Chains to Crowns

Marc shifted around in bed, groaning with the ’My King,” mind link thudding through his head. He wasn’t quite awake enough to comprehend that that’s what was waking him up but as he rolled to put an arm around Klara, he found the bed empty. His eyes shot open. ’Yes?’ he replied to the link he heard.

‘I’m sure you’re aware, but the future Queen has just arrived for the cells, I just wanted to ensure everything is well.’

Marc was out of bed before the link could finish, throwing on clothes as he jogged from the wing.

He made it to the cell building in no time, his mind going a million miles an hour… what was she thinking?

“Is everything OK, My King?” one of the guards on duty asked.

“Of course, she’s downstairs?” he queried calmly.

“Yes, so you did say she could-?”

“Of course,” he snarled, cutting the guard’s question off. He swept down the steps quickly, unsure what he’d find, but what he did find was nothing he expected.

He stopped at the cell door, confusion twisting his features as he saw her hugging her father. Marc blinked, taking in what he could of her arm around him, supporting Silversmith up.

Silversmith looked over his daughter’s head and gave him a smirk, an arrogant look of triumph. “Let’s go home.” He hugged her, leaning on her for support while she peered up to him.

No. No, no. She wouldn't... she couldn't.

“I was wrong to suppress your wolf.” Marc scowled silently, his heart pounding, what was Klara doing?

“You won’t do it again,” Klara stated with all the confidence he’d seen grow in her the last few weeks.

Had it been an act? Was his father right? Had it all been a ploy? Marc swallowed hard, just trying to control himself. There was something else going on... there had to be.

“No, my child. An Alpha must be strong, I made you strong.”

She nodded, resting her head against his bicep. Silversmith looked content, a gleam in his eye of pure glee.

She would do this... He couldn't believe-

Out of nowhere, Klara’s hand half transformed and shot up plunging her black claws up through the soft tissue of his jaw. Silversmith’s eyes widened, his breath gargled.

A breath wooshed out of Marc and he instantly put a hand on the guard, Dan’s, shoulder, stopping him from interfering.

Marc watched with a mixture of curiosity and horror as she jumped onto the bed behind her so fluidly it was as if she’d been training since being a pup. She reached with her other hand and tugged, the crunching and snapping sounds sickeningly echoed around the dank cell as she ripped her father’s head clean from his neck.

Marc swallowed, swallowed his disgust, his despair.

His anger.

“Klara,” he deep rumble filled the cell.

Her head whipped around to see him, her face was calm, there was no anger, or upset, she was cool and collected.

He blinked a moment, her peace was certainly worse than rage or a lack of control. He realised he had to have one goal - protect his mate. “Clear the body, burn it,” he directed to Dan. “Klara, back to the wing.”

“Derrek,” she didn’t need to say more, saying the single word pushed all her queries to Marc.

“He’s dead,” he confirmed.

“Good. I will never go back to Silversmith land.”

“Back to the wing,” he commanded calmly.

She gave a curt nod, stepping around him to leave, her head high, her shoulders straight.

Marc flicked his gaze to Dan, “This does not leave this cell. I killed him,” he announced.

“Understood, Your Highness,” Dan replied, standing tall.

“If I hear anything different it will be your head rolling on the floor.”

“Understood, My King,” he replied calmly.

They made their way back to the wing, Marc silently walked behind Klara, the blood still staining her hands. He directed her to the bathroom as soon as they got to the bedroom. “You’re angry,” she said gently, but the fear that usually accompanied it wasn’t there.

“Yes.”

“I had to. I couldn’t go back and I needed… I had to.”

Marc ran the tap in the sink, beckoning her forward to wash her hands. In the bright lights of the bathroom, he could see from her forehead to her blouse, she was spattered in crimson. “You were never going back, I told you that.”

“I needed to be sure.”

“I can never condone revenge. But I understand.”

“You’re still mad,” she observed as he went over to the bath, twisting the taps to fill the large tub.

“I am. You went behind my back. You should have spoken to me, told me your wants.”

“You would have let me kill him?” Her head cocked to the side quizzically.

Marc ran a hand through his hair, “No,” he admitted. “He was to be executed, a punishment not set on emotion but laws. As a rule, the royals don’t really get their hands dirty. Particularly not the Queen, her hands are to always remain unsullied. I must show my power, while you, your care and grace.”

“I’m strong too.”

Marc beckoned her over again and helped her undress, “I know you’re strong, my love, but our subjects don’t need to see some things… that includes the Queen murdering her own father.”

“But he hurt me.”

“I know.”

“Now I know if anyone hurts me I hurt them back,” she declared standing there in all her fur-less form without a hint of embarrassment or care. He sighed, beckoning her to the full bath and encouraging her wordlessly in. “If anyone were to hurt you, you come to me,” he stated firmly, sitting next to the bath much like he had the first day he met her.

“What if you hurt me?” She glowered at him.

Another sigh passed his lips, “I can’t. I’m your mate therefore-”

“If,” she hissed, venom dripping from her tongue.

A part of him was hurt she still believed he would even if he could. A past like hers would always be within her, no matter how safe… although her asking in this way… she wasn’t scared, not truly. “If I were to ever, ever hurt you, you go to Wade, or Adelaide, or Father, or Mother… anyone in the castle would help you. Everyone will protect you.” He cupped water and wet her hair.

“I could still beat you arse,” the gravel of her wolf met his ears.

He chuckled, “Yes, Alpha… you could beat my arse.”

He gently massaged shampoo into her scalp, the scenes still whirring around his head. In honesty, he couldn't believe he thought she was about to betray him.

“Were you still scared of him?” he asked after he had washed her hair from her actions.

“I was scared he’d take me. I worried he’d escape. I… I know I shouldn’t have killed him but I needed to do it. I needed to feel that he’s not here anymore.”

Marc stripped and nudged her forward, settling into the bath behind her, “As the King, I must state your actions were incorrect and selfish,” his tone authoritative and low in warning. He bundled her into his arms within the water, settling her firmly against his chest, nestling his head on top of hers. “As your mate… I’m proud of you.” He nuzzled her wet hair.

“Is there always going to be two versions?” she asked with intrigue.

“Probably. You’ll learn there're to be the same for you too. I love you, little one, I’m proud of who you’ve become.”