The Wicked Werewolf Prince

6. Tensions by the Riverside Feast

[MAGNUS]

The night unfolds along the riverbank, the candlelit table casting a warm glow on the faces of the gathered ministers. They dine on the delicacies that are brought in — a roasted boar, its succulent flesh still sizzling — golden carrots, ruby-red beets, and emerald-green asparagus—arranged artfully on silver platters.

Plates of venison flank the boar, the meat tender and juicy. They are accompanied by bowls of honey-glazed root vegetables—parsnips, and turnips glistening in the candlelight. A spread of artisanal bread, crusty and warm, sits alongside an assortment of cheeses and honeycomb. Flaky tarts stuffed with spiced fruits and nuts, their edges dusted with powdered sugar.

The clinking of tankards and the hum of conversation fills the air, but I keep my ears glued to the sound of anything going amiss.

"The Prince never fails to deliver a feast!" calls out Lord Reynard, laughing as he raises his glass of wine. He's already quite drunk, barely keeping himself on the chair. "This is so much better than the wedding dinner. Ah-ha!"

He then proceeds to smash his glass on the table — likely forgetting it's not a tankard — causing curses to erupt from Lord Hylas. Some ministers laugh, others shake their heads in disappointment.

Well, at least they're having fun. Which is not something I can say for Elara.

She's sitting quietly, her fingers holding the fork and knife that delicately cut and tear at the little food she allowed to be served. Her eyes are lowered at all times, except when she hears people pass comments about her pack's hospitality — or lack thereof.

She doesn't seem like the same woman that fumed at me earlier by the pier. She looks innocent now. Completely harmless.

'Fuck you,' her whispered words echo in my mind.

I've discovered more about her in half a day than I ever intended to for the rest of my life. I only tried to be honest with her — no false hopes or dreams she could hold on to for our future. I don't know what she expected me to be. Clearly, she wasn't expecting me to fall to my knees and beg for her to love me back.

Maybe it is my fault. I probably overplayed the charming prince role at the wedding. Something none of them expected me to be.

They were expecting an ugly, twisted, hideous man — the rumors my uncle helped spread. So I gave them just that. Just to shove it into their face that they had been played for fools.

I won't deny it: I loved the looks that crossed their faces. It warmed my cruel heart. In fact, I can't wait for the news to reach my uncle's ears while he's engrossed in his wars. That'll piss him off. He might just get distracted in the battlefield and take a silver ax to his head.

My eyes move to Alistair at the thought, and find him already watching me. He gives me a subtle nod, and I raise an eyebrow in acknowledgment. I know I can trust him with my life. He has proved his loyalty enough times already. My hand still reaches for the hilt of my sword for reassurance as my eyes glance around the table, taking in the familiar faces. The question forms within my mind: who among these men could be a traitor?

Elara sighs, finally putting down her knife and fork. She traces her finger along the rim of the wine glass, thinking deeply.

"Didn't like the food?" I ask her, taking another bite of the venison.

She passes me a sharp look before she composes herself. "Too good for my liking."

I think I can work with this attitude. It's better that she hates me than hope for anything nice.