In her chamber back at the mansion, Nila was lost in thought, her fingers stained with ink as she carefully penned a letter to Laila. The candle beside her flickered gently, casting a soft glow across her page.
Dearest Laila,
Selene is, beautiful in its own way. It's different from Navaria, quieter, and more mysterious. Today I had the chance to visit the market, and I thought of you often. You would have loved it, Oh! the colours, the scents, and the people! I could almost see you darting around, your eyes twinkling. Oh, and the clothing! It's so different from what we're used to back home. They favour simplicity here, just like how we read in those books, they don't use much jewellery as well.
She paused, biting her lip and smiling softly as memories of the market floated through her mind.
"I even found a few things to bring back for you if I can visit you someday. The guards assure me that, as queen, I can take what I please, but I must admit it felt strange, knowing I am now Selene's queen. It's still difficult to believe, and I suppose it might be for some time. Cyrus isn't here right now, he's leading the army at the border. He is not as cruel as people say he is, forget about being cruel, it feels like he is the sweetest man I know. There is so much I want to understand, but it feels as if time is always slipping away.
Convey my regards to your mother as well.
Yours lovingly Nila.
Nila read the letter over once, sighing and placing her quill down. She then felt a familiar restlessness in her chest. She found herself toying with the idea of writing to Cyrus, thoughts she'd only recently dared to entertain. She hesitated, imagining him reading a letter from her. What could she say to him? How would she even begin?
The thought of his piercing gaze catching hers as he read her words made her heart pound. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, half in exasperation, half in embarrassment.
Maybe another time, she told herself.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Selene's borderlands.
Cyrus was settling into his tent, the air thick with the scent of smoke from the campfires. Distant howls echoed in the woods, familiar and somehow comforting, reminding him of the hunting nights back home, a world away from being a king, he hadn't shifted to his wolf form in a few days and it was making him restless.
He glanced around the tent, his mind briefly drifting back to the mansion, to Nila. He imagined her seated by the window, her dark eyes reflecting the candlelight, the faint smile that came when she thought no one was watching. Thoughts of her brought a quiet solace, like a warm blanket amid the cold preparations of war.
But the peace was short-lived.
Without warning, a crash split the silence outside his tent. In an instant, he rose, his senses sharpening, heart pounding with the thrill of impending violence. The attackers had arrived, slipping through the perimeter.
Cyrus's werewolf instincts sharpened as his fangs itched and grew longer, he knew what he was feeling.
Bloodlust.
He stepped outside, face as cold as stone, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. The men were barely recognizable in their dark cloaks and masks, but their purpose was clear, assassins from the eastern kingdom, hungry to eliminate him while his defences were thinned.
With a snarl, Cyrus lunged forward, his movements a terrifying blur of speed and precision. He was the werewolf king, after all, and here on the battlefield, he was no restrained ruler, he was a beast, a hunter born for blood.
One attacker rushed him, sword gleaming in the firelight. With an effortless twist, Cyrus dodged, catching the man's wrist and twisting it until his bones cracked. A sickening scream filled the air before Cyrus drove a blade through the man's chest. He didn't pause, his gaze finding his next target with a ferocity that sent chills through his military men too.
Two more assailants lunged, and Cyrus met them head-on, he tore one of their heads using his claws and paws, mercilessly throwing his body and head apart. His eyes glinted like a predator's, each motion a testament to his inhuman strength and unrelenting dominance. Blood splattered across his face, the scent only fueling the beast within.
Darius, who had joined the rest, was powerful, quick on his feet, his strikes precise. But he couldn't match Cyrus's bloodlust, the raw cruelty in every one of his brother's attacks. Where Darius fought with calculated efficiency, Cyrus fought with lethal abandon, a chilling lack of mercy that had earned him his reputation.
As the eastern attackers continued to press forward, Selene's soldiers arrived in force, elite fighters known across the kingdoms for their loyalty and ruthlessness. They moved with a practiced, deadly efficiency, cutting down any who dared cross their path. Within moments, their numbers overwhelmed the attackers. Spears flashed, swords slashed, and cries of pain filled the night air as Selene's army closed ranks around their king, driving back the assailants with sheer brute strength.
But Cyrus remained at the centre, facing down the last of the attackers himself. The man stumbled backwards, his hands raised in surrender, trembling as he met Cyrus's gaze.
"Mercy, Your Highness," he stammered, his voice breaking.
Cyrus's eyes almost seemed hollow, empty of compassion, a mirror of the moonlit night. He advanced slowly, his sword pointed at the man's throat. "Mercy is for men, not for cowards who hide in the shadows." With a single, clean strike, Cyrus ended it, stepping back and watching as the man's body crumpled to the ground.
Darius wiped his blade, glancing at his older brother with a shudder. He'd fought beside Cyrus countless times, yet every time, the sheer, ruthless power his brother wielded sent a chill down his spine.
Selene's soldiers surrounded the camp, ensuring no attackers remained. Cyrus, his breaths deep and steady, turned to his men, his face as unreadable as stone. "Secure the perimeter," he ordered coldly, voice commanding and sharp. "Let none escape alive."
As dawn crept over the horizon, the camp was secured once more. Selene's soldiers regrouped, casting wary glances at the fallen bodies and the blood-soaked earth beneath them. The attack had been crushed within minutes, and Cyrus knew word would travel fast, the king of Selene, the werewolf king, was not one to be challenged.
Cyrus had a cold smirk on his face as he watched the lifeless bodies on the ground, ''We leave now since they were cowardly enough to attack us like this, let's show what a real war is like,''
The soldiers and Darius didn't wait a second more as they packed up their tents and left the place.
Back in her room, Nila tucked the letter to Laila beneath her inkstand, her fingers brushing the thick parchment. Her gaze wandered toward the small figurine she had bought for Cyrus, her heart aching with quiet hope.
Unbeknownst to her, as the first light of morning swept across Selene's lands, her husband was about to create bloody chaos, so he could return to her, to be in her warm presence.