Chapter 6

“You cannot exile me. You will be dishonoring the late Alpha. Do you fall short on comprehension?” Fenrir was releasing steam from his nostrils as he held back as much as he could from throwing a punch at the sagging face of the elder, wrinkled and unpleasant like a rat carcass.

“The people are terrorized and you ‘fall short’ on the ideal Alpha’s traits that you should be practicing now that you hold responsibility over an entire pack,” he retaliated, using his own words against him. “You killed what you should protect. You banned what you should nurture. You kept luxury to yourself. Not only are you a tyrannical leader, you are also merciless and selfish. You are not what an Alpha should be. Thus the council has judged the rightful punishment that you will face. Exile. Eternal ban from ever crossing the borders of our territory, of ever coming into contact with anyone in the pack.”

Exile.

The word echoed in his mind.

At 18, Fenrir would go on to make his name known and feared across the lands. His tales of cruelty and tyranny were told by bards in taverns, and to this day, he has remained persistent in his motherland. Though given the punishment of exile, nobody could really force Fenrir out of the borders. He was the fiercest, biggest wolf after all. So for months, he loomed in the woods. An outlaw, but not yet an exile. His acts against the pack stopped and he isolated himself until he questionably left after a fortnight and went to the House to confront his brother, the new Alpha.

The big doors violently opened at his presence and at his wake, his shadow would consume the ground. The beast has reappeared, said the whispers of the House’s servants. Fenrir stalked in big, meaningful strides until he stopped in front of the throne room where he smelled the familiar scent of pine and whiskey.

“Brother.” Two polar opposite gazes met. One fiery, one tame.

“The council finally did their job right,” were his first remarks after months of isolation. He had heard about the recent news of a traitor being punished to become a lone wolf and it was his sole reason to leave his manor. Just to share his opinions. “I’d rather he was killed, but I guess exile is the cruelest the council can get now. The pack is turning soft.”

Flavian’s controlled expression showed the slightest irk.

“It is a just punishment. Is that all you came here to say?”

He rose from his seat at the same time Fenrir found a comfortable stool. Really, they were polar opposites. Fenrir crossed his legs as his brother neared.

“I am grateful at the very least, that that traitor would leave as soon as his exile was decided. Unlike someone…” he deliberately trailed off.

Fenrir’s brow rose.

“Are you telling me I should leave as well? You will lose your last remaining guardian, you know,” he says, pointing to his little brother. “I will never be able to come back here once I leave.”

“I am twenty and seven, I need no guardian anymore,” he huffed.

Fenrir grinned and shuffled Flavian’s hair. “That is still too young to be an Alpha. You’re basically a pup!” He looked around mischievously and leaned in to whisper, “Want me to be Alpha instead? You can go off into the world and explore as you’ve always dreamed of.”

Flavian paused.

He remembered. His childhood dream was to be an adventurer, to discover parts of the world outside the pack. It was still his dream, but he grew up. He knew it would stay as a dream, now that he had a pack to lead.

“I can’t,” says Flavian, sighing. “The pack needs me.”

“Well, do you want to?”

“Of course, but I am bound by duty—”

“Then I challenge you.” Fenrir’s stance straightened and his demeanor changed. His younger brother looked up at him, falling into a pit of confusion. He continued, “I, Flavian Fauntleroy, formally challenge you to a fight for the Alpha’s throne. We’ll do it the old way. A brawl, to see who’s the strongest.”

Flavian took a surprised step back, his eyes widening and his mind finally catching up.

“Are you mad?!”

His brother, eccentric as he is, shook his head seriously.

“If I win, I will take your throne. But if you win, I will take myself out of the pack and accept the punishment of exile.” He was dead serious. Flavian was, at the very least, bewildered.

“No, I-I can’t accept this. In a duel like this, brother, one of us may die!”

“Then one of us shall. But I will not let it get to that, else you cannot roam the world, right?” He smirked.

In the midst of the two brothers’ loud arguing, an unfamiliar scent reached their sensitive senses.

“A woman…from outside,” Flavian whispered and turned to the large double doors. Meanwhile, Fenrir staggered back quietly at the familiar scent. The redolence of freshly picked roses, the sweetest chocolate, the most expensive oil, and the most prized wine… the smell was heavenly. Lest to say it was someone from a high station.

Flavian was expectant of who it was. Their talk had already slipped his mind, while his brother did his best to maintain nonchalance at the unannounced guest.

“Do not look too much like an expectant puppy,” he remarked at his brother, who practically had a sparkle in his eyes. He rolled his own.

Flavian glared at him. “I am not. I am merely curious. It is not every day a guest is brave enough to pay a visit.”

He was cut short with a knock.

“Her royal highness, the 4th Princess Akira Mair is here, Alpha.”

Flavian turned to his brother in surprise. Fenrir raised a curious brow and expectantly looked to the entrance.

“Come in.”

And in she came, the one woman whose plans you’ll never expect until it's done. The woman was an embodiment of unpredictability. The woman who unhesitatingly offered her hand in marriage.

The woman… who was as beautiful as every dawn and as charming as the first sign of spring. When she expressed her interest in Flavian, something stirred inside Fenrir. Like he just earned another reason to defeat his brother. But it was foolish, for there was no one he’d put above his brother, who is his only remaining family.