The Wolf's Queen Vows

Chapter 33: The Low-Born

The sun was beginning to dip behind the black ridges surrounding Aurevulf Lands. The air smelled of smoke from the forges that never stopped burning. Rogues walked the paths that cut through the settlement, warriors, traders, and mercenaries who answered only to their king.

Lucien walked toward the most prominent building, making his way to the hall, his steps steady but his jaw tight. His father, the Rogue King, Orion, summoned him, which meant it wasn’t a request. It never was.

Inside the hall, the room was bare of any luxury except the throne carved from ironwood at the far end, which had a wolf pelt. Orion sat there, broad-shouldered and intimidating. His golden eyes, the mark of a true Rogue King, didn’t soften when they landed on Lucien.

Lucien bowed slightly out of respect. "You called for me."

Orion’s voice was deep and steady. "I did. Sit."

Lucien stayed standing. "I prefer to stand."

Orion’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. "You’ve been spending too much time outside the Lands. You hunt Wanderers, chase your own fights, and forget where you belong." He said.

"I haven’t forgotten," Lucien said. "I just don’t belong here."

"That’s not your decision," Orion snapped. "You are my son and will do as I command."

Lucien clenched his jaw. "I know what you want to talk about. And if it’s about Aveloria, I’m not going to—"

Orion cut him off. "You will. The union between you and the Heiress could change everything. It will end the divide between the Rogues and the Lycanthrian Kingdom. You think I can ignore that?"

Lucien’s gaze hardened. "You want me to use her."

"I want you to lead," Orion corrected. "This bond could bring peace after decades of bloodshed."

"It’s not peace if it’s built on a bond that isn’t free," Lucien said. "I won’t turn her into a political tool just because you want power."

Orion leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "You think this is about me wanting power? You have no idea what it means to rule, boy. You act like a free spirit, chasing fights, sleeping under the stars, pretending the world isn’t bleeding."

"I don’t pretend," Lucien said sharply. "I’ve seen more death out there than most of your generals. I fight Wanderers because no one else will. I do it because it matters, not because of a title."

Orion exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "You sound like your mother," he muttered. "Always chasing purpose in the wrong places."

Lucien’s hand tightened at his side. "Leave her out of this."

"She was a good woman," Orion continued, ignoring his son’s glare. "But she believed love could make a man forget who he was. It couldn’t. And it won’t for you either."

Lucien’s voice dropped. "Maybe that’s because you never let her try."

The king’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond. For a long moment, silence hung between them.

Then Orion stood, his height still commanding even with the weight of age. "I won’t ask again. The Heiress is your mate. That bond was written by the Moon herself. Stop pretending you can run from it. Focus on her, claim her, and secure what’s ours."

Lucien’s shoulders stiffened. "You want me to outshine her other mates. To prove something."

"Yes," Orion said plainly. "You’re a rogue. That’s how we survive, by being stronger than those who look down on us."

Lucien met his father’s eyes. "I’m not trying to prove anything. I don’t need to be better than them. I need to be myself."

Orion gave a humorless laugh. "You think that’s enough in this world? You’re a fool."

Lucien didn’t answer.

The king’s tone softened slightly, though his face stayed stern. "I don’t hate you, Lucien. But I can’t treat you like the others."

Orion sees his younger self in Lucien, too proud, too stubborn. He doesn’t want to watch Lucien lose himself the way he almost did.

Lucien hesitated, hearing a trace of concern beneath the authority. But Orion didn’t show emotion easily and wasn’t about to start now.

The older man said, "You’ve been chasing Wanderers for months. You come back with wounds, half-alive, and never tell me why. You don’t even know what you’re fighting for anymore."

Lucien’s eyes lowered. "Maybe I don’t," he admitted quietly. "But it’s still better than fighting for power I don’t believe in."

Orion sighed, his patience running thin. "If you keep going this way, you’ll lose yourself to darkness. The Wanderers pull men in, twisting their purpose until they forget who they are."

"I’m not afraid of darkness," Lucien said.

"You should be," Orion warned. "Because once it takes you, there’s no coming back."

"Are we done?" Lucien turned toward the door, unwilling to say more.

"For now," Orion said. "But think carefully about your choices. You can’t fight the world forever."

Lucien gave a short nod and left the hall. The heavy doors shut behind him with a low thud that echoed through the corridor.

Outside was filled with the distant growl of training wolves. Lucien started down the steps, his mind restless. His father’s words replayed in his head, but he pushed them aside.

He barely made it halfway through the courtyard before a familiar voice cut through the dark.

"Well, if it isn’t our precious low-born prince," one of his brothers sneered.

Lucien stopped. Six men stood in his path, all his half-brothers, the legitimate sons of Orion. They were older, taller, dressed in fine leathers bearing the Rogue King’s crest.

The one who had spoken was Damon, the eldest, who stepped forward, arms crossed. "What did Father say this time? Trying to convince you to stop pretending you matter?"

Lucien didn’t rise to it. "Move."

But another brother, Ryn, circled him like a wolf. "We heard everything," he said with a grin. "You really think the Heiress will choose you over a real-born Alpha? The Beta? Or the Gold Brat? You’re delusional."

Lucien’s jaw flexed. "You were eavesdropping?"

"Of course," Damon said casually. "We had to hear how far the bastard son would go to embarrass the family."

Lucien’s eyes darkened. "Say that again."

Ryn stepped closer, his smirk cruel. "Bastard. Low-born. The son of a maid who thought she could crawl into the King’s bed and make herself important."

Lucien’s fists clenched at his sides.

Another brother, Calum, laughed. "Don’t waste your energy. He’s not worth it. Let him keep chasing his little adventures. It keeps him out of real battles."

Lucien’s gaze shifted between them. "You talk about real battles, but none have faced the Wanderers. None of you has seen what’s outside these walls."

"Because we don’t waste our time on pointless causes," Dorian said sharply.

"We fight for the kingdom, not for ghosts," Damon added.

Lucien took a step closer. "You fight for the chance to please Father. I fight for something that actually matters."

Ryn shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble. "You think you’re better than us? You’re nothing. You’ll always be the mistake Father tries to forget."

Lucien straightened slowly. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths. He didn’t look angry, just tired. "You’re right," he said quietly. "I am a mistake. But I’ve learned how to survive because of it. And that’s something you’ll never understand."

He turned to leave, but Damon blocked his path. "You think survival makes you strong?" he asked coldly.

"It just makes you desperate." Calum let out a mock laugh.

Lucien met his gaze. "Maybe. But it also makes me free."

For a second, neither moved. Then Damon laughed and stepped aside, his voice mocking. "Run along then, brother. Go pretend you’re saving the world."

Lucien didn’t look back. He walked past them, his shoulders squared, even as their laughter followed him.

He made his way toward the cliffs beyond the settlement, where the air was cleaner and quieter. Lucien sat down on one of the boulders, staring at the horizon. From here, he could see the distant outline of the forest that marked the edge of Lycanthria, her kingdom.

Aveloria.

He thought of her more than he wanted to admit. He saw how her eyes softened when she trusted him, how she hid her pain behind control. He could still feel the echo of their bond, faint but discernible.

Orion wanted him to claim her for power, and his brothers wanted him to fail for their pride. But Lucien wanted neither. He wanted to be seen for who he was, not as a rogue, low-born, or mistake.

He thought of his mother, the quiet woman who used to hum to herself while mending torn clothes. She had loved his father deeply, but her love had never been enough. The court had mocked her, called her a whore, weak, and eventually, she had faded away.

Lucien had been young, but he remembered the look in her eyes, the same mixture of love and regret that made him swear never to depend on anyone again. That was why commitment scared him. Love, in his experience, always came with pain and loss.

But Aveloria was different. She wasn’t fragile or dependent. She was strong, stronger than most men he’d met. And yet, around her, he felt something that terrified him more than any battle: belonging.

He hated the word. Belonging meant expectations, and expectations always led to disappointment.

Still, he couldn’t ignore what their bond stirred in him. It wasn’t just attraction; it was connection, something more profound that called him back to her, no matter how far he went.

He exhaled slowly and looked up at the moon. "You really like making things complicated," he muttered.

From behind, footsteps approached. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Zephyrion, his friend.

"You never listen, do you?" Zephyrion said, his tone half-mocking, half-curious.

Lucien didn’t move. "You followed me."

"Yes. I saw your brothers. They say you’re wasting your life. I think you’re just afraid."

Lucien finally turned to look at him. "Afraid of what?"

"Of being part of something real," Zephyrion said. "You run from every chance to belong because you think you’ll get hurt again."

Lucien stared at him for a long moment, surprised by the unexpected truth in his words. "Maybe," he admitted. "But at least I’m honest about it."

Zephyrion smirked. "Honesty doesn’t make you strong."

Lucien stood. "No. But pretending doesn’t either."

"Lucien—"

He walked past Zephyrion without a word.

"Off to chase the wanderers again?" Zephyrion called out but got no response.

By the time Lucien returned to his quarters, the fires in the courtyard had dimmed. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. His father’s voice echoed in his mind.

He didn’t know what would happen with Aveloria, the bond, and the Wanderers. But one thing was sure: running had never solved anything. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and whispered, "I’ll handle it my way."