The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Narrowing her eyes at him, she snorts, “Yes, I would prefer he take charge of Alumenia over Queen Sheynne. Shame on you, Rick-this is twice now that you’ve leaped to anger in the face of new information without stopping to think first. I was hoping that you would see reason and help me prepare him for the throne, but instead your entire perception of him is based off of his father-it’s a damn good thing that I’m not as impulsive as you are. If I had been, I would have believed you were a manipulative, power hungry, controlling snob like your mother.”

He almost winces at the verbal lash, though his tone doesn’t change, “I thought that the King and Queen of Derven talked through problems and came to a compromise-that’s hard to do when you keep secrets from me and then make decisions on your own, Queen Namora.”

Her anger flares and lashes out before she can contain it, “A King of Derven must be able to put others before himself, to stop and see reason before acting and never, ever be overcome by anger-and you’ve made it abundantly clear, Rick, that you are not capable of any of this.”

The shock of her statement hits him like a slap; before he can even respond, Mora opens the door and walks out. Passing the dining room, she raises her voice, the venom clearly laced in it, “Come, Irving. I should like to dine somewhere else.”

Surprised, Irving jumps at her tone, rushing to follow her down the hall; when Franklin moves to accompany them, Mora holds her hand out behind her but keeps walking, staying his attempt. Her steps are quick though Irving keeps up with her easily. She wants to scream, to cry, to lash out and pummel something but she keeps her head held high and her gaze forward, never wavering, even when she hears Rick softly calling after her.

Mora navigates the castle with without thinking, soon losing anyone that would have followed in her wake; a final turn through a wide door leads them into the kitchen. The chef is startled by her entry, almost cowering in the aura that emanates from her. Drawing in a deep breath, she locks her feelings down before speaking as gently as she can manage to the man, “Would you please fix us some lunch?”

He hastily nods, scrambling away while Mora perches herself on a wooden stool, at the small table in the back of the kitchen. Hesitantly, Irving sits beside her, though he doesn’t dare speak. The chef brings over two mounded plates of food and a large bottle of wine, pouring them each a glass before bowing and excusing himself.

Irving starts to eat when she does, though his eyes remain locked on her plate. After almost angrily biting into a thick slice of bread with butter, she sighs, “I am sure you have questions, Irving. No time like the present to ask them.”

He shifts, hesitating, “I-I wouldn’t know where to start, Queen Namora.”

Looking at him, she says, “First, you will call me Namora. As it is my wish that you ascend to the Alumenian throne, I would like to use this next week to prepare you as best as I can, to become a King. When in the presence of your equals, it is more than acceptable to drop their titles.”

“All right, Namora,” he says softly. “Why was that man-Prince Varickan-so… upset to see me?”

“He hated your father,” Mora says, picking at some fruit on her plate.

“I can’t imagine there was anyone who didn’t,” Irving says with a frown, “but that doesn’t explain-”

“You look exactly like him, Irving,” she says softly.

He tenses, turning towards her to catch her eyes; his mouth is open in shock, “I look exactly like him?” His face crunches up, “So he…” A quiet gasp escapes from him, his voice barely a whisper, “So my mother looked at me every day and saw the face of the man who raped her?”

“Yes,” Mora says, resting her hands on the table to face him squarely, “your mother no doubt saw Irron when she looked at you; your constant presence might have reminded her of all of the horrible things that man did not only to her, but to everyone else in Alumenia.” She pauses a moment, her heart aching when she sees tears well in his eyes, “But she knew you were not him. She was able to see deeper into you-to see the person you truly are on the inside. You said so yourself-she loved you unconditionally-after what she went through, I doubt she would have been able to do such a thing unless you were truly worthy of it.”

Dropping his gaze down to his plate, he murmurs, “Do you see him, when you look at me?”

“No,” Mora replies without hesitation, “I see Irving, when I look at you. I see a man who has adapted to a hard life, a man who my father thought enough of to look after, a man who would stupidly try to take a position in front of me to fight off a brush tiger unarmed.”

Shocked, he glances up at her. She cocks her eye brow at him, “You know I am the Head Huntress, I have no idea why you thought you’d stand a better chance than me.”

Huffing out a laugh, he admits, “It never even crossed my mind, Namora. I just instinctively felt the urge to protect you.”

“Because I am the Queen?” She queries.

“Because you are a woman,” he admits, “and a beautiful one at that.” Blushing, he looks away, “Though I suppose I should know better than to think a Derven woman couldn’t handle herself.”

Forcing a chuckle, she says, “I’ll forgive your indiscretion because you grew up in Geofen. I seriously doubt women from there could handle themselves.”

Daring a glance at her, he smiles handsomely, “Thank you, Namora.” FUNERAL

*********

The afternoon quickly slips by, Mora spending it entirely with Irving. She explains to him the finer details of conducting oneself in the presence of others, please to note that he is a quick study; soon he stands and moves with confidence, maintaining eye contact when speaking and never shying away from a conversation or letting his emotions take over his affect. To test his resolve, she has him ask her questions about Irron.

“Did he try to become more familiar with you?” Irving says softly.

The question catches her by surprise. In the orchard, she sits beside him on the very bench on which Irron injured her wrist. Turning a sideways glance to him, she replies, “That is hardly a question that any man, especially a King, should ask of a woman. Be that as it may, since I seek to give you a better understanding of the type of person Irron was, I shall answer it. Yes, he did. Several times, in fact.” She continues to explain, in detail, the four encounters during which Irron tried to force himself upon her-the first night outside of her bedroom, his attempt on the bench, when he brought her the poisonous red flowers and when he tried to kidnap her from the Meadow. Irving listens with a poised face, though Mora can see the disdain in his eyes.

“I am so sorry you had to go through that, Namora,” Irving offers, his tone tinged with sadness.

“I imagine there are plenty of women who weren’t as lucky in avoiding it as I was,” she says, glancing off at the setting sun. “If you choose to become King, you will have a chance to right the wrongs he committed against your people.”

Before he can reply, Franklin’s quiet but purposeful footsteps draw their attention; he bows briefly, “Queen Namora, your father’s funeral will be starting within the hour.”

“Of course,” she says, glancing to Irving.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“If you like, my Lady, I will show Irving to his room and accompany him through the service,” Franklin offers.

She nods briefly, before smiling at each of them and excusing herself. Eunice waits inside her room, pacing back and forth as if she was worried Mora wouldn’t arrive in time. The old woman lets out a sigh of relief, rushing the Queen to the changing area.

She discovers the dress Eunice chose for her-a finely woven gown, modest in true Derven fashion but more shapely than her others. The fabric is a deep, deep red almost on the verge of being black, but the tint is just barely distinguishable. They rush to get ready; as Eunice is fixing her hair to allow the bulk of it to spill over her shoulders, Mora says, “I have never been to a funeral, Eunice. What was my mother’s like?”

The old woman pauses her movements with a sad face, holding the Queen’s crown in her hands while gazing at it with water filled eyes, “It was a very somber occasion, my Lady. I am not sure how your father made it through without crying. Her body was placed on an alter just at the base of the stairs to the castle. Advisor Laren said some kind words for her, at which time everyone who wished to say goodbye to the Queen was allowed to come up to her body and make their peace. She was so beloved by many, it lasted well into the night. When everyone was finished, her body was carried down to the royal tomb and she was laid to rest. I imagine tonight will be much the same.”

A flicker of surprise and shock hits her, “Am I to say words for my father?”

Eunice affixes the tall crown on her head, “No, Queen Namora. Advisor Laren arrived not even an hour ago; he will speak over your father’s body and stand with you. He did not want you to worry about all of the details, so he requested that no one inform you of his arrival; I believe he intends on returning to Alumenia in the morning.”

She nods solemnly; knowing that Laren was leaving Alumenia would have no doubt worried her, but as Advisor Kenneth is there, he is capable of handling things for half a day. She is thankful that Laren will be with her-after her argument with Rick, she feels very much alone.

Mora discovers Jackson waiting for her outside of her room; he walks with her swiftly through the castle to the closed front doors. Resting on a table just inside of them is a dark wooden box, finely crafted and carved intricately with beautiful designs. Steeling herself as she comes up to it, she sees the pale face of her dead father wrapped in a shroud of blue. Her eyes immediately start watering while she fights back the tears.

An arm slides across her back-when she turns to discover Laren beside her, she can no longer contain her sorrow. Mora crumples against him, burying her face into his chest. He wraps his arms around her, gently stroking her back. She takes several minutes to compose herself, finally choking down the sobs and wiping her tears away.

“I’m glad you’re here, Laren,” she says softly.

He smiles sadly, “I should be here for you now-this is when you need me the most. I know you would not have sent me to Alumenia if you had any other choice.” He squeezes her shoulders slightly before stepping back to a respectable distance. “We’ll start the funeral in a few minutes, whenever you are ready.”