A Kingdom of Wolves

Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.

One Day Earlier.

The Snow King Palace, Icefields, The Northern Territories.

King Fitzgerald the Second lifted the goblet of wine that sat before him. It had been a long day, one filled with a mixture of emotions. This moment of peaceful reflection on the day’s events was much required, and he let out a contented sigh as he tasted the fruity alcohol-infused liquid.

Life had been busy since the day his father had passed, six months prior, and he had ascended to the snow wolf’s throne. He had trained from the moment of his birth for his role as the leader of werewolves, yet still, the adjustment had taken its toll on him. His father had passed in his sleep; it was not unexpected. The king's wolf had left him five years previous, upon the death of the queen in a battle with the Sand Dragons. However, the expected passing of his father had not lessened the devastation Fitz had felt that day. His father was a good man, stuck in his ways a little, as most elders were, but was Fitz’s ultimate hero. The old king had survived many a Sand Dragon attack; he had been a skilled warrior, knowing their only defence against the fire-breathing beasts was the Death Waters, which surrounded the lands of Mythicalia. As such, the old king had ordered that a pipe line be drilled in the depths of the ice, through the snow capped mountains, and out to the far easterly edge of the kingdom, filtering the deathly water directly to the palace, in readiness to fill the war barrels, with the turn of a giant facet, to protect the lands from a Dragon’s attack. Five years it had taken to complete the project his father had ordered after his mother’s death, yet the old king had not lived to see the day when the ultimate weapon against their foe would flow freely behind the ice palace walls.

Today, though, Fitz had turned the giant wheel, and the deathly waters had flowed with ease into the buckets that would be placed around the battlements of the fortified palace. His father’s dream to protect the snow wolves was now a reality.

It had been a day of celebration, yet marred by the loss he felt deep within his soul. Some would suggest that Fitz was fool young to sit on the Ice Throne, at only 22 years of age. Secretly, he did not disagree, but the young king was determined, more than ever, to rule this kingdom that was his birthright with the maturity of a man three times his age. He would protect his people, but he would also protect himself. Because of his young age, the king knew there were many, even living behind the palace walls, who sought to oust him from the throne. He needed to walk the tightrope, which was to show kindness but not be so kind as to be presumed weak, and ruthlessness, but not so ruthless as to be presumed evil.

He sat back on his iced throne, allowing the many Snow Bear pelts, each removed from the former kings after they slipped away, to warm his chilled skin. His hand reached down, feeling the soft fur of his father’s pelts beneath him, which had been added to the throne, upon his passing. He took another sip from his golden goblet, allowing himself to enjoy his father's vision coming to fruition. His only wish would be that the old king had lived to see this day.

Elder Carson sighed, as the telex from Glacier's new pack Alpha, Greyson, was passed to him. This was going to be a problem, and the elder understood that things which had remained secret would come to light and need to be explained to the new king.

He arose from his chair, and walked out of his office, heading for the throne room, where he knew that King Fitz would be residing in solitude, raising a glass to his father, the Elder’s former best friend, whom he had devotedly served for centuries. He would continue to do so, helping guide the young king as needed. King Fitzgerald had his love and loyalty.

He pushed open the large double doors, looking at the young man who now had the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders. He was a handsome sight, with shoulder-length flowing pure white hair, the sides fashioned with tiny braids, secured with golden beads. The king’s white beard, although not as long as an older man, was still impressive, the length enough to have two small braids either side of his lips, hanging down, secured with a set of smaller golden beads, which matched those in his hair. He was undeniably handsome, with ice grey eyes, formed by his royal linage, that the lines of age had not yet kissed. The young king sat on the pelts of his forefathers, draped in his own four snow bear pelts around his shoulders, secured with a golden circle, reserved for those who had served the royal household. Only his had a small crown in the centre. Only those proved worthy were given possession of a royal circular gold clasp. Aiden Whitestone is one of the few. Only the honour of owning the rare royal moonstone was a higher accolade.

The young king had killed his first snow bear at the tender age of seven, showcasing his skill as a mighty warrior. Two more of the dangerous animals had not survived when they had crossed his path, before his twenty-first birthday. The King had killed his fourth, on the day of his coronation, in the traditional fight that would secure his right to sit upon the iced throne and take his father's place as ruler over the Northern Territories, and the Snow Wolves who resided there.

Elder Carson bowed his head in reverence to the young king Fitzgerald.

“Your Majesty. I have some concerning news, of a delicate nature,” the elder's voice rang out over the expanse of the throne room.

Fitz let out a long and lamented sigh, there was always something to disturb his solitude, and arose from his throne, bobbing his head once in recognition of his father’s former best friend and beta’s words.

“My office,” he simply replied, moving toward the left-hand side of the throne room, to the large oak door, pulling it open, and entering the room which still felt like his father’s space, rather than his own.

“Your Majesty. I have received a telex from Alpha Greyson from the Glacier pack,” Elder Carson began to explain.

“Ah, yes, he has recently taken over and found his fated mate, I believe,” Fitz stated.

“He has your Majesty. However. There is an issue,” Carson sighed as the king furrowed his brow. The wolves from the Glacier pack were known to be faithful to the crown. One of his father's most decorated guards had moved there when he found his fated mate, after the battle with Dragon King Marcus. He remembered the mighty warrior’s return visits to the palace when he was but a small boy.

“Alpha Greyson requests Kings Justice for one of his pack members,” Carson began to tell him.

“Who?” Fitz asked.

“For the youngest daughter of Aiden and Meradith Whitestone, Eliza. It seems promises between Alpha Greyson and young Eliza were made, only for them to be broken when he met his fated mate, her elder sister Rein. It is accused that Eliza, in a fit of jealousy, did murder the unborn pup of Greyson and her luna sister,” Carson informed him.

“Okay, send an envoy to administer justice,” Fitz stated. This was not a matter he needed to concern himself with.

“You do not understand. Your father owed Aiden a life debt. Not many know, but had it not been for his bravery, the king would have perished in the battle with Dragon King Marcus. The scars on Aiden Whitestone's face and body are a permanent reminder of that day. "Also, there is another matter,” Carson sighed.

Fitz leaned forward in his seat, looking intently at the Elder.

“Your father’s life debt was paid in full. Rein had attempted to kill Eliza when the youngest girl was but eleven years old. Aiden reached out to the king, explaining some of his eldest child’s erratic behaviours, and asked that she could be saved. Your father secured a place in a highly secretive psychiatric hospital, where the girl was diagnosed as a narcissistic psychopath, one who would be a danger to everyone she met. Eliza is the polar opposite of her sister. There is something not quite right about this event,” Carson explained his thoughts on the situation.

Fitz sat back in his chair, his hands clasped beneath his chin, deep in thought. Eliza Whitestone, something felt familiar, and he searched his mind, finding a distant memory from his childhood regarding the girl.

She was younger than he, but not by much. He had found her in the palace gardens, under the artificial lights that warmed the area and allowed delicate flowers imported from the markets of Neutraliss to grow. It was before his mother’s death, he was around eight, maybe nine years of age. The girl was pretty, as she looked in awe at the small white daisies, her fingers gently stroking their petals. She had turned toward him, bowing her head automatically.

“Prince Fitzwilliam, I am sorry, but the flowers are so pretty,” she had declared.

The king remembered his younger self studying the little girl before him. She had a kindness about her but looked as though the weight of the world resided on her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” he had asked.

“I am hiding from my sister,” she had whispered, unable to lie due to his mighty aura, even at such a young age.

“Why?” he had questioned her, noting the tears that stung the little girl’s eyes.

“Because she is angry,” she had simply responded.

“Why?” he had asked again.

“I don’t know. I think she hates me,” she had whispered.

Something in his young heart had melted at her words. How could anyone hate this pretty little angel?

“You can pick one,” he had told her, enjoying the bright smile that lit up her face.

“Thank you, your highness, maybe this flower will make my sister love me as I love her, when I give her it,” she had said, before picking the flower and skipping away.

Later that day, he happened to pass by the rooms that had been allocated for the Whitestone’s, and saw the daisy on the wooden floor. It had been crushed, and he remembered hearing the trill sound of an older girl, screaming that the flower was ugly, just like Eliza was, and that she hated it. He had entered the room, just in time to halt the hand that sought to strike his little angel. He had mind-linked with his father, explaining the situation. Aiden and Meradith returned to their allotted quarters immediately, a harrowed look on their faces. The next day they returned to their pack, and never returned, as far as he was aware, to the Ice Palace again.

This was indeed a problematic situation, as the Glacier Alpha would demand death for the woman who had murdered his child. However, Aiden was the fabled man who saved the king. Fitz had no doubts that if Carson suspected that there was more to this story than the telex implied, then he needed to personally interrogate the girl, Eliza, before pronouncing his judgement. He had witnessed firsthand, as a boy, just how much Rein had hated the pretty little angel he remembered from his childhood. His wolf stirred, a low growl filling his mind, as unhappy with this situation as he was.

“Have an envoy and enforcers, go to Glacier Pack and retrieve the girl for my interrogations. Inform Alpha Greyson, that the king will administer his justice, but do not inform him of my intention to do that here, and not at his pack” Fitz announced, as Carson bowed his head, turned on his heel, returning to his office, and began to script the telex that would be sent to the Glacier Pack.