"Three hundred years ago, the people of the lands were engaged in a Great War. There was famine and violence. The people suffered greatly as the noble houses of the realm fought for overall leadership.” The firelight danced in my father’s eyes as he began to weave his story. On Saturday nights we would BBQ and sit around the fire pit and tell stories. “The people of the realm struggled to feed their children as the fields of the realm burned with the bodies of fallen men. The alphas of each house had become corrupt and only cared about their own selfish needs. After centuries of the packs governing as a panel to fulfill the needs of the people, it had warped into padding the wealth of the alpha at the expense of all others. This of course led to a gridlock on the panel. Absolutely nothing could be agreed upon.” He leaned in closer to the fire and the flames danced in the center of us. “It became common place to kill alphas and their children and install new alphas in the hopes of ga
It’s hard to remember a time without hunger and hardship. Working my fingers to the bone and eating scraps. “Ceres!” My mother bellowed. “Ceres, come here this instant!”My body ached as I rose from the floor. It was Tuesday, which meant scrubbing the kitchen floors. My life was a series of chores, an endless routine both mundane and exhausting. Repetitive. I dried my hands on my apron and ran towards my mother’s impatient calls. “Yes, ma’am?” I quietly said with my eyes averted. I didn’t dare look her in the eyes. “We will have guests tonight. Keep Dmitry out of sight.” She says his name like she is spitting a curse. “Dinner is to be ready promptly at 7, service for 7.” It’s almost as if saying his name causes her physical discomfort. “Dinner must follow the menu I left in the dining room. I also left a menu for the next morning’s breakfast. Maristela is in charge of the table settings and will aid you in service this evening. All the footman will be prepared to serve. All the ma
Five years ago, mother married Osiris. He took my father’s title as Alpha of the Harvest Moon Pack. Tradition dictates that any children of a deceased alpha are to be exiled upon the eldest child's 18th birthday moon ceremony. The eldest child may challenge the current alpha for the title instead of accepting exile. To challenge an alpha is to fight to the death. So tradition says I choose exile for myself and Dmitry, or I probably die fighting Osiris. I never imagined that this would be my life. I have accepted that in two months my moon ceremony will happen. The moon ceremony is the first full moon after your 18th birthday. This is when your mate is most visible to your wolf. A kingdom wide ball is held and each person who recently turned 18 is introduced to the entire kingdom of wolves that are of age and without mates. This is really the only time you are able to see all the packs of the realm. Many find their mates at the ball. If I find my mate I can take my place in society.
I scanned the menu. Most of the items were already in the pantry, but a few would require a trip to town. I had developed my skills as a cook over these last six years. It was part of my earning my keep. It was something I actually enjoyed. Taking the foods harvested from the garden and from the farm and turning them into delicious meals brought me so much joy. I reveled in creating new delights. These items must be the favorite of the crown prince and his family. Royal tastes are so pretentious. I much prefer a simple meal of bread and stew. These menus do allow me to practice my cooking skills so I appreciate them for that. “How late do you think we will be working tonight?” Groaned Maristela. Maristela was my best and only friend. She was an omega by birth and worked the kitchens along side me all these years. “Does work ever end?” I ask. “I heard the the Crown Prince was coming tonight. Alpha is hoping to pair Horus with his daughter. They are barely 6. It’s ridiculous.”
“These linens must be pressed! Everything must be perfectly crisp and clean!” The Luna was storming around the dining room. Her hair was in curlers and she was dressed in a dressing robe. “Y-yes ma’am!” Maristela stammered. Mari quickly pulled the linens from the table to steam and press them in the laundry. The Luna began to sort through the various flowers. Dahlias, hellebores, hydrangeas, snapdragons, foxgloves, English roses, peonies. Greenery like different varieties of eucalyptus and belles of Ireland. As a young girl I used to run through the gardens on the estate finding the most beautiful blooms for my mother. My father and I would take long walks around the vast estate feeding the chickens, fishing the ponds, and picking bouquets of flowers for my mother. “Not a single bloom is as beautiful as you, my love,” he would croon. My mothers face would light up like the sun was shining from within her. She gazed at my father like he hung the moon. She was so beautiful then.
Everything was prepared for the arrival of the Crown Prince and his family. Mother insisted that Mari and I wear formal clothing for service. I hated the crisp button up white shirt and bow tie. The patent leather shoes squeaked as I walked. Mari and I were like two formal penguins suited for service. Formal enough to blend into the background and not cause any unwanted attention. My mother looked ravishing. She wore a formal gown the color of newly sprouted wheat. The green shimmered as she moved. The fabric was like liquid silk flowing over her body as if the dress could only ever be worn by her. It was simple in design. It was a cowl neck sheath dress with a slight cinch at her tiny waist. Her slender arms were on display. Despite being from a pack that harvested the fields, her skin was untouched by the sun. It was milky and smooth. There was deep scoop in the back of the gown showing her perfectly slender back. A delicate gold chain hung at her back and a large emerald hung bet
The bell rang in the kitchen signifying course one was to be served. Consommé. It was a simple dish if you only judged by ingredients. Meat. Bones. Mirepoix. Herbs from the garden. Peppercorns. Stock. Egg Whites. It was extravagant in its proportions and wastefulness. Numerous egg whites, pounds of meat and bones, plus all the bones and meat used to make the original stock, vegetables and herbs; all to end up with a perfectly crystal clear broth. After adding all these things you then meticulously strain the broth. Discarding all the meat, vegetables, eggs, and herbs. This discard will make a mighty meal for Dmitry and I tonight. We are lucky. Not many slaves or omegas from the pack get to eat such fresh meat. There is a definite divide between the nobles and omegas. Omegas would never dream of making consommé. It’s so time consuming and wasteful, which is what makes it a food emblematic of wealth and privilege. I push these thoughts from my mind. Instead, I take my tasting sp
Salmon didn’t swim this far south. The fish had to be sourced from the cold rivers in the Cresent Moon Pack territory. The fish come in from the sea to lay their eggs each year. This of course makes them an expensive luxury. That makes it an excellent choice for a royal dinner. Each pack sourced and produced goods. A large percentage are paid to the crown as tax. It is by the grace of his majesty that we occupy our pack lands. Somehow, even though our ancestors have worked this land for centuries, the Crown owns all the land and minerals of the realm. We should feel lucky that the crown shares our harvest with us— even though it is our labor that creates the food. What we have remaining we can trade and barter with other packs in the realm. I wonder how many bushels of grain this meal cost. How many families of this realm have less so that the royal family can eat fish in a territory that does not naturally have it?The crown was currently worn by King Amon. Prince Joaquim has been n
It was as if Asteria’s memory played out on a screen in front of me. I’m a captive audience, cordoned off in a far off corner of my mind. Separated from my body but still aware of what is happening. The scene from Theia’s point of view also playing out, oddly disconnected from me, padded feet to forest floor the smell of earth and water. The dirt flecked in her fur and her nose pressed to the earth inhaling its aroma. Asteria’s trauma unfolds before me, almost happening to me, although the screams are not my own. The hunger in his eyes. The manic rage. His whip. My feelings are not entirely my own, it is as if I am Asteria in this experience. “Prince Aares.” I say in a voice that is not my own. A memory of an event I never experienced, yet vividly recall. This isn’t real, yet, I can feel his whip biting and tearing my skin. I can feel the blood snaking down the back of my thighs. The warm ooze somehow soothing the stinging pain. My back flayed open. His scent coats my skin like an
“May the Goddess anoint you with her love and bless you with your dreams.” “We give our devotion to the Goddess!” My mate and I reply. The priestesses are all around us. Their voices echoing off the walls of the cave, it’s impossible to tell how many are speaking as the voices echo around us. Our naked bodies only inches away from one another as we stand in the pool, his intoxicating scent masked by the abundance of minerals in the spring. “We ask our Goddess to cleanse you of all your impurities. Remove any malice from your hearts.” The priestesses chant around us. My body feels drawn to him. The urge I have to touch him is overwhelming, to just feel his skin pressed against mine. Any doubts I have floating away the second I am near him. I look ahead to the priestesses. I do not dare look at him in all his glory. One glance at him may be what breaks the dam holding back my urges, my last vestige of control. “Tonight, you are to shift into your true nature. The greatest trea
“The Mountain stands, unmoving— never wavering, rooted deeply into the soil.” The Queen begins, seated behind me on a small chair, her gown spilling out of the narrow seat displaying the sheer volume of fabric she seems to carry so effortlessly. Monica is plaiting my hair for the first ceremony. An intricate pattern of different braids joined together and fastened with a plain rag tie matching my temple dress. “The Wind with her sons raging across the lands, charge right at the Great Mountain, but it still stands. The nymphs of the waters try to claw through it, but still it stands. Rigid. Strong. Proud.” Her hands move with the story, in a way it was more akin to a fireside chat rather than dressing room gossip. It reminds me of my father’s stories around the fire. I listen to her tale, knowing little of her people, attentively watching her through the mirrors reflection. “The Goddess herself blessed the Great Mountain, and appointed the Shadow Mountain pack to be the Guardians
“Waltz of the Mountains.” The King sneers. “Let’s see how well you keep up.” He casts a glare at Edward. “You know how your Grandmother adores the dance of her homeland, grandson. Do not disappoint her for the sake of your mate.” The warning is clear. “Yes, my King. I would not dream of disappointing.” He bows deeply, his hand on his heart pledging his allegiance. I remember our first meeting. “You play a dangerous game, girl.” He said with his hand around my throat. I suppose I am still that dangerous silly girl, too headstrong to fully submit. Incapable of bending to a tyrant. Incapable of silence. I am who I create. I feel Theia and Asteria in the front of my mind. Any overt display of power would be disastrous, so they lurk, careful not to allow their presence shimmer in my eyes. I deeply curtsy holding my hand to my heart as well, averting my eyes to the floor, not uttering a word. Silence and obedience. That is what the King demands. My stubbornness to blame for not b
Silence. I dare not speak or move. “I have heard you can dance.” The King says in my direction. A small smile creeped on his lips. A sneer. “Yes, your majesty.” I say meekly. “You shall dance for us.” Edward looks at me with sadness in his eyes. A shimmer of anger rippling in his fields of green, at my faux pas. The weight of the King’s displeasure not only hitting me, but crushing him as well. Collateral damage. “I would love to see the waltz.” The Queen hums. “Edward can lead her if she does not know it. Besides, she will be expected to dance at their wedding celebrations.” I hope he indulges his wife. It is a far better option than being forced to gyrate in front of the King. His expression leads me to believe he wishes to not only remind me of my place but humiliate me in the process. The Queen’s suggestion is only her tossing a rope to her grandson to save him from the front row seat to my humiliation. The King looks to his Queen. “Very well.” He replies. “L
Fairytales have a modicum of truth to them. Just enough truth that the reader can absorb the message, learn whatever moral imperative is being taught. The tricky part is discerning what little bit is rooted in truth, and what is an outright lie, a fantasy embellishment to keep you reading. I prefer the stories with happy endings, lessons are still learned, but the main character in the end is well and fine. Perhaps that’s my first mistake, assuming my placement in the tale is the main character, rather than the abused maid or gullible villager, or otherwise nameless background character. A person in the crowd as the King strolls down the street naked. A lady’s maid to the wicked queen or damsel in distress. A nameless cousin to the main character, who tried on the shoe but it did not fit. Perhaps I am the main character, in one of those tales where she tragically dies. Her choices and bad decisions leading her to death, rather than the happiness she was seeking. The Queen seem
“Beauty is pain.” Monica consoles. “You cannot achieve divinity without sacrifice. We want ethereal. We want glamor.” “We want to be able to have dinner.” I squeak, the corset of the gown so tight I can barely breathe. “Or maybe just be able to breathe.” I have been trying on gowns for hours. I tire of looking at my reflection. “Long deep breaths from the lungs, not the belly.” She demonstrates, her body rod straight, long measured breaths expanding her ribcage. My wedding gown, gowns for tea and dinner, dresses for travel and leisure, for breakfast or prayer— the stacks of fabric seem endless. I was nothing more than a doll. Monica has the same persistence as Agatha. I remember her wrapping me in endless fabrics for my Moon Ceremony gown. “You will be elegant! Ravishing! Demure!” She shouted as she wrapped me in satins and tulle. “Posture is key. Beyond that, relax. High anxiety breathing isn’t very effective or attractive.” Monica concludes. I smile, my mind wander
Something in my soul longs for the sunshine. The rays on my skin make me come alive. My internal battery dependent upon feeling the sun against my skin. I do not recall the last time I was outside in the sun. It seems a lifetime ago that I was able to truly enjoy it. My gown manifesting what I need the most, time to bask in the sun. I can feel the whispers of winter on the autumn wind. A small chill dancing in the breeze, winter days soon to come. I stare upwards to the sky. The sun’s rays like golden spires piercing through the clouds, a magnificent sight. The sun coyly peeks from behind the clouds to bathe me in its rays. Today, I am the sun, and I will absorb the warmth and joy it brings me. Monica stops in front of a small gate created between two apple trees. The trees already bare from harvest, the priestesses and acolytes have started the pruning process, preparing the orchard for winter. The branches and stems are neatly stacked in piles along the treeline. My ow
The material is a diaphanous gauzy gold, a Grecian peplos, the fabric expertly draped on the body. A hint of silhouette peeking through the multiple layers and folds of fabric, my feminine form exposed through gauzy golden haze. I am the sun incarnate. Even my tiny golden bracelet glints in the light, highlighted by the gown's golden glow. My ring proudly displayed on my finger. Monica has dusted my eyelids with a golden shimmer and painted my lips a soft pink. I look upon myself in the mirror. The long elegant gown perfectly compliments my shape. Long gone is the young girl dreaming of her escape, replaced in the mirror with an elegant woman, soon to be a married woman. A princess. A future Queen. The gown strikes me as familiar but I am unable to place it. I feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. “You look divine!” Monica squeals. “You are the artist, I’m just the canvas.” I respond softly. I stare into the mirror in awe of her art. I don’t even recognize myself in the reflectio