The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

TRAINING

Mora bids Laren farewell with a heavy heart; she watches from the stairs of the castle until he fades in the distance, disappearing down the public road. Turning to Irving, she offers a half smile before retreating back into the castle. Slowly, they make their way to the large throne room as she explains the ideals and virtues that she would consider necessary for a King.

“The way you speak of it reminds me of your father,” Irving says thoughtfully as they spend time examining the paintings of the previous royalty adorning the walls.

“That is exactly what I am trying to encompass; since everything Irron was, was horrible, I am attempting to teach you what it would be like to become a Derven King.” Her eyes are fixed on the portrait of her mother, seeing her almost harsh, pointed face, deep dark hair and bright green eyes. Her eyes, most definitely, remind her of those in Sceadu. When she finally pulls her gaze away, she realizes that Irving is staring at her.

He seems flustered for a moment, something that he has done well to keep locked down over the past day, “I am sorry, Namora, I didn’t mean to stare,” he averts his gaze, skirting around her to look at another painting, “I can hardly imagine that if I did agree to this, that I would be able to rule Alumenia on my own.”

She nods slowly, following him, “Advisor Laren will remain with you until the dust has cleared; he is a good judge of character and it is my hope he will be able to find an Alumenian trustworthy enough to become your own Advisor.”

Irving’s gaze drops from the painting to the floor; he draws in a breath and glances sideways at her, “That isn’t quite what I meant, Namora.”

It takes her a moment to discern his words; when she does, her heart begins to pound fast and she can feel her face almost flush, barely able to stammer out anything, “Oh.”

He stares at the floor, speaking to it though his posture is commanding, his hands elegantly clasped behind his back, “I realize that it is very sudden-we haven’t known each other for more than a few days, but when I am with you, I feel like I am-like I am home. Your presence puts me at ease in a way that I have never felt before. I can hardly imagine anyone less than a King would be worthy of your affections or I wouldn’t have bothered saying anything. I know your fears of Sceadu and Geofen banning together; it seems the logical thing for them to do, now that they realize what a force Derven is. I hate the idea that Irron tried to force the alliance between Alumenia and Derven, but perhaps… perhaps it was more strategic than we’ve attributed to him.”

Mora is utterly shocked; to hide her surprise, she turns her back towards him, trying to gather her thoughts. She admits to herself that she is very attracted to him-the effect he has on her is the same one as Rick. Whereas Rick is strong and naturally powerful, Irving is innately kind and thoughtful. An ache hits her, when she realizes that perhaps Irving wouldn’t want her if he knew she already gave her body to Rick-she chastises herself for giving into her carnal desire outside of marriage. If she does not marry Rick, she is ruined. Drawing in a deep breath, his words hit her with a realization, “Are you saying that you would become the King of Alumenia, if I agreed to be Queen?”

His voice is right behind her, she can almost feel his breath on her neck, “I am saying, Namora, that I as the King of Alumenia, would like you to be my Queen.”

Slowly, she turns around, taking care to leave her face blank; she lets her anger spark a flame inside, finding his eyes. He is mere inches from her, “Am I to assume that this is a conditional offer? You would barter the throne for my hand, either you get both or neither?”

He looks genuinely surprised, “I would never do such a thing, Namora.” He reaches down and takes her hand into his, bringing the back up to his lips, “I will go with you to Geofen and I will claim my birthright regardless-however, I cannot deny the way that you make me feel.”

Her heart leaps into her throat at the touch though her mind reels at the now impossible decision before her. “And if I were to decline? If I took another as my King?”

Staring at her hand, he strokes the back of it, placing another kiss before gently letting it go, “Then I would count myself lucky to view you as my sister and hope to form a bond between our nations regardless.” He is silent for a moment, before speaking softly, “A blind man could see Prince Varickan’s feelings for you, Namora. I was hoping that I had a chance because you are still eating bread.”

Drawing in a deep breath to respond, she is cut off by the knocking sound on the door. Franklin tentatively peeks his head in, bowing deeply when Mora turns to him, “I am sorry to interrupt, Queen Namora. If I could have a brief word?”

Irving takes the hint and slowly walks down the length of the throne room, admiring the paintings while Mora approaches Franklin, “What is it?”

He frowns slightly, “Amyee…”

Mora’s brows crumple, “Is she all right?” Mora didn’t see any injuries on her after the battle, but it has been a few days since then and she hasn’t had the chance to sneak away from the castle to visit.

“The man who was courting her,” Franklin says softly, “perished in the battle. She has not been herself since then. I was hoping that if you had a moment or two to spare, you could spend some time with her?”

Her heart aches for her friend, “Of course. I will visit her this evening.”

“Good, then I can go with you.”

“I’d prefer to do it alone, Franklin,” Mora says, “she is no doubt in need of a good cry and I don’t think having her older brother within earshot will offer any comfort.”

He shifts slightly, “I am not comfortable with the idea of you not having a guard.”

“In my own land?” She says, surprised.

“Anywhere,” he replies, “we almost lost our Princess once, we did lose our King-we cannot risk our Queen.”

She sighs, “Perhaps you could bring her here then to stay for a few days. It would be nice to have someone… female, to talk to.”

He huffs a laugh, “Sari does not count, I suppose, as she would rather fight than talk. I will have someone gather Amyee; if it is agreeable, I could get her here by lunch?”

Her posture slumps a little, “Lunch? In an hour? Is she really that bad off, Franklin?”

All he replies with is a sad smile.

“Right away then,” Mora nods, dismissing him. When she returns to Irving, she is thankful that he doesn’t bring up their previous discussion. Instead, they pick up where they left off.

Soon enough, midday arrives and they find themselves walking down the hall towards the small dining room. When Mora pulls her gaze away from Irving, she sees Amyee approaching them. Though Amyee cautiously eyes Irving, she curtseys to Mora.

Mora sighs, drawing Amyee into a warm hug when she rises. Amyee swallows hard, wrapping her arms around her and the two embrace for a while. Finally, Mora pulls away, gently stroking her friend’s face, “I’m sorry, Amyee. I should have known-if I had, I would have come sooner.”

Amyee sniffles with a smile, “You have more important things to do than to look after me, Queen Namora.”

Tenderly she kisses her friend’s forehead, “You will stay here for a few days with me. Now, come, let me introduce you-this is Irving. Irving, this is my dear friend Amyee.”

Irving bows deeply, offering a kind smile, “It is nice to make your acquaintance, Amyee.”

Amyee offers him a curtsey, surprised by his formalness, “As it is to make yours, Irving.”

“Let us eat some lunch,” Mora says, walking into the room first, Amyee’s arm tucked into hers.

When she sits at the head of the table, Irving sits to her right, Amyee to her left. They start filling their plates when Eric enters the room. He is followed by Lucas, Sari, and lastly Rick.

It is Eric who offers a bow, “We were wondering, Queen Namora, if we could join you for lunch?”

Mora clenches her jaw tight, staring right into his bright green eyes; she has no issue with her three friends joining them, but is wary of having Rick in the same room as Irving after his outburst yesterday. The only time she saw him remotely like that before, was when he discovered she was engaged to Irron-and he broke her shoulder out of rage. She knows how brutal and violent he can be without his wits about him.

“Of course,” Irving’s pleasant voice comes as a surprise to all of them, “It would be a pleasure to have your company.”RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

Shocked, Mora looks at Irving. All he does is offer her a brilliant smile before returning his attention to pouring some wine for them both. She huffs a snort, motioning her hand outward, “By all means.”

Smartly, Eric takes the seat next to Irving; Mora realizes he does so in order to put him in a position to protect the man. When Amyee hesitates and starts to rise, realizing that she is sitting where the Prince should, he stops her.

“Please, miss, stay,” he offers a soft smile before sitting beside her, followed by Lucas.

Sari stalks over to sit next to Eric, drawing Mora’s attention when she sees her outfit, “I am pleased to see that you look lovely in a dress, Sari.”

Sari purses her lips, glancing up at Mora, “Thank you. I will admit, the dresses in Derven are more comfortable than I thought one would be. A far cry from the fashion of Sceadu.”

The laugh escapes her throat musically before she can stop it, “I’d hardly call the things women wear in Sceadu a dress. We are much more practical than women like Rebecca and Fanny.”

The thought of it brings a smile to Sari’s lips, “Yes, that is most definitely the truth.”

Franklin slips in with a bow, before sitting at the far end of the table. He gives a lingering look at Sari, earning him a scowl from the woman-it brings a smile to Mora’s face.

“I know the dressmaker in town,” Amyee says, eyeing Sari, “perhaps this winter we can go visit her and have a few more made.”

Sari tenses a little, staring down at her plate. She doesn’t reply, but Mora picks up the conversation, speaking to Amyee, “Yes, we will have to get a hunting dress made for her.”

When Sari looks up, she glances from Mora, to Amyee, to Franklin, “A hunting dress?”