The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

He points to a silver clad box near the wall, further in the antechamber, “I have discovered that when you have the entirety of your guard underneath your immortal spell, you have no reason for hiding things.”

Mora’s shock overcomes all of her previous thoughts; rising, she walks over to the box where she crouches down, hesitantly tracing her fingers over the cool metal, “Did Kenneth see you take this?”

“Not a chance,” Laren replies, “he was much too busy trying to sift through the trade and financial records. I am pretty sure Geofen plans on staking a claim in Alumenia as well-I wouldn’t be surprised if they attempt to split it with Sceadu. They clearly view us as a threat and that would give them control over all of the metal.”

Surprised to see not even a lock on the box, Mora pushes it open. Inside, she discovers two ingots of a shiny nickel looking metal and a small golden colored fabric pouch, “There were only four immortals total?” She asks while drawing out the pouch.

“It appears that way-your father believed that Irron killed all of the others, so either he did or there are more of them out there,” Laren has risen and now stands beside Mora. “I have no idea what those are, it didn’t make any sense to me.”

Opening the pouch, she pours the contents into her hand, just as confused as Laren when she stares down at what appears to be several nuts; about the size of eggs, they are intricately carved out of an almost white looking metal. “Irron didn’t like trees,” she states.

“Frankly, nothing that man did makes any sense. He left that country in shambles; if Irving does take it over he will have quite a bit of work to put forth. Do you believe him to be up to the task?”

Placing the nuts back into the bag, she drops them into the box with a clink before rising, “It is hard to say. He is a quick study and I find him to be quite amiable. Clearly, he got his personality from his mother.”

“Let us be thankful for that,” he replies, motioning her back to the couch to sit down. He waits until she begins eating again before walking to the large wooden box on the desk, “Your father had me secure the contents of the desk into this box before he passed. There are a few that I was surprised to have never set eyes on before.” He lifts up the box and brings it over, setting it on the ground.

“The book?” She queries, eating a large chunk of meat.

“Yes,” he replies, pulling it out and looking at it. His hand traces the cover before he opens it up, “I recognized your mother’s handwriting, though I don’ t know what language it is in. If I had to fathom a guess, I’d believe it to be some ancient tongue of Sceadu. I was thinking that perhaps you could ask Prince Varickan-” he pauses, before frowning, “Or maybe there is someone else. It isn’t pressing, though-the book has been locked away for almost thirty years now. I suppose it is just my curiosity at finding what secrets it holds.” Setting the book back down into the box, he pulls out a smaller object; it is about the length of his fore arm and only a few inches thick. He hands it to her.

Mora takes the object, surprised to feel that it is wood but unlike any known to her. Though it is black, the coloration of it is so incredibly dark and matte, that it almost appears to suck in the surrounding light. It isn’t heavy and she gets the suspicion that it is hollow, yet there are no seams in it and no open sides. When she turns it over, she discovers an engraving; it is almost impossible to see because of the dark coloration of the wood, but it is a tree. The branches and roots of the tree extend outward, weaving into a large circle that encompasses it. She looks up at Laren, “What kind of wood is this?”

He shakes his head, completely beside himself, “I have no idea. I thought I knew all of the trees in this country and the others, yet I have never seen one like this.”

She frowns, her fingers tracing the engraving. Mora wishes that her father was here, that her mother was still alive-or at the very least, that they didn’t leave behind so many unanswered questions. Deciding that it can wait until she has the luxury to focus on it, she places the piece of wood and the book back into the box, latching the lid shut, “A mystery for another time. Right now, let us focus on things that are more pressing-what do I teach Irving? How do I teach Irving?” Leaning back, she finishes the rest of the roasted vegetables from the plate.

Laren sighs, “Teach him how to rule Derven.”

“What?” She says, surprised.

“It makes the most sense-clearly, the way that Irron ran his country he was little more than a tyrant. It seems like the best course of action would be to groom Irving in a way that we would groom someone to become your King; the compassion, patience, steadfastness, determination, kindness and loyalty-these are all things that Alumenia needs right now. Seeing as how you cannot take over the country yourself, you should teach him to be like you. I brought with me a copy of the current Alumenian laws-granted, he will want to change most of them in the future but it will give him something to be versed on when he arrives.”

Nodding slowly, she rises, “Yes, that does make sense. Come, walk with me.”

Laren obliges, following her out of the room. Catching Jackson outside the door, he directs him to place the metal box into the royal vaults before they wander the castle.

Mora leads him towards the front, ascending the stair case just to the side of the doors that leads beyond the balcony and to the roof. Together, they stand in silence for a while, looking out over the black night and seeing the bright orange orbs of funeral pyres dotting the landscape.

“Does Prince Varickan sense your intentions with Irving?” Laren asks, softly.

“Yes,” she replies.

“Will he send word to his mother?”

She sighs, “Honestly-I am not sure. If he does, then I will know for certain that he is incapable of becoming a Derven King.”

Laren stands in silence for a moment, “I saw one of Queen Sheynne’s Wardens here this afternoon-the large burly man with a scar on his face. I am afraid that he might let word slip; while they will know eventually, I don’t like the idea of giving them the time to plot.”

“Warden Eric won’t tell her a thing,” she says quietly. When Laren glances at her, she continues, “I already spoke with him. He informed me of Sheynne’s desire of him to spy on me, but flat out told me that he would not. Apparently a lot of Sceaduians are displeased with her rule and are already gearing to support Rick. At least, they were when they thought he and I were to be wed.”

“You still might be,” Laren offers.

“Only time will tell what kind of hunter he truly is,” she whispers.

Their conversation continues well into the night, until the orange pyres have faded from sight. Laren advises her on a course of action for teaching, “Use the morning to discuss Derven policy and leave him the evening to read through the Alumenia laws on his own.”

“What of the afternoon?” She asks when they finally begin to leave the roof.

Laren rubs his head awkwardly, “I was thinking, that perhaps, you would fight with him.”

“Fight with him,” she is clearly surprised, “like you would with me? I thought you already trained him?”

“Aye, I did, but it has been over five years since I saw him last. I don’t feel comfortable sending him out of this country without more training.”

“You suspect Sheynne would try something?” She wonders.

“I wouldn’t put it past that woman,” he affirms once they are wandering the halls, “But I also worry about any in Alumenia who would retaliate against him.”

She thinks on it, before surprise hits her face, “Jones? Irron’s Advisor-was he among the dead?”

“No,” Laren says softly, stopping just outside of the royal suite. He glances around, nodding to the guard who has come to stand outside of her door. When they walk inside, he continues, “Nor is he anywhere in Alumenia that we can discern.”

Her brow crinkles, “Why would he run? If he were under the influence of Irron’s blood, we would have worked with him-are you saying that he helped that man of his own volition?”

“Until we find him, we will not know,” Laren says, “but just to be on the safe side, Irving should be prepared to fight. I taught you better than I taught all of the other trainers-next to me, you are the most qualified.”

She frowns but nods, “It’s a little untoward but I agree with you.”

“Good,” he says, “You can use my office. Once you figure out which weapons he seems to favor, let the royal blacksmith know and he can measure him for a proper fitting.”

“You wouldn’t rather I use the guards’ training grounds? It is quite a bit more open and the targets have more range.”

“It is too public. I am not sure what our kinsmen would think about watching their Queen teach a layman to fight,” he bows, “I will see you for breakfast tomorrow before I head back to Alumenia.”

“Good night, Laren,” she offers a nod, watching him retreat.

Sleep comes easy to her soon after.