Amory strolled down the hallways with a stiff back. After returning from the Outborn Pack, he felt a restlessness under his skin. His fangs itched but no matter how many he drank from, his hunger, his thirst, was never sated.
"Marcham is on the verge of collapse." One of his generals, General Orwell, announced, "Their crops and livestock are dying due to the loss of the Nördlich River. And—" He paused dramatically, his eyes lingering over each person in the throne room, "There are whispers that the king is ill." Murmurs swept through the large room and Amory raised his chin.
He had always loved the matters of war and missed when he used to actually wander the battlefields, surrounded by bloodshed. He'd thrown Velio into that position. He grunted when said brother's name caught his attention.
"Prince Velio is proving more resourceful than expected." Another general spoke, "He has rallied the troops and built a large following of people within the Marcham population. If the king's illness doesn't topple the kingdom, its own people will."
Amory sat still, his chin resting on his hand, his fingers concealing his lip. He didn't like it. The people had never been attracted to Velio, not once. What was he doing?
Before this matter could be puzzled out further, the doors to the throne room were opened and he heard the guards announce Queen "Mirella's" arrival to the throne room.
Amory inhaled sharply when he saw Yavanna stride in. She was walking… confidently… without hesitation or fear in her step. He narrowed his eyes. What was she up to? The witch.
She walked gracefully past him and sat on the smaller throne beside him. She looked every bit the queen she was supposed to be. Her hair was draped in long waves down her back, half of it was pinned up into a braid. Her crown was set atop her veil covered head.
Amory swallowed a bitter taste at the sight. He didn't like it. That was supposed to be Mirella's crown.
But it wasn't only the crown that caught his attention. It was the red dress she was wearing with a neckline that dipped lower and revealed the swells of her breasts. He'd never had reason to notice them before.
What was she trying to do? He kept his face impassive but his heart hammered in his chest. She wasn't supposed to catch his eye. To draw his attention. She was supposed to repulse him.
The herald welcomed Yavanna to the court but Amory ignored it.
But her scent drifted into his nostrils and he stiffened on his throne. Sweet and fresh. His mouth watered and he forced himself to direct his attention at the General who was speaking, once again, about Marcham and the progress there.
When he had felt as though he'd absorbed enough information about the war, he dismissed the court and left the hall. While walking back to the castle he noticed Yavanna walking towards the library. His eyes narrowed but he shrugged her off. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of his attention, of his gaze on her.
He knew that that was what she was trying to do; trying to distract him from Mirella. He frowned when instead of feeling the desire and rush of emotion that sent his heart racing, he felt frustration and anger.
Why couldn't Mirella be simpler? He asked. But it didn't matter. She was his and he was going to get her back.
While Amory walked down the halls to his study, his eyes watching and his other senses searching for sustenance among the maids walking by. A few of the noblewomen even seemed more vigorous than usual, maybe he would—
Amory's thoughts were cut short when his chest tightened with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His mind instinctively flew to Mirella and he disappeared from where he was standing and appeared in the Outborn pack, his breath leaving him momentarily. Travelling such a distance was not always wise.
"Amory?" His head snapped up when he heard Mirella breathe his name out. "What are you doing back here?"
He didn't answer as he quickly surveyed the snowy clearing. Something was wrong. It was eating away at him, making his heart pump harder and his blood rush in his ears.
"Amory, what's wrong?" She asked, clutching the bundle of wood in her arms closer to her chest. He frowned, he had never pictured his betrothed carrying such a common thing.
But… it wasn't what was wrong. He rolled his heavy shoulders, his skin itching.
"Amory, tell me. You're scaring me." He looked back at her and saw that she spoke the truth, her dark eyes were darting around the clearing, her nostrils were flaring, as they always did when she was frightened.
"I don't know." He breathed. He had felt like this before when—
He disappeared again and appeared in the library where he was hit with the startling scent of Yavanna's blood. Panic. He nearly choked at how thickly it coated his throat, making it harder to breathe and focus in the haze her blood put his cursed mind in.
Eventually, his ears caught a whimper and he lunged forward. Was she injured? Had Velio finally somehow succeeded in his plans, or had someone else…? His questions were answered when he found her pressed against a bookshelf, one of the young courtiers from the hall sucking at her throat.
Disgust welled up within him before the white hot rage began to burn. Her whimper caught his attention again and he clenched his fingers when he recognized the fear in it. Not pleasure, or pleading or even excitement. She was terrified.
Her blood was causing his mind to fog and to become less focused. He wanted to be the male latching onto her delicate neck. Where was the blood coming from? Amory's eyes widened and he cursed under his breath when he saw it.