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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐒, 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏. She can't help but part her lips, kicking her head back against the pillow as the two auras brush past one another. With creature against were, pleasure suddenly writhes beneath her skin at the close proximity of the alpha. Her creature seeks another touch of his aura, just another caress of him against her, but his wolf pulls back, resisting the invisible cord that binds them together.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's all just a mere sensation, a dream of sorts. She forces her eyes to open.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sunlight pools over her as she lays in a vast bed. Translucent fabric drapes over where she sleeps, prohibiting the strength of the sun to scorch her porcelain skin. There, her silver irises search for the owner of that sound, knowing exactly who it belongs to.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Except, it's only a woman in the room. Not the phantom black wyng she remembers from the previous night.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He just left," she says with a brief smile crossing her lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A tall quintessential lady approaches the foot of the bed, her hair tied in a thick braid woven with almond hair. Her full lips curve into the softest of smiles, and Elowen falls in complete awe of her. She's beautiful compared to Elowen's sickly self. The woman dresses in loose sky coloured silks, doused in honeysweet perfume.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns. "Ronyn was here?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, Morrow," she smirks as she speaks his name. "Although Ronyn has been bothering me with questions about you. Apparently both of them regretted finding out your name. Bunch of ignorant dumbasses they are."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She must be in Tabrien, and judging by the luxury of her surroundings, she must be held captive in the palace. Exquisite furnishing elaborates the expansive space, diaphanous curtains floating without gravity in the slight breeze before the balcony doors. The bedroom appears cosy with houseplants scattered everywhere, each one of them lush with life. The only thing in the room that doesn't belong is Elowen. Her tattered clothes. Her wild hair. The grime caked onto her skin from years of concealing herself in the woods.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm Cordea," the woman explains, now talking to fill the deafening silence. "I'm another one of the betas around here. Morrow told me to wait with you until you woke up."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen holds her tongue, still refusing to give them the satisfaction of her name.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you need anything? Coffee? Water? Tea?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No response.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea bites her lower lip before anxiously setting the cup down on the night table. "Well, I did bring you tea, anyway. It might help you feel a little better."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen studies the steam clouding from atop the mug's rim, then looks back up to Cordea. She's just supposed to trust these were since they rescued her from the auction, to submit to their ways all because they purchased her for a price. She doesn't know Cordea. She doesn't know Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can you bring me to Ronyn?" Elowen asks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea raises her brows. "Ronyn?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I need to speak with Ronyn," Elowen says a little more confidently than before. She doesn't trust Ronyn either, but she knows the beta isn't a threat to her, unlike her perceptions of Cordea. No matter how hard Elowen's creature tries to sense her aura, she can't determine if she's a friend or foe.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I thought you'd want to speak with Morrow," Cordea murmurs, her brows knit into a furrow. Elowen's wings ripple at the mention of the alpha.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, the guy that brought me here is good enough."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fine, since you're so adamant about it," Cordea gestures back over to the tea. "And please take a sip of the tea? I wouldn't want it to go to waste."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen studies the tea. It smells like winter, but looks like sweet berries. The only tea Elowen's been able to steep for herself in the woods was of birch and clover.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What kind of tea is it?" she asks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Nightbloom," she answers. "It's a delicacy for the were."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's never heard of it, so Elowen doesn't take the chance that the tea could be a steaming cup of poison. She leaves it on the nighttable to grow cold.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea vanishes to go and retrieve Ronyn. Now that she's alone, Elowen tears the bedsheet from atop her body and tiptoes across the bedroom, never once making the hardwood floorboards beneath her bare feet creak. She tests her wings, giving them a single flutter to test their strength. She feels bandages pull at the base of her shoulders, and Elowen flickers her gaze to the fabric wrapped around the burned flesh at the base of her wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Bloody hell," she mutters as pain seers through her nerves. The iron really dealt its cards of damage to her, preventing her from any chance of escape. Still, Elowen barrels towards the balcony, shoving the doors wide open to witness the morning sun draping itself over the province of Tabrien. She'll force herself to fly if she has to. She's endured pain before, but she just needs to last long enough to reach the Tabrien woodlands. If she treks far enough west she can find sanctuary in the province of Yestrea with the fae. She's half fae. Maybe they can help her evoke her hidden fae magic if they don't dismiss her at first sight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen swings her legs over the railing of the balcony, her eyes trailing down to the base of the vast palace. A city stretches around her, kissing the banks of a turquoise river that runs straight through the middle of the province. From above, the view steals the breath from her lungs. There's townhouses and markets alive with eager were. She expected dens of desolation and death, but from above, Tabrien thrives.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Just before she can jump, her creature purrs within her chest at the presence of another aura. She swings her attention to behind her, only to catch Ronyn leaning against the balcony doors with his arms crossed over his chest. Only now, he's fully dressed in a loose black shirt and black trousers that seem to hug his muscular thighs in all the right ways.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He flashes a charming grin. "Should I be honoured that you requested me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Smug bastard.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're the only one that I know around here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't blame you for wanting my presence," he pushes himself from the frame, meandering over to the balcony's railing. He doesn't try to coax her off from flying away to freedom. "I wouldn't want to wake up and see Cordea either."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like you're much more of a delight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I am a delight," he leans his elbows on the railing, his eyes trailing the city below. "When I bring you down to the court, make sure you tell them just that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not facing your courts," Elowen mutters. "I won't be bothering you here much longer, anyways, because I need to leave."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're still determined to do that, I see."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You probably thought I'd come here and submit, just like the rest of you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I didn't, but getting out of here ain't gonna happen, half-breed. You won't make it a hundred feet out of Tabrien alive with burns and bruises like yours," he gazes down at her arm, the skin crested with purple and red welts from the iron shackles on her wrist. "How're you feeling after all this?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen gazes up into the beta's hazel eyes, and she finds herself giving this man a sliver of her trust. Her creature has no fear of Ronyn's wolf, and certainly no fear of his empathetic question.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She breaks her trance and runs a hand down the base of her wings. "It hurts," she murmurs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grins. "I can kiss it better."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I bet you can, but you won't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He puckers his lips and leans in. "Too late. Here I come."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No— Ronyn!" Elowen pushes his face away as a loud burst of laughter escapes his lips. "Are all were like this?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Charming?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Annoying."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes," he answers with a curt nod. "We're completely unbearable. Especially Cordea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It only gives me more of a reason to leave."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn sighs, his tight yet goofy expression softening at the mention of Elowen leaving Tabrien. She knows little of the were, and every second of her existence within the province only gives her more intel of what she could be up against. Tales always told her that the were were hostile towards anyone of the other provinces, but they seem to treat her like she belongs here.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This palace, this land, isn't her home, and it never will be.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn must sense her unease. "I'm sorry you had to go through this shit, but we'll treat you right here in Tabrien. You'll be safe. You just need time to heal up again."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen fiddles with her fingers, avoiding the gaze of the beta beside her. "You realise I'm supposed to be dead with the rest of the wyng. I don't think I'll be safe anywhere."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You are, half-breed." He smirks with that irresistible crooked smile. "Cross my heart."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Safe was always a dream that Elowen indulged in more than once. The idea of never having to hide and flee tantalised her as she laid wide awake in the woodland meadows at her haven in Brecia. All seemed lost when she was captured. The terrans could never provide that for her, because she's convinced most terran souls want her dead for the sake of her wings. But the were?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Their alpha is half wyng. He bears the traits of the sky, even if those traits are bound in myths of darkness. If she belonged anywhere, then perhaps it's here in Tabrien.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's large hand covers Elowen's as it rests on the railing. He growls from within his chest, the sound beckoning her creature within her to come out of hiding and play. Elowen attempts to tame her, but she feels her threads bind themselves to Ronyn's inner wolf. Her eyes close as he tugs on that invisible string.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His thumb strokes her knuckles, a tender fond caress. "You don't need to run anymore," he murmurs. "You're protected. You have food. Hell, you might even regain the strength to fly again if the iron didn't completely fuck your wings up. All I ask is that you meet with the rest of us in the courts. I know Morrow's waiting on you. Then you can make up your mind about this place."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Beneath her skin, her creature erupts with giddy at the mention of Morrow's name. It's like her creature has formed some unexplainable bond to him, tethering her to his name that gets spoken around here like an oath. But even though Morrow is wyng, he's still nothing more than a stranger, and that thought alone seems to dominate the irrational connection she feels towards him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen dismounts the railing, lifting her silver eyes to meet the hazel blaze of Ronyn. Her cheeks rave red with embarrassment. "I'll go, but um," she clicks her tongue as she ponders her anxieties. "I'm not a fan of crowds."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn nods his head. "There's not gonna be a crowd."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Okay, I'm also not accustomed to strangers."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Am I a stranger to you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn dips his head as he releases a chuckle. "Is it because I never asked for your name, half-breed?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Partially."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What is it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's wings bristle at the question, mostly because her inner creature keeps ridiculing her for being so secretive with it. Her name is part of her identity, a token of the past she still clings to: Elowen Neverclove. It's distinctly wyng.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A name like hers doesn't belong in the hands of the were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's nothing of importance to you," she tells him. And that will be that.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen wanders from the balcony's edge back inside the luxurious bedroom. Ronyn follows on her heels, his towering presence a constant with every step she takes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn takes her shoulder before she can leave the room. "You're forgetting something."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's brows crook upward as Ronyn gestures to her body. She looks down at her physique, noticing the tatters still woven into her dress, and her maroon hair has become knotted in that long braid that she wore. Her once pristine white wings are matted with mud and grime, yet wrapped in spools of bandages at her shoulder blades. To sum her up, she looks like she was mauled by a pack of panthers that roam the Reovellian mountains.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You need a bath," Ronyn chides. "It looks like you haven't had one in months."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Your guess is accurate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn wanders over to the ensuite washroom, pushing the door open so Elowen can peek inside. A clawfoot tub sits at the far end with a large stained glass window peering out to the river, while a toilet and vanity sit on the other end with fixtures made of gold. White and beige tiles in obscure floral patterns mark the floor beneath her bare feet.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn takes a cotton towel from beneath the vanity and places it in Elowen's arms. "There you go, half-breed. I'll see if Cordea has something else you can wear even with the fucking wings, but take all the time you need."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"This... this is too much," she breathes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The bath?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Being here," because Elowen only knows the woods. With chipped nails and muddied fingers, she had to start a fire and widdle arrows so she could hunt her game. She never had clawfoot tubs and fluffy towels. "I don't know why you want me around here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn dips his head. "It's not my decision. That belongs to the alpha."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," she says. His name strikes her tongue, and everything around her seems to respond to the dominance of it. Ronyn's back even straightens at the mention of his alpha, and Elowen's body ignites with fire.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta exits the room, but pauses before he can shut the door. "I'm sorry if this is overwhelming you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's just a visit to the courts? That's all?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn shrugs. "I can't promise you anything with the bullshit that'll come out of Cordea and Arion's mouths."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And who's Arion?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To this, he releases a bellowing infectious laugh. "Come on, half-breed. You got a whole pack to meet, and I think they're gonna love you."

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍 court in the sanctum, Elowen washes herself up, letting her maroon waves drape down her shoulders in cascading waterfalls. Her crimson silk dress with a low cut back (for the wings) blankets over her gangly figure, loose everywhere and hardly clinging to her frame. The dress belongs to Cordea, who is considerably more boisterous and shapely than herself, so it makes her appear so... awkward. She looks and feels out of place, an anomaly in such a utopian province within the kingdom of Aelethia.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As Ronyn guides her to the main court, she analyses the other were wandering the palace. It's a bustling place, and everyone takes cautious glances in her direction. Their wolves must sense that she's not a were, that she doesn't belong within the alpha's corridor.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn and Elowen enter into the main sanctum. It's empty of personnel except for Morrow, Cordea, and who must be Arion. The black-winged were sits aboard the throne, head on his hands in disinterest. His legs remain spread wide with one hand tapping his knee, impatiently, as if listening to Cordea babble was the least of his concerns. The moment Elowen steps into his presence, Morrow's green hues find her own, sparking at the sight but not letting his body fall under her spell. She attempts to do the same, but she falls prisoner to the cruel growl that vibrates from within his chest. It's a sound that silences Cordea, but one that seems to liquify Elowen's heartstrings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn approaches the throne and gives the alpha a playful punch on the shoulder. "Geez, I've never heard that sound come from you before."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow clenches his jaw, his black wings bristling in displeasure. "Fuck you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Someone's possessive."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Possessive? Morrow's green eyes never waver. He's locked on Elowen, and she's the same for him. Elowen's creature keeps pulling and pulling on the tether between her and the were-wyng.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The tether snaps the moment Arion opens his mouth to speak. "I don't believe we've met yet, but I'm Arion, one of the betas and sentinels within the pack."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Like the others, Elowen doesn't give him a handshake or a name. All she wants is to get out of here, because the longer she lingers in the Tabrien palace, the less she feels she belongs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion is tall like the rest of the were, but not as bulky as Ronyn. Muscles bulge from his biceps and thighs, and the tawny stubble on his chin is hardly noticeable if it weren't for the sunlight kissing his skin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow tilts his head in Arion's direction, his voice dripping in this low authoritative tone. "Arion's going to train you so you can defend yourself, because you won't make it far in my lands if you're like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen straightens her back as the alpha interrogates her with his gaze. He reeks of power, power that intimidates the betas around him. But Elowen has made her decision. She's thankful to be saved by them, but she has no intentions on overstaying.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't need to make it far. I'm not staying."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow snaps up from his throne, a defensive growl emanating from his throat as his black wings stretch large. He takes a step towards her, then another, and another, until she has no choice but to take steps back to keep space. The green around his pupils vanishes as a hidden feralness corrodes him, his eyes appearing black.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're staying," his voice develops a roughening rasp, one that Elowen's creature adores.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not one of your wolves. I don't belong to you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The growl that vibrates from him comes out so coarse it shakes the room. It urges Elowen to submit, to obey, and her creature beneath her skin does so willingly. She despises how she falls under his spell, completely hypnotised. He plays her creature like a puppet on a string. But not Elowen. So far, she's been able to cut those strings, but she knows he'll learn to tie them in better knots.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," Cordea grits. "Take a breath."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow blinks once, twice, three times before that hidden wolfish creature inside of him disappears. His green meadowed hues return back to the colour they were before. His expression of steel softens, only slightly.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He turns back to his throne, slumping back in his seat as his black feathered wings close in behind him. For a moment, the alpha looks guilty for his dominance, but feigns to apologise.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I blame the fucking moon," Morrow grits, almost caught in agony, but quickly switches the topic of discussion from his domineering behaviour to the task at hand. His attention locks itself on Ronyn. "You'll have everything under control while I'm gone?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn nods his head, but a skeptical look of unease crosses his features. "Yes, but I still don't agree with doing this, especially after pissing off the terrans."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's muscles tense. "You know the consequences if I don't go. The witches have my blood, which means they can summon me whenever they fucking please. It's better if I return to Scaerus before they barge through our doors without an invitation."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion bares his canines, disgusted at the mere mention of the witches. "They're probably the ones that caused the blight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm certain it came from Pailon, but hell knows who the witches are working with," Morrow's gaze falls onto Elowen, his gaze somewhat sympathetic before once again, growing ice cold. "Cordea, get one of the physicians to check her over again. I know she came back clean, but she's been in Brecian territory. I can't have her being a carrier and infecting us all."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea nods her head to this, but Elowen's mind tries to grasp onto the exchange unfolding before her. It's clear that Morrow's leaving for Scaerus, home of the convoluted witches and witchers. No one travels to Scaerus, not unless they're willing to make a deal with the devil, because being bound to them for eternity is a hell-cycle no one craves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'll only be gone for a matter of days," Morrow's jaw ticks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Again, Ronyn nods at the instruction. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow closes his eyes. "I trust you with her," he mumbles, his voice hardly making a sound. "And Arion. And Cordea. No one else."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And what if the half-breed tries to leave?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow growls, a sharp sound that silences the betas. The once warm embrace of the room chills over as Morrow's emotions grow frigid, bitter. She's learning that everyone knows the alpha's mood, as it seems his mood affects their own. Although she's not were, Elowen can sense it too. She catches Morrow's knuckles tighten over the armrests on his throne, his nails like claws digging into the velvet. She watches the upholstery tear as he digs his nails deeper into the fabric.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The answer is clear. Elowen won't be leaving. Not under Morrow's watch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He stands up a second later, strutting past the betas as they part ways for him. His black feathered wings remain folded behind him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn," Morrow's voice paralyses everyone in the room. "I need to talk with you in private."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She wishes Ronyn were the one staying in the room, because her list of questions has grown considerably in the last few minutes. The blight. The word leaves a sour taste on her tongue. In her isolation within the Brecian woods, she never became exposed to the rumours and tales of other provinces, so she's unsure what this blight actually is. All she knows is that it's bad enough that it's sending the alpha himself to the depths of Scaerus.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea weaves her arm around Elowen's, a faux smile plastered on her perfect face. "I should show you around the palace, hmm? Even if you don't plan on staying, you can still make yourself at home."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow mentioned a physician checking me for the blight?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes, the blight," she glances over her shoulder at Arion, gesturing with her hand for him to follow before turning her attention back to Elowen. "Have you not heard of it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Hopefully the blank stare on her face is enough of an answer for her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The blight started quite recently, only a handful of years ago," Cordea begins. "At first, it came across as a terran disease, a cancer of sorts, but it soon proved to be an illness descended from the underworld. We've been able to reduce the number of infects for the most part, but in the last few months, we've seen an influx on our Eastern borders."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We know it's transmissible through touch," Arion explains, "and the were aren't known to keep their distances with each other. No one here is a lone wolf, so shit spreads fast. But it's not just the were. It's the vegetation as well. There's spells of it on the Eastern edge where all the plants look like they're scorched."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's deadly to us, and Morrow's learned that it's harming the other provinces as well. Yestrea has lost a vast amount of fae to the south, and the witches have their own struggles with the blight. We haven't received word about what the conditions are in Eshon, but we know it's wreaking havoc among the terran population in Brecia too. Morrow would like the provinces to work together for a remedy, but he can't change eons worth of bloodshed and hate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen furrows her brow. "So why does Morrow go to the witches?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"They're the only ones that'll listen to his plea," Cordea stops, her plump lips twisting with unease. "The witches placed a spell on him in order to keep the pack in good health, at the expense of... well... we're not quite sure what he promised them. But even their spells are fading with time."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's a dumbass for dealing with them," Arion grumbles. "If you could rip the wine from the fae for five minutes, they might listen better."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It was a last resort long ago." Cordea forces a smile. "But we all trust Morrow, don't we?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion stays silent. Elowen knows very little of the man and trusts nobody herself, especially not two betas that apparently offer her protection.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea guides them into the dining hall. Elongated oak tables spread across the large room designed to feed a whole city. A few stray were sit at the tables, shovelling a thick stew into their mouths. When Elowen enters the room, they stop and raise their gazes. At once, she becomes the prey.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion pushes past the two women and over to the starving were. He keeps his voice hushed, almost unheard. When he finishes speaking, the other were nod their head and stand, taking their bowls with them out of the hall. Arion follows behind them, stopping to meet Cordea's gaze. They exchange cordial nods before Arion follows the soldiers out of the room.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The dining hall now remains eerily empty. She swallows, turning to Cordea who urges her forward.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's something else we need to discuss," Cordea whispers under her breath. "It's about Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is he always like that?" Elowen questions.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like what, exactly?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So... dominant."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He is an alpha, but... no," she laughs. "What you saw in the sanctum was out of character, and I think I know why." Her aquamarine hues lift to meet Elowen's. "I think you know why too."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea gestures to a table for Elowen to sit. Elowen folds her white wings in, taking a seat on the wooden bench. Cordea sits across from her, gnawing on her glossy lip as if the conversation between them will leave her with a queasy stomach.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns. "How would I know what's going on with Morrow? We've hardly spoken."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So you don't know," she mutters. "Are you familiar with were customs and traditions?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen knows nothing at all, but if it's anything like the customs of the wyng, then it must have something to do with his inner creature or his wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"When Morrow heard rumours that the terrans found a wyng and were bringing that wyng to the underground auctions, he knew he had to find you. He's gone years upon years believing he was the last of the wyng. I think he just wanted confirmation that he wasn't alone."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow wasn't at the auctions. It was Ronyn."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And do you blame him? Morrow can't blend in with wings like those, because the terrans and nautica would chain him with iron, just like they did to you. He observed from afar while Ronyn did the dirty work." Her lips purse. "There was just one flaw to his plan."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The terrans tried to give me to Alistair."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, not that. The moment he laid eyes on you, he became at war with himself because his wolf and creature both desired the same thing, " she pauses with eyes growing lidded. "A mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's certainly a draw to Morrow, and those sharp angled features of him are enough to scare anyone across the lands. He's deadly, sculpted of corruption and deceit. But for some reason, Elowen becomes entranced by him. If she could just chisel away his stone walls, she might find something else beneath his skin. Her creature senses the hidden compassion within that wintered heart, and gods, he seems like the last person to have that.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We were believe that the moon chooses who our fated mates will be from the dawn of time," Cordea clarifies. "It's written in the stars, out of our control. When one lays eyes on their mate, the bond between them begins to form. The scent of the other becomes stronger, almost pleasurably overbearing. It's a never-ending craving for their presence and voice. Withstanding the bond becomes useless as the impulse to mark the other grows and grows with time," She tilts her neck to Elowen's view, pulling her braid aside to show a bitten mark, one quite fresh. "A completed matebond is omnipotent. When both mates mark another, they unify and become one—not just physically, but on a whole different plane of existence. This means wolves can communicate through the mind, so mates can send messages and sensations to another no matter where they are. In rare cases, the mind link is possible even before the marking and mating is completed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To Elowen, the idea of being mated to Morrow sounds like a load of hogwash. It's clear there's something between them, but the were's concept of mates abides with one of an eternal marriage. She always blamed the tether between them on her compliant inner creature, but she also forgot to take into account her own bloodline. A wyng's creature should guide her to the one she's supposed to love for eternity, but she never felt a sensation that strong until now. Her creature adores Morrow, and judging by her slim encounters with his own wolf and creature, she knows his reciprocates.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And as much as that attraction beckons her to him, she despises it. Morrow's tempting, but she knows she can resist.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea narrows her gaze. "Do you feel the matebond?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes her head—a lie. "Of course not."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Because Morrow does. He made that clear the moment he returned from the auctions, and insisted we prepare a room in his private corridor. He never does that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then tell him to stop feeling it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta breaks out into a soft laugh. "It's not that simple, and trust me, he wants the matebond to end as much as you do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can't we break it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Gods, no," she retorts, "but there are ways to suppress it. The urges between you both are only going to get worse the more you stay in close range. Fortunately for us, he's out of the palace for a few days."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen clicks her tongue in her cheek, her mind running rampant with ideas on how to escape. "It'd be easier on all of you if I just go."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, I think you should stay," Cordea's glistening irises find the dainty silver ones of Elowen. "I figured you might be a bit hesitant about the matebond. There's a tea that can help. Remember that tea I left on your night table this morning? I can only assume you didn't drink it considering Morrow's reaction in the court."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen remembers the tea Cordea left behind. Nightbloom, she had called it, a were delicacy. If she knew it would lessen the urges for Morrow, she would've drank the glass sevenfold.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea snaps her fingers, summoning an omega from the kitchen. "A nightbloom tea, please."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A moment later, the omega returns with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, placing it down at the edge of the table.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It won't reverse the matebond, but it'll subdue it enough so that the two of you might be able to hold an actual conversation with each other when he returns."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen hastily drinks the tea, letting the warm sweet liquid burn down her throat. Now she knows why she's here, why she's being stowed away in the alpha's corridor, but the fated matebond she contains with Morrow won't stop her from leaving Tabrien.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tabrien isn't her home. It will never be her home, no matter how hard the were attempt to convince her otherwise.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Wings simply don't belong in a pack of wolves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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this chapter was a longer one! i hope you're all enjoying the story so far, even with all the world-building and character introductions. do you have a favourite so far?

also, i turned 23 this week. isn't that bonkers?

hope you all have an amazing week!

ivy <3