Moonlight Deception

In a darkling woods, a lone raven flies. Black on black a night moonless, shadow complete. Behind the gleam of his eye his mind at work. The heaviness of betrayal scratched like ink. Onward to the Alpha King.

The days of late winter had settled into a rhythm: physical training, study, reading, occasional Court amusements. The long hours of icy darkness mirrored the tiny sliver of gloom stuck fast in my soul like some psychic ache I could never be free from. I had retired early tonight with a feeling of restlessness, no… annoyance in my bones. Making my excuses at dinner had been easy. My friends Leo (the Alpha Prince), Artorius, and Pai had known me long enough to sense my desire to be alone. I usually enjoy banter over a jug of mead or recounting times past with my friends. Not tonight. I could muster barely a syllable, and, deciding I was in some ill humour, left. No one deserved my inability to be civil at work.

Stalking back to my room, I recall my first memories of this place. My grandmother and I had lived at Court since I was eight years old. My small trembling hand encased in hers, walking this same hallway. Torches burning with their wavering fire. We had arrived on a moonless night at the Castle gatehouse. One horse, two passengers. Our escape had been a headlong flight from death. Grandmother grabbed what little she could before the men and their swords came. Momentos of a life dead and gone. A few trinkets that could be sold, my favourite childhood bear and my mother's locket. It was made for my parents as a wedding present from the Alpha King himself. The front bore our family Crest wrought in exquisite detail. An enamelled red wolf on hind legs with a diamond eye. A raven of deepest obsidian in flight, an intricate key inside his beak. On the back of the locket, an inscription Amor omnia vincit. For Fenrir and Ottile on their wedding day. Wishing you both eternal happiness. With Love, Xavier (Lupus Rex).

Inside the locket lies a portrait of my parents on their wedding day. More than a decade has passed since they passed to the realm of the Moon Goddess, and it pains me still to see their faces. Mother, with her honey coloured hair, swept into a complex confection of curls adorned with flowers. Her mouth in a half-smile, her face almost in profile, as she looks at my father with utter adoration. Her eyes full of hope and promise that only youth knows. My father, on the other hand, looks directly at the artist. His jet-black hair is short but not closely cropped. His beard trimmed and well-groomed. His military bearing obvious by the square of his shoulders, his eyes sharp and assessing.

King Xavier sheltered Grandmother and me that first night and every night thereafter. When I was old enough to comprehend fully what had happened, I was told my parents and our entire Court had been killed in a coordinated attack. Family, friends, playmates forever lost. Our lands had been salted, our forests burned, our pack members dead or fled. I have happy memories of my parents, but only vague snippets remain of the attack and immediate aftermath. When we arrived on that moonless night, I remember a strong pair of arms wrapping around me, helping me from our horse. Servants quietly fetch food, drink, and warm clothes. A nine-year-old Leo roused from his bed by the commotion, quietly observing his world be upended by two refugees.

My inherited title is Lady Melroy of Blackthorne. This is the only part of my former life that still exists. I alone carry the Blackthorne name, legacy and all that comes with it. Since those terrible days, I have dedicated myself to serving the Royal family. My study of majick, endless hours of knife and combat training, scholarly pursuits, all with one goal in mind. Avenge my parents. Become a human weapon as sharp as a blade with a formidable mind. I can never reclaim what was lost to me, but I can hurt those who cost me everything. I bide my time waiting for the practitioners of the dark arts to emerge once more. When they do, I intend to be ready.

The castle was a different place at night. Quiet, yes, but not silent. The rough stones of the walls, the ancient wards of protection, the flickering torches murmuring. I politely acknowledge the castle spirits as I hurry by on my way to my chambers. My fortunate status within the household means I am in the west wing with the Royal family. Yes, I am part of the family, but also apart from it. That too is a relief, as I am ill-equipped for court life. I cannot imagine the stultifying boredom of choosing lace trim for dresses, discussing the latest gossip from the regions or entertaining drunk Alphas with wandering hands and no sense of propriety.

Creak, snick. I close my door carefully. Disrobing quickly, I change into my warm, serviceable green flannel nightgown. Strange how a familiar piece of clothing can make us feel calm and safe. The neckline has embroidered leaves and birds, done by my own hand. I run my fingers along the raised pattern. It looks simple, but I have carefully woven runes of peace and protection through my work. I use every skill I have to keep myself safe from harm.

I decide to sit in the firelight in contemplation. I pull a brown fur coverlet off my bed and wrap myself in its familiar comfort. The old leather chair squeaks in protest as I settle into it. The flames leap and twist—the golden shades darkening to orange and then red. I finally feel sleepy and content. Whatever foreboding feeling I had at dinner has dissipated. My eyes start to flicker closed, and my whole body feels languid.

A rap on the door startles me.

“Come in”

My voice comes out sounding reedy and thin. It is probably Leo who comes to wish me goodnight.

“Forgive me, Lady Melroy”.

I know that voice, and I suppress a sigh.

The King's Secretary, Albew Whitelock, stands in my doorway. Not a man I wish to see me in my nightdress. An imposing man, he seems to shrink every room he enters. I have rarely seen him in my chambers and never after dinner. Sensing my unease, he runs his hand through what is left of his ginger hair. I see a flicker of embarrassment cross his face and something else I cannot name.

He is still in his Royal purple and gold uniform. The King's order sits over his heart, mirroring a tattoo that we carry. A Rampant Wolf with teeth bared, standing over a recumbent lamb. This signifies the Royal duty to serve and protect those less powerful. Mine sits proudly just beneath my collarbone, above my heart.

“The King wishes to see you in his chambers immediately”. Whitelock says.

“He insists I wait and take you to him”.

“Very well”

I demure, schooling my face so I don’t show my annoyance and fear. I stand and grab my favourite blue robe. I doubt it will be cold in the King's chambers, but I take it anyway. I don’t want to be seen prowling the castle halls in my nightgown. Out of habit, I run my finger over the protective runes stitched unseen in the fabric.

The King's Chambers are not far from mine, but we head in the opposite direction. I don’t speak to Whitelock. I am too busy wondering what calamity has befallen us to necessitate this midnight summons.

We eventually pause outside the King's private office. The door is made of the most beautiful kauri wood from our allied packs in Aotearoa. It shines golden in the torchlight. It is more than a door. It is carved in the way handed down from generation to generation into the mists of time. These faraway packs have their own special magics and have poured that sacredness into this gift. It shows our Moon Goddess, her hands uplifted in benediction and eyes alight with love. The eyes in particular are astonishing, fashioned from the most luminescent pounamu jade. I never tire of this singular piece. It reminds me of our past and of our cherished place amongst all creatures, both day and night.

Whitelock lifts his hand and knocks once.

“Come in, Whitelock”, rumbles a voice.

Whitelock opens the door partially. I stride in, abandoning all semblance of protocol. I feel a buzz of fear bubbling up, propelling my feet forward.

Our King gets up from his desk and opens his arms to me.

“Thank you, my child, for coming so swiftly. I am sorry to have disturbed your rest”

He envelops me in a tight hug.

“Come in, Whitelock. You need to be here for this discussion also”.

Released from his hug, I bow low. “It is a pleasure to be of service, Your Majesty”. I say, finally remembering Whitelock is still watching.

As I straighten from my bow, I examine the King's face. He is an impressive man in every way. His face impassive, firm and unyielding. All angles and planes without softness. His nose is prominent set with a high bridge. And curving into an aquiline profile. His black hair, cut short in a military style, adds to his aristocratic air. His resemblance to my late father is, by turns, comforting and melancholic.

Without meaning to, I feel myself reach out my mind to read him. Gently probing just below the surface. I touch his mind like a whisper. His amusement at my efforts, and quickly, he puts up a mental wall between us. I scold myself for my own impertinence. Tonight, impatience and fear have made me impulsive.

“Sit. Both of you”.

I take the seat closest to His Majesty while Whitelock perches uncomfortably on another smaller chair slightly angled away. The King's desk is bare save a few personal keepsakes. A framed pencil sketch of the Queen, a bunch of wildflowers in a gilded vase, alongside the Royal seal and a block of purple wax. The sketch is beautifully rendered and always catches my eye. You can see the love Leo has poured into this likeness of his mother.

We sit silently for a moment or two. The King sighs and looks to the window. Outside, a black raven waits. Impassive. He opens the window, and the bird hops across the windowsill onto the desk. The raven dips his head in deference, then turns its black and golden gaze directly on me. Unnerved, I sense Whitelock shift in his seat. The atmosphere suddenly becomes tense, oppressive even.

“Hail, Raven. What news of the Eastern Kingdom?” the King asks.

The bird opens his beak and speaks directly to his Sovereign.

“Greetings, O Divine One. Alpha King Xavier. Son of the Moon Goddess herself. The instrument of her mercy and goodness in this realm and in the hereafter. Arbiter of justice, wielder of the sacred blade. Blessed are you for you are divine made flesh.

I bring news of calamity from the Eastern Kingdom. The esteemed Royal Family are under attack. Queen Aliyah’s brother has been murdered. The Queen herself is gravely ill. Crown Prince Balthazar is safe, and so are his sisters. An army of rogues is assembling on our Northern Border, and our Seer senses the darkest of blood magik at play. We beseech your assistance in protecting the Kingdom from the forces of chaos. United, we are strong. Yours in blood. King Alexander”.

We are silent for some time. Trying to make sense of what has occurred. A peaceful, prosperous Kingdom has come under attack by unknown forces. My head whirls with the possibilities and the parallels with my own fate. Could this be my chance to strike a blow against those who ruined my life? This time will be different. They have targeted a whole Kingdom and a Royal household. There would be a swift and brutal military and metaphysical response. The Alpha King must leave no doubt that the insurgents would be dealt with quickly and severely.

“Whitelock. Assemble my Generals immediately. Wake them if need be. We have no time to lose. Gather our Seers and Mages, we need to mobilise every available force.”

“Yes, my Lord”. Mutters Whitelock as he turns on his heel and strides from the room.

My mind still reeling from the terrible news, I try to ascertain the consequences and what contribution I can make. Having lost my own family, I feel for Prince Balthazar and his sisters. They are pawns in someone's power play. I suppress a shudder, thinking of the coming dangers. Dark magic is not child's play. Its exponents are greatly feared for that very reason. Generations ago, Dark and Blood Magick was outlawed in all seven Kingdoms. It seems the forces of darkness have been biding their time, waiting in the shadows for a time to strike.

The King's voice drags me back to reality

“Cara, you have a role to play in this”.

I must look uncertain, for he rushes to explain.

“ There have been whispers for some weeks that the Crown Prince was in danger. He is the heir to the throne and very popular amongst his people. If the King should die, Prince Balthazar could effectively mobilise the army and the population in his stead. That is why we need you.”

“Need me, how my lord? “

It is my turn to feel ill at ease, and the weight of the King's gaze pins me to the chair. I study his face and notice a tightness in his jaw and around his eyes.

’ King Alexander has sent his son to Valeria Academy in Lyria. The school have been told that the Prince is to study Diplomacy, Wolf history, Genealogy, combat and warfare. He is under a false name and identity. His Beta Aaron accompanies him.

I am sending you into the Academy to find and shadow the Prince. Gather any intelligence you can, neutralise any threats, and, above all, protect him. You are the right age to study at Valeria, and no one will question your presence. It is imperative for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms that the Prince live to ascend the throne. We cannot succumb to the forces of darkness again”.

“Indeed, my lord, we cannot. I commit to do all in my power to ensure the Prince does not meet the same fate as my parents”

“Cara, that is commendable. I wish you to understand that you mean a great deal to me and to Leo. I would not ask this great sacrifice of you unless it was of the utmost importance”

I straighten my posture and, with more confidence than I feel, I reply, “I accept this assignment, my King. I pray I am worthy of your esteem.”

“I know you will succeed, Cara, you have been training for this your whole life”.

I stand and bow my head. “I shall pack now and leave at first light, my lord”.

“Thank you, my child. May the Goddess bless this endeavour”.

And with that, I take my leave.