Eltanin closed his eyes and pinched his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. The little headache, stemming from the silver goblet of wine that Eri had offered him, had worsened.
All day, he had been thinking about Felis, King of the Hydra Kingdom, wondering when he would attack him next and how he was going to shield his beast from being exposed. He wanted to have fun tonight. But his thoughts kept returning to Felis until… he saw her.
It was said that Hydra spawned werewolves with a demon soul, their bodies tattooed but without a definitive pattern. They grew like a hydra as they aged, stretching wherever they could. Often, the men were marked with black ink that spread all over their faces.
There was a pattern in Felis’ attacks — they happened once every hundred years. In the last three centuries, his stepbrother had attacked him three times, each time worse than before.
Last time, Felis managed to capture Eltanin and leash him, using every possible method to provoke his beast, to expose it. He wanted control over it, for it was the avatar of God. He had once said, “Your beast is exceedingly powerful. Succumb to me, Eltanin, and the world will be ours. You and I are two sides of a coin, a demon and a god.” He had put visions of empires across the realms at Eltanin’s feet and promised infinite power to be bestowed in his fingertips. Many had fallen for this temptation, but not Eltanin.
“F**k off!” Eltanin spat, controlling the beast within him. And after that, he had unleashed his wrath with the help of Rigel, who had tracked him down. As he came back, Felis’ words boomed in the air. ‘I will come back for you or for your mate.’
Eltanin was five hundred years old. He had hit immortality when he was thirty.
Eltanin had spent that time protecting his kingdom from formidable foes. Along with his friend Rigel and his General who served as his beta, Fafnir, they expanded his reach. The battles were fierce, but with Eltanin’s shrewd strategies, they always emerged victorious. And now, the Draka kingdom was the largest in all of Araniea.
The other kingdoms wanted to have some sort of connection with him. As Eltanin was still a bachelor, they had sent every eligible woman they had to marry him, be it their sisters or their consorts. Recently, one of the kings had even sent his twin sisters, offering him the pair if he so wished. Eltanin had used them for pleasure and then sent them back. Both teary eyed as they left, begging him to tell them what they had done wrong.
His kingdom was stable, but according to the Elders, a large threat loomed over him, his kingdom, and Araniea. If he didn’t find his mate soon, he would finally lose it all and perish. His beast needed the strength of a mate. They reminded him of the prophecy of his birth.
“Born to the wings
She has a gift
Some say it’s a curse ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀꪶ
Silver-haired and gilded
Like full moon in the verse.
Find her
Or she will disappear.”
Eltanin scorned the Elders. His beast was too strong, and he had the confidence in himself that he could defeat Felis on his own, with or without his mate. Felis, the bloody werewolf, was a demon-king’s spawn. It wasn’t easy to kill Felis, because killing him required ancient magic, a power that could not be found in dusty scrolls or mystic languages. He needed someone to translate for him the tainted book of arcana.
Once again, he pinched his forehead and shook his head hoping to shake the headache off him but it gripped him hard, like a vise. He opened his eyes to the loud beat of drums and fiddles and he scanned the girls around him. Some were dancing, some flaunting their bodies, some stealing glances at him while some fantasizing about him. Why would he need a wife when he had so many women to choose from?
His eyes went back to find the girl who was the object of his fantasy tonight. She wasn’t standing in her place. An involuntary shudder of fear passed through him. One he had never experienced for any other woman, not even his mother, who was a sea goddess.
He surveyed the room with his heavy-lidded eyes, searching for the white chiffon or pale blonde hair. She wasn’t anywhere. Even Petra wasn’t there. From the corner of his vision, he saw a shock of white at the top of the stairs. He got up, wildly swaying on his feet.
“M’lord,” Eri called sweetly as she rushed to assist him. “Let me help you.” She took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders and looked at him suggestively. On the inside she was happy that her plan worked so fast and so well. Tonight, he would be hers. She squealed on the inside.
“Don’t you f*****g touch me!” Eltanin snapped, growling in a slurred voice. He jerked his arm away. “And get out of this palace before I come to my senses, because I suspect you mixed a drug in my wine.”
Eri paled, her skin lined with a thin sheet of cold sweat. “N— No, Your Highness. I didn’t do that!” She didn’t expect him to find out about it at all. It was as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water on her plans. No, like a bucket of hot lava from the Black Fang Mountains.
“Get. Out,” he barked. “It’s just because of your father that I am not throwing you into the dungeons. That act could have put you in some serious trouble.” Eri’s father, Enki, controlled the Gulf of Enki-A and was the king of Eridanus. A small but vital kingdom for trade. It had way too many ships that belonged to Eltanin — both for trade as well as military purposes.
After giving her a withering look, Eltanin made his way through the throng, storming towards the stairs.