Moonbound To The Werewolf King

Seren narrowed her eyes and gave the guards a sharp, angry look that was fiercer than you'd expect from someone her size. "Fine," she huffed, turning around dramatically. She tried to make her face look proud and angry, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed the shame burning beneath her defiance. Her efforts had come to nothing. Even being the future queen didn't matter to these guards, they only cared about following orders.

The shame was hers alone to bear as the corridors were empty save for the guards, who had already dismissed her from their thoughts the moment she turned away.

She quickened her pace, her silk slippers nearly silent against the polished stone floors, anger propelling her forward. But as she rounded a corner too quickly—

Thud.

The collision sent her stumbling backward, her hands instinctively reaching out to steady herself against the solid wall of muscle she'd crashed into. Only it wasn't a wall. It was him again.

Darius.

She stepped away quickly, heart racing. His cold, furious gaze locked onto her—icy blue and unblinking, like a predator that had just caught sight of careless prey. For a terrifying moment, she glimpsed the wolf beneath the man and genuinely feared he might lash out.

Then recognition flickered across his features, and the rage melted from his face.

"I... I'm so sorry," Seren stammered. His initial glare had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She'd never thought the usually charming Darius could look so dangerous, so cold. Maybe all werewolves are like that underneath. "I didn't mean to—"

"My Lady," he interrupted smoothly, his familiar smile sliding back into place as if the frightening moment had never happened. "Are you lost? Or do you perhaps... sleepwalk?"

Seren managed a weak chuckle, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "No, I'm just... heading back."

"To your chambers?" he asked, one dark brow arching with barely concealed amusement.

"Yes," she nodded, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze.

"It's that way." He lifted his chin slightly, indicating the corridor behind her with a knowing smile that made her stomach flutter uncomfortably.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized she'd been walking in entirely the wrong direction. "Oh." A shy laugh escaped her lips. "Thank you."

She turned to leave, desperate to escape before she embarrassed herself further.

"If you get too bored," his voice followed her, "the library is always open. There are many... educational things we could explore there."

Seren's steps faltered, her mind immediately conjuring images that had nothing to do with books and everything to do with the way his voice had dropped to a husky whisper. She gulped, her cheeks burning as she forced herself to keep walking without looking back. 

Darius is dangerous. Darius is dangerous, she repeated in her head, trying to distract herself from the traitorous images of the devastatingly handsome werewolf that insisted on flooding her mind.

-

Darius watched her retreat with quiet satisfaction, a low chuckle escaping him as he noted the tension in her shoulders, the way she deliberately didn't look back. The moment Seren disappeared around the corner, however, his expression shifted completely. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by the cold calculation that had made him the most feared wolf in the Northern territories—after Alaric, of course. His jaw tightened as he turned toward the heavy oak doors of King Alaric's private study.

The guards stationed outside straightened at his approach, their hands moving instinctively toward their weapons before recognition stayed their movements. They knew better than to challenge him. Every wolf in the kingdom understood what Darius was capable of. Second only to Alaric in raw power, he was the storm the Northern wolflands kept at bay.

The political landscape of their world was simple but brutal: the Northern wolflands reigned supreme, with the Western territories as reluctant allies and the Southern lands barely clinging to relevance. The Eastern wolflands had ceased to exist as an independent entity the day Alaric had torn their alpha's throat out and claimed their territory as his own.

Darius pushed through the doors without ceremony, finding Alaric already on edge, pacing behind his massive desk like a caged predator ready to strike at the intruder. The king's dark hair was disheveled, his shirt partially unbuttoned, and his pale green eyes held the wild gleam that preceded his most dangerous decisions.

They were both in the same mood, it seemed.

"You said you wouldn't interfere with the trade agreements," Darius began without preamble, his voice deceptively calm. "You promised me autonomy over the eastern border negotiations."

"Promises are luxuries I can no longer afford." Alaric replied curtly, as his gaze returned to the documents scattered across his desk.

"You don't listen to me anymore," Darius continued, his tone hardening. "You act as though this kingdom belongs to you alone, but we built it together. The Northern wolflands are as much mine as—"

"Mine." Alaric's voice cracked like a whip across the room, lifting his gaze to meet his brother's. "The crown sits on my head, not yours. Every decision, every treaty, every drop of blood spilled in our name, it all flows through me." He fixed Darius with a stare that could have frozen fire. "I am the king, Darius. Not we. Me."

The words hung in the air between them like a blade. Darius felt something cold settle in his chest, a kind of resigned recognition. This was what their relationship had become: a careful dance around the truth that Alaric trusted no one, not even his own brother.

"The Eastern wolflands were meant to be mine," Darius said quietly, his voice carrying a deadly undertone. "You promised me that territory after we conquered it, for twelve years now."

"And you have my gratitude for your service," Alaric replied smoothly, though his eyes never left his brother's face. "But I've decided the Eastern lands are too valuable to gift away. They will remain under direct royal control."

"That wasn't the plan." Darius's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Look, Darius," Alaric sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair, "I'm quite busy at the moment. Perhaps we could discuss this—"

"That's exactly the problem!" Darius interrupted, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "You choose to do everything alone. We are fucking brothers, Alaric!"

"Ask for anything else," Alaric said coldly, turning back to his papers with dismissive finality.

"I don't want anything else."

"Then I'm afraid we're done here."

The silence between them grew heavy, filled with years of fighting side by side, broken promises, and bitterness that had only gotten worse with time. Darius stared at his brother's bent head, watching the man who had once been his closest ally and partner in conquest.

"Then give me Seren."

"What's th..." Alaric paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as if trying to recall something that should have been vitally important and then realization dawned on his features with embarrassing slowness. "Oh. My... mate."

The word came out flat, emotionless, as if he were discussing livestock rather than the woman he was supposed to cherish above all others.

"See?" Darius's raised his brow "You don't even know her name. It's clear you don't want her."

"Who said I don't?" Alaric's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I never rejected her."