The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Mora turns and her body leads her towards her bedroom. When she reaches it, it seems like a place she hasn’t visited in years. Without thinking, she changes into an underdress, putting her Sceduian clothing on the bed. Just as she sits down in front of a mirror, there is a soft rap on the door. Eunice enters, carrying a dark wooden box with hair items in it. She bows as best as her old back will let her. Mora smiles automatically, even though inside she is still sad, “It is nice to see you again, Eunice. I’m sorry to say you’ll find my hair a mess.”This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

“Not a problem, your Highness. Shall we do something fancy?”

She shakes her head, looking at her pale face in the mirror, “That won’t be necessary. Something quick and simple will be fine.”

As Eunice gets to work brushing out and twisting Mora’s long hair, her mind wanders far away from her castle and back to the tavern in Sceadu. She fears for what Queen Sheynne will do to Rick for letting her go. Hopefully when she sees Mora and the Derven army arrive at the Meadow she will forgive him. She hopes she will see Rick again before the war. Her heart, broken from the death of her father, desperately needs something to love. She thinks of all that she has put everyone through over the past few weeks-her father, Laren, Franklin, Rick. A gentle squeeze on her shoulder brings her back to the task at hand.

“Will this be satisfactory?”

Mora stares at the mirror, unsure of the woman who looks back at her. With a pale face, dark eyes and brown hair swept up, she is sure that it isn’t her when she sees the tall, delicate copper crown. Her hand hesitantly reaches up her own head, the woman in the mirror doing the same. It isn’t the delicate, small copper crown with blue and red gems of the Princess but the tall, slightly tarnished crown with dangling rubies of the Queen. When she touches the cold metal, reality starts to sink in and she knows that the woman she sees before her is her reflection.

“Yes, thank you Eunice.”

“Shall I help you dress?”

“That would be nice.”

As Mora rises, she sees Eunice hold out a dark red dress; with its high cut neckline, tight fitting sleeves and long, billowing train. She slips easily into it and as Eunice laces up the back, Mora finds that it fits her like a glove. In the mirror, her reflection shows a woman that stands tall and confident with the elegant grace of a Queen, while Mora feels sick with worry and regret that she will do the wrong thing.

“You remind me of your mother, Namora,” Eunice chokes out.

Mora smiles at her, thanking her with a quick hug. She walks out into the hallway, surprised at how the dress gives her the freedom of pants. Laren waits out there for her. A sincere smile crosses his old face when he sees Mora dressed as the Queen, his look affirming Eunice’s compliment. He bows deeply, his hand floating down the hallway to the open balcony that looks over the city square, “Your kingdom awaits your Majesty.”

Mora nods at him, walking towards the balcony. Without hesitation, she takes the stairs that lead down and out the front doors of the castle instead. Finally gaining a grip on herself, she feels that what she has to tell everyone-to ask of them-is too personal to announce from the lofty position above. She needs them to know that she is asking them to go to war as a citizen of Derven, not as their Queen.

Laren and the guards scramble to follow her, none dare asking why she is going out the doors. When Mora reaches the front steps and sees the town square, her breath is taken away. All of the people are dressed in red to show their support of their Queen. Having never lived when her mother was alive, it is a sight she has never seen. They all drop down to a knee, even the women and the children and with their hands on their hearts they look up at her for guidance.

She takes a deep breath and with the most confidence she can muster, she speaks to her people, for the first time as their Queen, “Citizens of Derven; it is with a heavy heart that I greet you as your Queen. King Nathanial is dead. Last night, an assassin from Alumenia tried and ultimately succeeded in taking his life,” she pauses as the crowd whispers amongst themselves. When the chatter dies down, she continues, “As I am sure you all know, I have been stranded in Sceadu for the past few weeks. When I left you to go to Alumenia for my engagement party, a tree that had fallen across the road prevented us from getting to our destination. My escorts, Captain Franklin, Officer Jackson and Officer Gregory protected me as best as they could and for that I am grateful. After Officer Gregory sacrificed his life for me-it broke my heart. No matter who I am, no life is worth any more or less than mine. That is why I agreed to stay in Sceadu, so that no one else would have to die for me,” she takes a deep breath, hoping she is saying the right things, “It was during my time there that I discovered King Irron had that tree cut down in hopes that I would die at the hand of Sceadu,” the crowd gasps at the information, “Accompanied by Queen Sheynne and her son Prince Varickan, I met King Irron at the southern Meadow. He was displeased that the wedding had been called off and even more displeased that I discovered the truth. That is when he declared war against Sceadu.”

Mora clasps her hands in front of her, looking down at the ground for a moment, “It saddens me that my first act as your Queen would be to declare war when it is against our way of being. That is why I will not,” she looks up at the crowd’s confused expression, “Tonight, I will ride back to Sceadu to help them in their fight against Alumenia. I will not make anyone join me but if there are any of you who wish to, you are most welcome.” She waits patiently for the unorthodox news to sink in.

“What of Geofen?” A question comes from the back.

“I was able to convince Prince Philip, with my actions during the meeting with King Irron, that Sceadu was the just side to fight on.”

“How did you do that, my Queen?” The familiar voice of Officer Jackson drifts up from the crowd.

Mora pauses a moment, discerning if it is right to tell the whole truth to her people. She decides that it is, “After King Irron directly threatened my life, I severed the muscles to his right arm with a dagger.”

There is some cheering from the crowd before another voice floats above them, “What will we do if you do not return?”

“If I do not return, Advisor Laren will lead you until a suitable replacement can be found. I know that this is a very unusual way of doing things, but I have a debt to repay.”

“What debt?”

“Prince Varickan saved my life and he also was the one who set me free so that I could return to you in this time of need,” she waits a moment for more questions, but when there are none she finishes her speech, “I ride at sunset for any who wish to join me. For those who aren’t able to get ready on such short notice, Advisor Laren will ride at dawn. Thank you, citizens of Derven, for your support.”

She turns and goes back into the castle, letting a long breath exhale from her lungs. She isn’t sure what to do for the next few hours but finds that her body leads her to the throne room. At the very back of the room, she takes a seat upon the lone chair at the top of several steps. Carved with painstaking detail, the single throne depicts images of all that is true to Derven. Sinking back into the soft blue cushions for the first time, she smiles when she sees the addition that her father had added; on the right arm of the chair is a face carved into the wood, bearing the likeness of her mother. After her death, the Queen’s throne was removed from the room, placed carefully in storage until Namora would take her father’s place. She wonders what carvings her mother had added to it.

When one of the attendants comes to check on her, she has him bring the satchel from Greystar. Opening the bag carefully, it is with a very sad heart that she finds a bottle of wine that Todd packed for her, along with her old hunting knife that Eric must have dropped off. She uncorks the wine and without bothering over the pomp and circumstance of a glass, she sips directly from the bottle, staring at the portrait of her mother, wondering what other secrets she never knew.

About an hour later, Laren enters the room. He stops before her and takes a knee while bowing his head slightly. Rising, he slowly walks up the steps, carefully reaching for Mora’s wine bottle. Smelling its contents, he holds it at arm’s length, “Whatever are you drinking, your Highness?”

She smiles, taking it back. After a long swig she speaks quietly, “While the Sceadu seem like a very rough kingdom of people, they have found a soft spot in my heart.”

He shakes his head, sitting casually on the steps below her, “Shall I call for some dinner?”

“No, thank you. It will not be necessary.”

The silence between them grows. Though she knows he watches her, she stares blankly at the bottle in her hands. She can see his shoulders slump; Laren interrupts the silence with his soft voice, “What has happened to the brush tiger of Derven.”

“I am afraid I am not in the mood for poetry tonight, Laren,” she sighs, her heart aching with unease.

“Then in plain words?”

She sips slowly, “I have fallen in love.”

“Prince Varickan?” He says, more of a statement than a question as the answer is obvious.

She nods.

“You looked like you wanted to kill him that day in the woods,” he points out.

“I did. The heart is a strange creature,” she looks up to see him smile.

“Did you really stab King Irron?”

This time it is her who smirks, “Well not quite. I threw the knife at him. He did deserve it.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he winks. Looking her over, he adds “If you are going to war, you will need to change.”

Mora agrees, “I refuse to wear a dress into battle. Perhaps my hunting pants will do.”

“The Queen has a set of armor,” he replies, “I will send in Eunice to help you-she is the only one who knows how to put the damned thing on. Her mother helped your great great great grandmother do so.” Laren rises, knowing that she wants to be alone; respecting her wishes, he bows before leaving the room.