The Wolf's Queen Vows

Chapter 18: The Courting Gift

Aveloria didn’t sleep much that night. Her mind replayed the argument between Marek and his father, the sharp words exchanged like blows. She could still hear Eldric’s voice echoing in her head, harsh and commanding, reminding her of the same power-hungry tone he’d once used in her past life. And Marek, the way he’d stood there, trying to defend himself, swearing he loved her for who she was. It was too familiar, too close to the nightmare she thought she’d escaped by being reborn.

As she sat by the window in her chamber, morning light spilling softly through the curtains, she turned the note over in her hands again. The edges were uneven and carved roughly, and the letters were deep and angular, if they could even be called that. They weren’t written in any familiar script she knew. The markings looked like claw strokes, deliberate and ancient.

She’d spent hours trying to make sense of it. Every time she stared at the carved symbols, her heart thudded uneasily. Her wolf, still dormant but occasionally stirring in restless waves, growled within her.

It wasn’t just the note or Marek’s words that unsettled her; it was the feeling that fate was starting to close its grip again. The same patterns were forming, the same traps, but in different shapes.

When the morning bell rang across the palace, calling servants and guards to their daily duties, Aveloria rose. She had made up her mind. She would go to the old library, her mother’s library.

It wasn’t a place she liked visiting. The last time she had set foot there, she’d been a child following her mother’s soft voice as she read aloud from scrolls. The scent of parchment and sage had always clung to her mother’s clothes. Going back there felt like walking through a wound that hadn’t healed. But she needed answers. freewebnovel.cσ๓

The library was tucked behind the palace’s west wing, hidden beneath an arch of stone and ivy. When she entered, dust floated through the air like ghosts. The shelves were packed with books bound in leather, their spines faded with age. Scrolls lined the higher sections, some rolled tight with wax seals, others loosely tied.

She lit a lantern and began searching through the rows.

"Old scripts...ancient runes..." she muttered, scanning labels. Most were about history, spell books, herbal medicine, or the early royal bloodlines. Then she found a small chest at the corner of the room, near where her mother used to sit. Inside were a few scrolls tied in red string, labeled in an older hand.

She untied one and unrolled it slowly. Her heart thudded as her eyes landed on the header—"Wolf-Runes of the Old Blood."

Aveloria knelt on the floor and spread the scroll beside the note she had brought. Her fingers traced the markings, comparing the shapes. Some of them matched the harsh diagonals and the slanted hooks. She found one roughly translated to "mark" or "chosen." Another that seemed to mean "moon." The last few were harder, fragmented.

Aveloria frowned. "The chosen of the moon...?" she whispered.

Before she could go further, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, heavy boots. Voices of soldiers carried through the open archway. She froze, extinguishing the lantern.

"...He came through the east gate this morning," one soldier said. "Fifty men with him. Moon-steel blades, every one of them."

"Fifty?" another said, chuckling. "A courting gift fit for the gods. You’d think he was trying to win the throne, not her heart."

Aveloria’s stomach tightened. Theron.

It had been a while since she’d seen him last; at the dinner, everything had spiraled into fist, curse, and chaos. Theron had always carried himself with quiet command, like someone who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. If he were back and with the warriors, he was ready to make his claim again. To have her visit his people.

The soldiers continued, oblivious to her presence.

"I bet she’ll keep the Beta," one said, chuckling. "That one looks like he can protect her, and he’s got charm enough to melt half the kingdom."

"Nah," another replied. "The rogue’s got a chance. He’s dangerous. Women like danger."

"Or maybe the gold brat," a third snorted. "That one will buy her crown if he can’t earn it."

The first laughed again. "She’ll need one of them to rule. But she’ll have to crush the others to keep the peace. Mark my words, one of those bonds will destroy her."

Their voices faded as they moved toward the outer court. Aveloria stood still for a long time, her pulse drumming in her ears.

It shouldn’t have mattered what soldiers said in passing gossip. But their words sliced deeper than she wanted to admit. The thought of her mates, Theron, Marek, Galen, Lucien, each waiting, each claiming, each carrying some version of truth or deceit, was suffocating.

She gathered the notes, scrolled them, and placed them inside her sleeve. Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed open the door and stepped out into the courtyard.

Aveloria rushed to the barracks to confirm what was happening to Theron. As she passed different areas, it felt different today—louder, alive with whispers and the clang of steel. From the upper view, she could see them: a procession of armored warriors entering the courtyard, their armor catching the sun. At their head was Theron.

He dismounted his horse with practiced ease, removing his gloves as he spoke to the guards. His hair was tied back, and his expression was calm but focused. He looked every inch the warrior lord his reputation carried.

Aveloria found herself watching longer than she intended. Something in her chest tightened at the familiarity of his movements and calm certainty. Theron had never been one to speak in riddles or play games. That had been his greatest strength.

He looked up suddenly, his gaze cutting across the courtyard, landing right where she stood on the terrace.

Their eyes met. For a second, everything stilled. The noise faded.

Then he nodded once, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth, respectful, acknowledging, but also personal. It made her chest feel heavy with emotions she didn’t want to name.

She turned quickly and headed toward her chambers, needing air, needing distance.

***************

By midday, the palace was buzzing with news of Theron’s return. Servants hurried between wings, setting up for what everyone assumed would be a formal reception that evening. Aveloria spent most of the day in the smaller courtyard, trying to train her mind as much as her body, forcing herself to stay grounded.

But her focus kept slipping. Every time she swung her dagger or adjusted her stance, flashes of last night, Marek’s eyes, the pain in his voice, and Eldric’s greed kept surfacing.

When she finally paused to catch her breath, she noticed Galen watching her from the entrance. He must have returned from drills. His arms were crossed, and his expression was unreadable.

"You’re distracted," he said.

She didn’t answer immediately. "Just tired."

He walked closer, handing her a water flask. "You don’t look tired. You look troubled."

Aveloria drank, avoiding his gaze. "A lot is happening."

"That’s not new," he said quietly. "But you’ve changed since last week. Something’s pulling you apart inside. Is it Marek?"

She glanced up sharply, but his tone wasn’t accusing. It was concerned.

"I heard the rumors," Galen continued. "Half the palace talks about his father pressuring him into the throne."

"They’re not rumors," she said softly. "I heard it myself."

Galen’s jaw tightened. "And what did he say?" freeweɓnovel.cѳm

"That he loved me," she replied. "That he wasn’t marrying me for power."

"And you believed him?"

Her silence was answer enough.

Galen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You want to believe people are better than they are. That’s not weakness, Aveloria, but it’s dangerous in this court."

She turned toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. "And what about you? Should I believe you’re any different?"

He met her gaze steadily. "I don’t ask you to believe anything. I ask you to see me."

The quiet between them stretched. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "If you need help, if something feels wrong, you don’t have to face it alone."

Her throat tightened. "You sound like you know something."

"I know enough," he said. "Enough to see when someone’s lying to themselves."

Before she could respond, a loud horn echoed from the upper courtyard. Both of them turned.

"Theron’s arrival feast," Galen said flatly. "Looks like the games are beginning again."

Aveloria looked toward the direction of the sound, the same uneasy pressure building in her chest. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

"I know," he said quietly. "But you’re still the center of it."

He gave a short nod and left her standing in the quiet.

Later that night, the palace glowed with torchlight, and drums and music echoed through the halls. But she wasn’t interested in watching whatever was happening in the courtyard. Aveloria stood at her window, her mind still tangled between memory and duty.

The scroll from the morning lay open on her table beside the note. She’d deciphered a few more words, enough to understand one phrase clearly: "When the moon’s chosen stands at the center of four, blood will rise again."

She swallowed hard. It was part of the prophecy. And maybe a warning.

Aveloria closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.