DISCLAIMER:

Generative AI was NOT used at any point during the process of creating this story. Not in idea generation, writing or editing. This is an original story.

FYI : This is a romance story with three potential love interests. If that does not interest you, this story will not be for you!

Thanks for reading (:

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Word Count: 2300

~Ivara

"Do you take this to be the size of a werewolf's...well, thing, Ivara?"

Wiping the back of my hand over my sweat damp forehead, I ignore the Princess.

I know I probably shouldn't, but after nine hours of travelling in a confined space with her, I'm not feeling particularly chatty.

"Ivara...hello?"

I look up at her.

The Princess and sole heir to the only human territory in the land is holding a particularly large stick with two hands.

She sits on one of her several luggage trunks. A pine scented breeze stirs through her milky brown curls, a strand blowing leisurely across her face.

I exhale tightly, straining to roll her other trunk onto its side.

"Why do you ask, Luelle?"

She looks worriedly down at the stick again.

"I ask because I cannot fit this inside of me." She tosses it into the grass before her. "How am I supposed to produce an heir?"

I straighten with a wince, feeling my spine ache and stretch.

A momentous task has been set upon me. The more I speak to the Princess, the more apparent that becomes.

We've come within an hour of reaching our destination before our transport's front axle snapped. Now we are stranded on the side of the road.

Our driver rushed off down the road to find assistance. It has been an hour and they have not returned.

We stand on the only neutral ground in all the land, heading to participate in a lengthy ritualistic event that is created by and made for werewolves.

It only happens once in a decade, and lasts for three months. This is the first time a human has been invited.

I watch the Princess, who inspects the indentations on her palm from the bark with a furrowed brow.

Everything rests on her. Everything.

"I assure you, Princess, that your father wouldn't be insisting you marry an Alpha if you weren't more than capable of making an heir with them." I shiver against the snow-licked breeze.

She blinks, pensive. "So you know how they reproduce?"

"No intimately." I've only met one full-blooded werewolf, and that was years ago. "But it must be similar to how humans do it, considering there are many half werewolf, half human people out there."

Repulsion twists her features as she looks down at her luggage trunks scattered on the roadside. They're all the same shade of cream with gold filigree.

"How unnatural," she drawls.

I bite my tongue. We met only a day and a half ago, so I won't remind her that her own children will be of a hybrid nature.

That is, if I do my job correctly.

We're here to persuade a werewolf to marry her.

Our human Kingdom is in crisis. The threat of famine has swept over the land, and the royal coffers have dried up. Our only hope is an advantageous marriage between our heir and a wealthy Alpha.

While Luelle is youthful, beautiful and appealing, she is human.

And werewolves hate humans.

It's the very reason I'm attending as Luelle's sole companion. I am to act as a cultural liaison to ensure she does not offend a werewolf, so as to increase her chances of attracting attention while avoiding a diplomatic incident.

I've studied werewolves and the eight packs that occupy the space around our humble human land since I was fourteen.

I am also perhaps the only one that realises Luelle has only been invited to this event by the pack leaders because she has come of age since the last gathering, and now she is a threat, a viable heir.

She is here to be prodded and poked at for weaknesses.

Luelle sways her slippered feet through the long, cadmium green grass that grows against the roadside, unbothered by the near impossible task set before her.

"The palace must be in that direction." I point down the vast road. "We start walking now, if we are to make it to the ball this evening."

She blows out an uncomely breath.

"I cannot be bothered walking in this cold." She squints up at the weak midafternoon sun like she might command it closer.

"Come Princess. I will carry your luggage and tell you about your potential husbands as we go." I offer her my most compelling smile.

Her shoulders sag in defeat, causing her lace shawl to slip. She rights it quickly, wary of the bite of mountain air.

I only pulled all this luggage out onto the road so she could collect a coat, only to find one was not packed for her.

I warned her of the cold before we left, yet she dons a just thin dress, a sheer shawl and silk slippers.

She plucks at her lilac skirts as she considers my proposition.

I grew up like many other girls back home, wishing I were the Princess. Her creamy curls are always perfectly arranged, her attire always stylish and well appointed. She looks upon the world with pale green eyes, that are far sharper and discerning than she is ever given credit for.

She ultimately concedes that no one is coming to drive us into the palace grounds, but only after I remind her that the grey tint to the clouds currently curling above out heads is indicative of snow.

And only after I shed my wool-lined coat, draping it over her lithe shoulders.

I'm forced to leave my belongings behind on the road side, unable to manage them and the Princess's hefty trunks. She whines are first, since I can only manage two trunks out of her several. Eventually, she succumbs to reality.

I carry the trunks by their gold handles, the solid leather banging against my legs as we walk.

Luelle carries nothing, humming a soft tune.

Our feet crunch over frost as we meander down the road. The scent of pine generously rents the air, the trees looking down upon us like disgruntled gods.

As we walk, Luelle tugs small ripe berries from the thicket growing assiduously along the forest line. I expect her to eat them, but she lets them roll past her palm and onto the ground, where she steps on them.

Eventually, they stain her slippers red, yet she does not seem to mind.

I ignore the tingle of irritation. It is hard to separate the version of me who is tasked with this job from the version of me who was never guaranteed a meal back home.

"Tell me, Ivara," Luelle begins, spearing through the pleasant silence. "Who shall be my husband?"

"That is entirely your decision," I say heedfully.

If I am honest, I'm not giving much credence to Luelle's prospects. I told her father the exact same thing when he partitioned me for the job.

He told me I had no other choice but to accept the position, to do my duty for the sake of the Kingdom. He told me that while the master I've apprenticed under since fourteen is far more knowledgeable, I'm about the Princess's age, and can attend in part as her companion.

Luelle sighs, unsettled by my diplomacy.

"Who is the richest? Arik I presume."

"Atreus," I correct. "Of pack Aurelian."

Luelle is attributing success to Arik due to him being the oldest Alpha of the five. His pack, however, is far humbler than the others.

Her eyes glisten, devoured by a hunger so unlike that of her denizens. This hunger is not for food, but for money, power.

"I shall seduce him first," she declares.

I look down at my feet as they scuff over pristine frost, suddenly resigned.

"It is illegal for anyone in pack Aurelian to marry a human." I ignore the burning ache in my arms from carrying the weight of Luelle's belongings. "It has been that way for a long time."

"Do we count him out then?"

"We don't have to, exactly," I admit. "There were credible rumours going around that he was in the process of changing the laws before his father died, but..."

I drift off, unsettled.

Something changed his mind. Since then, Alpha Atreus has been renowned for despising humans.

"If his mind almost changed once, it can be changed again," Luelle says decidedly, her shoulder catching on a stray branch. It sends a veil of snow sifting down in a great sheet that she barely dodges.

I do not share her enthusiasm. Atreus terrifies me.

"Another option is Alpha Ezra," I bring up. "Of pack Caelith."

The corners of her lips rise. She's heard of him. Everyone has.

"Is that not the Alpha who got caught having sex on the beach with three females by several diplomats visiting from Eria's pack?"

"That's the one."

The perpetually unserious, rakish Alpha allegedly harbours no ill will toward humans. I imagine that would require thinking about something beyond himself.

The problem is, attaining a marriage proposal from a male both self-absorbed and libertine would be an incredibly difficult task.

"What do you think of him?" Luelle asks.

"I think that if you decide you want him, you will need to work exceedingly hard to snare him," I tell her.

She tilts her chin up, patches of resplendent light fanning across her face.

"I need not worry then."

Our voices are the only notable sound along this lonely road. That and our crisp footsteps—mine more laboured than the Princess's.

At least the exertion of carrying her bulging bags has warmed me from the inside, staving off the worst of the cold we wade through.

"There is also Alpha Syre, of pack Serathen," I bring up cautiously, pausing to readjust my grip on the gold handles.

Luelle watches me struggle, puzzled. "Remind me of him again."

"His pack resides over the crest of that mountain we saw on our journey." I refer to the jagged, formidable mass of rock that troubled the horizon. "Their specialty is gold, but they are also known for their tertiary institutions and commitment to knowledge and astronomy."

"Why have I not heard much about him?"

Because your father has never seen a leader in you, even though you are his sole heir.

"He is an elusive male. Not much is known about him because he is exceptionally private," I say tactfully. "He does not often visit other packs, or make sweeping announcements often."

Yet he is beloved. Perhaps the most out of any pack leader.

His pack's commitment to the Moon Goddess is significant. Syre encourages their dedication to spirituality, building more temples and prayer wells than ever before.

"My research suggests he also has decently positive opinions about humans," I say. "However, your challenge comes from his quiet and unyielding nature. He will not make seduction easy."

Luelle hums contemplatively under her breath, the sound almost lost beneath the musical rustling of the leaves above.

"As long as he is not dull then fine."

We walk for a time in more silence. It allows me to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to give into the agonising ache in my shoulders and forearms.

Luelle remains deep in thought, the barest furrow between her brows.

Then, she abruptly stops.

I walk a few steps before I notice. Setting down the trunks with a breathless groan, I turn.

"Do you hear that?" She asks softly. The cold has nipped at her cheeks, turning them pink.

She cants her head, lending an ear to the road.

It is then that I hear it. The rhythmic clatter of hooves in the distance, back from where we came. Then, moments later, I see a dark mass form over the crest of a small hill, bearing toward us.

Luelle raises her hand over her eyes, squinting. "What is that?"

Relief pours into my spasming muscles. "Salvation."

The sound of the encroaching carriage slowly turns into the view of one. Several horses tow it, heading swiftly toward us.

Taking the Princess's arm, I pull her completely off the road and back into the grass lest the only heir be trampled beneath the hooves of the massive beasts.

The prodigious horses are pulled with a great heave to a stop before us. Breath pools in hazy clouds at their muzzles, their ebony hides glistening with sweat.

Their bodies are strapped in a silver harness, the traces leading back to a carriage with a black lacquered exterior, adorned with violet filigree.

My heart leaps into my throat.

I recognise those colours...

I look to the Princess in warning, but her eyes are trained up at the magnificent animals.

"This carriage belongs to—"

My voice dies in my throat as the door opens. Luelle takes a shuddering step back, almost stumbling into the ditch behind us.

A male steps out onto the road, straightening the lapels of his jacket.

I know who it is immediately, years of research swarming my mind at once.

It's Alpha Syre.

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Thank you all for choosing to read this story! I haven't been so excited writing a story in quite a while, and I can't wait for you to see where this goes!

If you want more, you can read up to 10 CHAPTERS head on Inkitt!! Your support over there means so much, and allows me to continue being a writer!

Please let me know what you think of this story as it goes along and what your theories are (: Enjoy!!

~Midika 🐈‍⬛💜