Word Count: 1970

~Ivara

For a moment, we just stare at him.

I've read all about him. I've seen countless artistic portrayals of him in illuminated manuscripts, charters, various periodicals and even on modern currency.

Yet in person, he is something else entirely.

One glance at the Princess tells me her mind is working, trying to understand how she did not envisage a werewolf to be so beautiful.

He offers a mild, almost scarce smile. It's barely more than a slight upturn of his lips.

"I'm assuming you belong to that carriage down the road." He turns his head in its direction, the breeze agitating his short lengths of hair.

Were I not already familiar with his facial structure—his fine boned, classically statuesque facial structure—then his silver hair would tell me all there is to know.

He is the most distinctive of the pack leaders. His eyes are also notable.

They are dark as spilt ink — a colour exceptionally revered in his home pack. There, near obsidian irises are a good omen, seen as attestation of the Moon Goddess's favour.

An Alpha has not been born in such a way for over a century. It is why Syre inherited power over his older brothers, why he is so beloved.

As fate would have it, his brothers wouldn't have seen that power regardless. Even if they were promised it...

Syre's father slaughtered his entire family in a single night, save for his youngest son, who almost did not survive.

My eyes lower to his stomach, concealed beneath black tunic with draped sleeves and a fitted jacket embroidered with silver thread.

The researcher I apprenticed under, Rory, spent good money on a firsthand illustration of Syre's scar network, years after the incident.

Beneath the sumptuous fabric, I can imagine the lattice of scars he has attempted to conceal beneath a distinctive tattoo. The place where his father struck him with his blade several times.

It brings a shiver down my spine, to think of such cruelty.

When Luelle doesn't speak, I opt in for her. "You assume correctly, Alpha. We suffered a mechanical mishap, you see...so we're walking."

It's not how I would prefer to have my Princess meet one of her potential suitors. Her curls are unkempt, her dress is stained and her skin is mottled with the flushes of exertion.

Especially when Syre appears so pristine and well-appointed.

He stands over a head taller than us with exceptional posture and poise. He looks down at us past a straight nose, beneath heedful brows.

His eyes graze over me, taking in my plain linen dress, simple updo and scuffed footwear. He then appraises Luelle, in her lavish garb.

Perhaps it is because she is swallowed by my mundane winter coat, or Syre is just trying to be polite, but he asks, "which one of you is her Majesty?"

Luelle blinks, glancing at me. She's stunned that such a question could ever be uttered.

"Me, Alpha." She straightens, remembering herself. "It is an honour to meet you."

He bows his head, replicating a distinctly human convention.

My shoulders relax a touch. Despite knowing his indifference toward humans, I can't help but be keenly aware of what he could do to the Princess out here, without her guards, guided by spite and revenge.

We were not allowed to bring human guards with us. Luelle will have ones appointed to her when we reach the palace.

"Allow me to escort you to the palace via my transport." He gestures at it smoothly.

He is a male of exceptionally few words. I warned Luelle that seducing him would be difficult for this reason, but by the glazed look in her eyes, she will not be disheartened by the challenge.

"That is so generous of you, thank you." Luelle smiles graciously, and for a moment, my worry dissipates.

She is beautiful. Utterly so. Perhaps that alone will be enough for a male like Syre.

Instead of gazing at her, doe-eyed and wistful, he breezes between us, forcing me to step aside. He picks up Luelle's luggage with irritating ease, while I massage my forearms forlornly.

"How chivalrous," Luelle murmurs to me as he packs the luggage into the back compartment of the carriage.

I nod in agreement. He could have asked his driver or attendant, but he elected not to.

"I took the liberty of collecting the rest of your belongings on my way past." He closes the compartment lid.

"Oh thank the lord," Luelle breathes. "I mean, thank you, Alpha."

He doesn't respond, although his gaze lingers on the Princess for a moment. He is inspecting her, measuring her against the version of the human heir he has contrived in his mind.

I hope she exceeds his expectations. Our Kingdom depends on it.

Without another word wasted, he pops the carriage door open, motioning us inside.

Luelle steps in first, then I follow.

As I step up, my gaze collides with Syre's. I almost flinch from the intensity of his stare, the unyielding power haunting beneath his skin.

Bowing my head, I hastily enter the carriage, seating myself next to Luelle. Syre indicates something to his driver before sitting opposite us.

A moment later, the carriage takes off with a sudden lurch.

The interior of the carriage is all dark upholstery and spacious luxury. It even smells like Syre in here—like jasmine and violets.

Luelle sits with her hands folded on her lap. She assesses Syre with a coy sort of scrutiny, her teeth grazing across her lower lip.

"Who are you?" He asks suddenly.

I startle, realising he's speaking to me.

"This is Ivara." Luelle rests her hand on my shoulder, as if she is demonstrating the use of a new toy. "She is my companion and cultural liaison."

If Syre is confounded by my job title, he doesn't let on. He is the picture of stoic indifference, his head nearly brushing the ceiling as the carriage undulates around us.

Suddenly, he sheds off his coat, muscle working beneath fine fabric. He then holds the coat out to me.

When I don't take it right away, he shakes the coat expectantly. "You're not dressed appropriately for the cold."

I've been so warmed by his intoxicating presence that I barely remembered I gave my own coat to Luelle.

Tentatively, I take it, draping it over my shoulders.

"Put it on properly," he instructs.

I do, sliding my arms into where his were moments ago. It's a strangely intimate feeling, having his warmth and scent encapsulate me, even if this fur-lined gift from heaven is several sizes too large on me.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"That is so kind of you," Luelle gushes.

"We will arrive at the palace grounds shortly," is all he responds with, casting his attention out the window.

I do the same, until green smudges of the passing forest gives way to a view of the mountains.

They crowd the horizon in massive clusters, their white caps glistening beneath the unstinting sunlight. They dip into a vast, flat valley in the centre that is dotted with lakes and forest clusters.

We follow the ridge along until it dips down to where the palace is located at the crest of an infamous mountain.

Luelle doesn't speak to Syre again, which surprises me.

She appears as a confident, assured royal who is unconcerned about the difficulty of seducing an Alpha, yet here she is, struck wordless.

Perhaps she is humbled by his unexpected beauty. Perhaps she is worried about her unusually dishevelled appearance. Either way, I'm a little disappointed.

She should be using this rare opportunity to impress him with her intelligence and smooth manner of speak. Let him see a viable match in her.

We breeze through the silver gates of the property, following a stone road down to the palace.

I lean closer to the window, watching the magnificent building reveal itself to me.

It is a marvel of ancient architecture. The white stone façade is punctured by mullioned windows and flanked by towering pillars that entice you toward the entrance. The greyish blue gables are narrow and the several turrets erupting up toward the sky appear slender but strong.

This palace has served only one function over many centuries—to host the Alpha's and Luna's of the land as they celebrate their power and collaborate for a new future.

The carriage eventually settles out front, the door opened by Syre's driver.

"After you, your Majesty." The Alpha dips his head again.

With a watery smile, Luelle lifts her skirts and exits the carriage. I go to follow, until Syre holds out his hand to stop me.

"What is a cultural liaison?" He asks softly.

I fold myself back into the seat. "I'm here to facilitate positive relations between our human Kingdom and the eight packs."

I rehearsed my answer for this very question. I was only bestowed this job title less than forty eight hours ago.

Syre's gaze is unflinching. I can feel myself beginning to sweat.

After a gruelling few moment of silence, he says, "I would be careful."

"Careful how, sir?"

A cold breeze snakes into the carriage, carrying faint specks of snow.

I never thought I would actually meet these powerful leaders...I thought I was subject to research about them my entire life, and nothing else.

"If you want your Princess to leave these grounds alive after three months, I recommend being careful with her. Especially around Eria and Atreus." He speaks so lowly, I almost don't catch every word.

I nod imperceptibly. "I will. Thank you."

His dark eyes linger on me for a moment. On the flush of my cheeks, then lower, to the base of my neck, where my pulse flutters.

He blinks, and then he is gone, sweeping out of the carriage.

I sit for a moment, summoning a shuddering breath. I've never met a male so...intense.

When I step outside, Syre is nowhere in sight. Instead, I find Luelle, wading her fingertips through the central fountain, the turquoise water foaming against the marble edges.

"What did he say to you?" She asks as I come to stand next to her.

I watch snow eddy along the stone path, caught in the wind. It reminds me that I'm still warmed by Syre's coat.

I'll have to remember to return it to him.

"He warned me about Eria and Atreus," I say.

Luelle rolls her eyes. "Ah yes, the human haters."

I nod. "I'm sure they will be cordial at the gala tonight."

Peace must be kept on this sacred ground during the Gathering, by order of the Moon Goddess, who werewolves worship unquestionably.

Luelle withdraws her fingers from the water, turning to face me.

"I'll be meeting my husband tonight." She smiles faintly. "If I haven't already."

"So you liked Syre then?"

She looks off to where he must have disappeared inside. "He doesn't speak much, does he?"

I laugh a little, and she shares in the amusement. It settles something inside of me.

Perhaps we have what it takes to save our home after all.

"Ezra will speak enough for the both of you, I've heard." Not a single testimony I've read describes him any different. "If you prefer that."

She considers that for a moment.

"And what of Atreus?"

The mention of his name pours a shiver over my skin.

Mustering a smile, I point up to the palace entrance. "Shall we go meet this husband of yours, then?"

🧡••🧡

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think about Syre!

~Midika 🐈‍⬛💜