⚠️ Content Warning:
This chapter contains mature themes, including physical and emotional tension, as well as elements of complex relationships. Reader discretion is advised.
The southern region of the Wolf Kingdom was in chaos. Smoke billowed into the night sky as the small village of Eldermoor, nestled near the border, fell under ambush. The attackers were swift and precise, leaving little trace but causing widespread destruction. Fires raged through the village, homes crumbled, and the few remaining guards struggled to contain the devastation.
Kaelion arrived with his warriors, his sword stained with the blood of the enemies who had dared to stay behind. His sharp gaze swept across the wreckage, his heart heavy with anger and pain. Though he fought valiantly, a sudden strike from an enemy's blade grazed his shoulder, leaving a deep wound.
Breathing heavily, Kaelion steadied himself against a tree, his grip tightening on his sword. "Secure the area. Ensure the villagers are safe and accounted for. I want scouts tracking their movements immediately."
As night fell, suspicion crept into Kaelion's thoughts. The attack was too strategic, too precise to be random. Somewhere deep inside, he knew this was only the beginning.
Meanwhile, in the Dragon Kingdom, Elira wandered the dimly lit hallways of the castle, her mind swirling with unrest. She paused near the servants' quarters, overhearing the faint murmurs of two maids deep in conversation.
"Did you hear about the attack on the wolves?" one whispered. "They say the southern region was nearly destroyed."
"Yes," the other replied, her voice laced with concern. "The prince was injured. If these attacks continue, he won't last long."
Elira's heart sank, her chest tightening with dread. She quickly turned away, desperate to escape the weight of the news.
Memories of Kaelion flashed before her—the way he had protected her, even if it was in his own rough manner. The Wolf Kingdom was the only place where she had felt any semblance of peace. Now, it was under siege.
Without thinking, Elira found herself walking toward Zareth's chambers. Her footsteps echoed through the silent corridors as she hesitated in front of the massive doors. Gathering her courage, she knocked softly.
"Come in," Zareth's deep voice called.
Elira entered to find him standing by the window, his back turned, his imposing figure silhouetted by the moonlight. The room was empty—he had dismissed his maids earlier that evening.
"What is it, Elira?" he asked, his voice calm yet commanding.
She hesitated, then spoke with quiet urgency. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
Zareth turned slowly, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. With a subtle gesture, he dismissed the attendants lingering outside the room. The heavy doors closed behind them, leaving an unnerving silence.
Elira stepped closer, her voice trembling. "What will it take for you to stop attacking the Wolf Kingdom?"
Zareth raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. He approached her slowly, the air between them thick with tension. "And what do you think I want, Elira?"
Her heart raced as he closed the distance between them. "I don't know… I just want this to end."
He stopped just inches from her, his voice dropping to a whisper, his tone dark and filled with hidden meaning. "What if I like you?"
The weight of his words hit her like a physical blow. Without thinking, she stepped forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss began hesitantly, but Zareth quickly took control, deepening it with raw passion. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space between them.
In one swift motion, he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the bed. The silk sheets felt cold against her back as he pinned her beneath him. His lips trailed from her mouth to her neck, his touch both demanding and restrained.
"Elira," he whispered, his voice rough and uneven, his breath warm against her skin. He captured her lips again, his kiss intense, leaving her dizzy with the sensation. His hands explored her sides, tracing the curves of her body beneath the fabric of her dress. Every touch sent a wave of heat through her.
But then, as the kiss deepened, Zareth slowed. Pulling back slightly, he studied her face with a piercing gaze. Her breath was shallow, her hands trembling against his chest.
"Elira," he murmured, his tone softer now. "You're not ready for this, are you?"
She didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Zareth pulled away, the realization hitting him hard.
He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his dark hair, his voice steady but laced with guilt. "I can't do this. Not like this." He turned to face her, his expression conflicted.
Elira sat up, clutching the sheets around her. "I don't understand you," she whispered, her voice shaky.
Zareth stood, his back turned to her as he spoke. "I'm not what you think I am. This is the first time I've ever touched someone—anyone—since my mother."
Elira's eyes widened at his confession.
Zareth chuckled darkly, though no humor touched his words. "You may think me a merciless king, but I'm no monster who preys on women. I would rather die than tarnish my honor."
She stood frozen, the confusion in her mind spiraling. The man before her was an enigma—ruthless, cold, yet with a vulnerability she couldn't quite grasp.
He took a step closer, his voice softening. "You think I attacked the wolves?" His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering. "I didn't. Believe what you will, but know this: if I wanted their kingdom destroyed, there wouldn't even be a chance for them to fight back."
With that, he turned away, his posture rigid as he walked to the window. "Go to your chambers, Elira. You're safer here than anywhere else."
Her heart ached as she left his room, his words echoing in her mind. She didn't understand him—his actions, his emotions, his contradictions. As she lay in bed that night, staring at the ornate ceiling, one question consumed her: Who, truly, is Zareth?