Chapter Five: The Crown and the Curse
Rain battered the rooftops of Eldwyn that night, echoing like war drums down the stone corridors of the castle. Thunder growled overhead like a beast circling its prey.
Elara stood by the tall stained-glass window in Aldric's chambers, her golden eyes reflecting the storm outside. She wore one of his linen shirts, too big for her, but it was warm with his scent. It comforted her, but it couldn't silence the fear gnawing at her sides.
She was hunted now.
Not just by the moon or the monster inside her.
But by men. By kings.
By the world Aldric still belonged to.
Behind her, the fire crackled softly. Aldric sat at the edge of the bed, reading a parchment that had arrived just hours before, sealed in crimson wax with the sigil of the Southern Lords.
His jaw was tight. Too tight.
Elara turned, the silence between them stretching.
"What does it say?" she asked quietly.
He didn't look up. "They're demanding a trial."
Her stomach sank.
"For me?"
"No," he said. "For us."
She blinked, her heart racing.
"Their words are sharper than swords, Elara. They call you a monster, a sorceress, a temptress who's bewitched their king. They claim I've abandoned reason and that I'm unfit to rule."
Elara remained silent. What could she say to that?
Aldric stood and crossed the room toward her, his hand brushing her cheek.
"I don't care what they say."
"But your people do," she replied quietly. "Your council. Your soldiers. They'll never accept a wolf at your side."
"I didn't choose to be their king," he said softly. "But I choose you."
Tears filled her eyes, but she turned away. "Choosing me may mean war."
"Then let it come."
She faced him suddenly, grabbing his hand. "Aldric, no. You've spent your whole life trying to protect this kingdom."
"I was protecting a dream. But now I've found something real. I won't give that up."
Her fingers tightened around his. "You're willing to lose everything for me?"
He nodded. "Yes. But I won't lose you."
The next morning arrived shrouded in fog, bringing whispers with it.
Servants found tufts of fur on the palace stairs, scratch marks on stone, and a faint trail of blood that vanished at the edge of the western tower.
Rumors spread quickly.
By midday, the High Council demanded an emergency assembly.
Aldric walked into the war chamber wearing his ceremonial cloak, the wolf-shaped clasp shining on his shoulder. His face was calm, but inside, a storm raged.
The room fell silent as he entered.
Lord Garien, the oldest and loudest of the Southern Lords, stood first.
"Your Majesty," he began coldly. "It pains me to say this, but we fear you've been compromised."
Aldric raised an eyebrow. "Compromised?"
"By a creature," Garien spat. "A beast who walks as a woman."
A flicker of anger rose in Aldric's chest.
"You speak of the woman who saved my life."
"Who then bewitched you," Garien snapped. "And now hides in the palace while good men die in the woods. She's dangerous, Your Majesty."
"She's alive," Aldric said sharply. "And she has a name. Elara."
The room stirred.
"You admit it then?" asked Lord Renwick from the Eastern Isles. "That she's here, in this very castle?"
Aldric didn't flinch. "Yes. I brought her here, and I would do it again."
Chaos erupted.
"Traitor to the crown!"
"She's a threat to the realm!"
"She must be executed!"
Aldric's voice thundered over them all.
"SILENCE!"
The chamber stilled.
"I've ruled with fairness and strength. I've led armies, won wars, sacrificed everything for this kingdom. And you repay me by turning on the one person who's shown me what it means to feel again?"
No one spoke.
Aldric's eyes swept the room.
"I will not betray her. Not for you. Not for anyone."
He turned and walked out, the echo of his boots ringing with finality.
Back in his chambers, Elara stood at the mirror, her hands trembling as she looked at her reflection.
The scratches on her ribs had nearly faded. The shadows under her eyes had not.
She heard the door open behind her.
"Aldric?" she asked without turning.
"It's me."
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"They want blood," she whispered.
"I won't give them yours."
She turned to face him. "Then they'll take yours."
"No," he said, holding her tighter. "Because I have a plan."
Her brows furrowed.
"I'm leaving the throne."
Her breath caught. "What?"
"I'm naming a regent to rule in my place, one who can protect Eldwyn while we disappear. For now."
"You'd leave everything?"
"Yes," he said simply. "I've already drafted the decree."
Tears filled her eyes. "Why?"
"Because I'd rather live a free man with you than die a prisoner of politics."
A silence passed.
Then she kissed him.
Not out of fear or desperation.
But out of gratitude and love.
That night, under the cover of darkness, they slipped through the palace tunnels. Elara wore a cloak with the hood pulled low. Aldric carried only a satchel, a dagger, and the ring his father had given him, now left on the throne.
They mounted their horses in the woods and rode hard, hooves kicking up mud as they fled the kingdom.
Behind them, Eldwyn would awaken to a new ruler, a kingdom uncertain but free.
Ahead of them lay forests, unknown lands, danger.
And possibility.
They rode until the stars faded into morning.
When they finally stopped at a riverbank deep in the wildlands, Elara dismounted first. Her boots sank into the wet earth. She turned, looking at Aldric.
"We're not king and creature anymore," she whispered.
"No," he said. "We're just two people trying to be whole."
She reached for his hand.
And in the wilderness, with nothing but their scars and each other, they began again.
To be continued....>
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