Chains to Crowns

She glared at him, hoping her need was flowing to him. She had to do this.

“OK,” he breathed. “If you need to leave just tell me. The cells are laced with silver so you may feel uncomfortable.” He held out his hand for her to take which she gladly did, following him through the palace.

She looked over to see the training ground full, clearly tired wolves pushing themselves, “What’s going on?” she asked, gesturing to the field, she thought it was late for them to be training. “It’s their punishment for letting us down.”

“What are they having to do?”

“They have to train for twenty-four hours. Hone their body and mind, work on their flaws, their faults.”

“Because of me?”

“No, because they all made a mistake. A mistake that could have killed any of them. They allowed an intruder to get into the palace. A consequence had to be had.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her past the field towards the single-story house that led to the cells.

“You don’t have to do this,” Marc whispered before they got to the dark wooden door.

“I do.”

“If you change your mind. If it gets too much, you-”

“I need this Marc. I’m fine. My wolf is behind me and I have you.”

He kissed her temple, “Proud of you,” he murmured before pushing open the door.

“My King.” The guards sprang to their feet. “My Queen!” The four stated in unison, clearly surprised.

“Silversmith has stated he wishes to pledge?”

“Yes, My King.”

“Your Queen will witness the ceremony.”

“Yes, My King. I shall take you to him.”

Klara followed, her hand still clasped in Marc’s as they went into the darkness, stone steps below her feet. She felt cold, her eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom, the only reason she knew where to go was because of Marc’s guide.

They reached the compacted earth at the bottom of the steps, Kara’s eyes slowly adjusted. There was a strange feeling within the corridor, an oppression clung in the darkness. She gripped his hand tighter, the stench of blood was strong in the air and she wasn’t a massive fan… it reminded her too much of her time before the palace.

She swallowed her fear as they came to a stop. She looked beyond the silver bars and froze. She dropped Marc’s hand and approached the bars, “Klara,” Marc warned but before he could stop her she’d grasped the bars.

Klara frowned at the warm sensation but it wasn’t wholly uncomfortable as she looked at her father in a way she’d never seen him before. He was slumped face down on the cot, his back ripped open much how hers had been so often. He no longer looked like the terrifying monster she knew him to be.

He was just a man.

“You’re hurting your hands, my love,” Marc murmured, prising her hands from the bars. He inspected them in the low light to see them merely a little red. He frowned, running his thumb over where he was expecting seared flesh. “OK?”

“Yes.”

Marc nodded before unlocking the cell door. “You wanted to see me, Silversmith?”

“Klara?” his voice came out raspy, fatigued.

“I am here to witness you pledging your loyalty, as I did,” she replied stonily.

“Then you’ll come home?”

Klara frowned to Marc, wondering what they’d promised… what they’d said… what was planned.

“Marc?” she whispered.

His eyes glazed as if he were mind linking, she thought he was going to link her to explain… but she heard nothing. “Are you sending me back?” she whimpered.

Marc sighed, “Thought it would work. I’ll explain after.” He put a reassuring hand on her lower back but she was beginning to panic.

He was sending her back? But they had her father, he was going to set him free?

Marc produced the dagger that she recognised from when she pledged herself but she couldn’t focus on his words as he approached her father. Her wolf was dimmed down here, she could feel her but it was like she was just out of her grasp. She watched as Marc not so gently slit the man’s palm before nicking his own, pressing their palms together. “I’m not going back with him,” she stated, not quite as loudly as she thought it had. “Marc! I am not leaving!” she growled.

Marc turned to her, cleaning his hand on a handkerchief.

“No, my love. You are not.”

“What?!” Silversmith croaked as he struggled to sit, wincing as he did.

“Your execution will be arranged tomorrow. You will be notified of when and how in due course,” Marc announced, his voice filling the room with all his authority.

“Why did he think-?”

“My Queen, the ceremony is complete. The loyalty is set for all the Silversmith pack.” He cupped her chin, ignoring Silversmith trying to get to his feet, “We have some business to attend to.” He kissed her forehead before spinning her towards the exit.

“Your Queen is a murderer!” Silversmith snarled.

Klara stilled.

“She’s not told you has she? She’s not told you!” Silversmith shouted in a hoarse whisper. She turned back around, facing Marc who was glaring at her father. “What are you talking about?” she asked in bewilderment.

Silversmith turned to Marc, “How do you think her mother died?”

Marc blinked, confused by the sudden proclamation. Was he lying? He studied him a moment.

“You killed her,” Klara murmured. “She- you r-ripped her heart out.”

“She’s dangerous, my King,” the words came out like he was chewing horse manure with who Marc was to him. Silversmith turned back to Klara, “Are you sure it is my hands you see? Whose hands are covered in blood, Klara?”

“Yours!” she fired back without hesitation.

“She told you she was pregnant, you were to have a brother. My successor.”

“I don’t. No. You got angry like you always did.”

Silversmith struggled fully to his feet, his face pale as he swayed slightly. “Marc it’s not true,” she pleaded. It wasn’t… right? She racked her mind, trying to remember the day she’d scrubbed from her mind with how painful it was. She remembered her mother dead on the floor, she remembered running from the house.

“Your execution is set for tomorrow,” Marc repeated steelily.

“Are you listening to me?” Silversmith spat.

“I’m listening to your lies,” he hissed. “Come, Klara.”

They reached the fresh air, Marc’s arm securely around her waist. “I didn’t kill her,” she whispered.

Marc stopped in his tracks, tugging her closer to him, “Does your wolf know?” he murmured gently.

“I-” In truth she didn’t want to ask. What if she had? “She can’t remember.”

“Silver can eradicate earlier memories. In honesty? It doesn’t matter. What we do as pups doesn’t define us. I think he was just spouting anything to get you back home with him for whatever reason.” She looked down, he didn’t care? But what if she had? No. She hadn’t.

“But I’m not going?” She asked, deciding to leave her past there. Her life in the Silversmith pack was done, finished.

“Never,” he stated firmly. “You’re mine,” his voice had turned gravelly.

“Good.” Her fears instantly alleviate. In honesty, Marc lying to her father seemed more plausible than him sending her back.

And her father lying? Completely plausible.

“Shall we get back to what we were doing before we were rudely interrupted?” he rumbled seductively into her ear.

“In your office?”

His hand ran across her stomach, pressing her to his front, “Is that what you want?”

“Yes please.” She grinned up to him and giggled when he swung her into his arms. She peered back over his shoulder towards where her father was... an uneasy feeling in her stomach.