves dressed in dark cloaks bowing their heads as the pyre was lit. Smoke curled toward the heavens, carrying the last breath of a king who had ruled longer than most in the kingdom had lived.
Aedric stood at the front of the mourning line, his jaw locked, his fists trembling at his sides. His father’s crown—silver and obsidian—rested on a velvet pillow, waiting for the ceremony of succession. But the weight of it pressed on him already, heavier than any blade he had ever trained with.
The scent of burning cedar filled the air. The people howled low, a sound of mourning carried from wolf to wolf. Yet beneath the grief, whispers stirred like snakes in dry grass.
“The king is gone…”
“But the son—he has no wolf.”
“How can a wolfless man sit on the throne?”
“The kingdom will fall if the Goddess has not blessed him.”
Aedric heard every word. Their doubt cut sharper than any dagger.
He clenched his teeth and kept his gaze on the flames consuming his father’s body. His shoulders were broad, his frame built for command, but inside… inside was a silence that had haunted him since his first shift ceremony. Where others felt the stir of fur and fang, he had felt nothing. Where boys his age had roared into the night, he had stood hollow, the jeers of the pack carving scars deeper than any wound.
And still, his father had believed in him.
The old king’s final moments replayed in Aedric’s mind like a brand that would never fade.
He had leaned close to his son, his once-powerful body broken, breath rattling. “They will question you. They will try to tear the crown from your head. But listen, my son—my last wish, my only command: the throne is yours. No other. Rule them. Hold them together.”
And then the light had gone out of his father’s eyes, leaving Aedric with a crown he had not asked for and a kingdom ready to tear itself apart.
The fire roared higher, sparks dancing into the darkening sky. The council stood behind him, faces grim, some veiled with false loyalty, others sharp with open doubt. His father’s beta's son, Lord Carlos, stood stone-faced at his side. But Aedric could feel it—the way Carlos’ men eyed him, waiting, judging, weighing his worth like hunters circling prey.
When the mourning howl faded, silence fell. The people turned, expectant. Tradition demanded the crown pass immediately.
The High Priestess of the Moon Goddess stepped forward, her silver robes brushing the ash-stained stones. She lifted the crown carefully, her voice ringing throughout the courtyard. “By the decree of the late king, by the will of the Moon, the heir stands before us. Aedric, son of Alaric, step forward."
The words struck like iron. Aedric’s pulse hammered in his ears.
He moved, each step slow, deliberate, though the whispers sharpened.
“He is wolfless.”
“The Goddess has cursed him.”
“We will not survive his reign.”
The priestess raised the crown high. The people lowered their heads, some with respect, others with reluctance. Aedric knelt, the cold stone biting his knees, and felt the weight of silver and obsidian settle onto his brow.
“Rise, King Aedric of the Silverfang Pack,” the priestess intoned.
The title echoed, final and binding. He rose, the crown heavy enough to bow his neck. The fire behind him crackled as though mocking his silence, his emptiness.
He lifted his chin. “My father is gone,” he said, voice steady though his insides churned. “But his command remains. I will rule in his stead, and I will not falter. Our kingdom will stand strong.”
The words carried. The crowd bowed, but the unease lingered, thick as smoke.
Behind him, Carlos' gaze burned. And somewhere deep inside Aedric’s chest, that endless silence throbbed like a wound.
He was king now. But he was still wolfless.
And every soul in the kingdom knew it.
- Writer
