The Wolf King and the Wilted Flower

–Grey–

The journey to King Valir's capital began before sunrise. Grey Stormborn stood atop the eastern wall of his castle and watched darkness retreat from the horizon.

The kingdom below slowly awakened. Smoke rose from village chimneys. A few of the remaining hunters set out to the forest to gather resources. Children ran through muddy roads.

From a distance, everything appeared normal.

Peaceful.

Alive.

Yet Grey knew better.

The curse was everywhere. In the villages where no children had been born for years. In the families caring for relatives who had lost their human minds. In the growing number of wolves roaming forests without names, memories, or homes.

Most of all, it existed in the eyes of his people. Hope was disappearing. Slowly. Relentlessly.

Just like the leaves of the Everlasting Fig Tree.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts as Marcus joined him atop the wall. The Beta handed him a rolled parchment.

"The latest report from the southern territory," Marcus said in a flat tone.

Grey accepted it.

The contents were unsurprising. One more regression. Two deaths. No births. His expression remained unchanged as he folded the report.

Marcus sighed. "One day, I'm hoping you'll read good news."

"Then you'll be waiting a long time," Grey muttered in a low voice under his breath.

The Beta snorted. "Fair enough."

Silence settled between them. Neither man spoke for several moments. Both knew the significance of today's departure.

King Valir's annual auction represented more than a political event. For the Werewolf Kingdom, it was survival. Or perhaps merely a delay of extinction. Grey wasn't sure which.

His gaze drifted toward the distant center of the kingdom. Though hidden by hills and forests, he could almost imagine the Everlasting Fig Tree standing there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Demanding.

A Rona.

Everything always returned to the Ronas.

The Moon Goddess had never intended for it to happen this way. At least according to the oldest records. Long ago, after the witch cursed the Alpha bloodline and tied the fate of every werewolf to the Everlasting Fig Tree, panic spread throughout the kingdom. The strongest shamans failed. The greatest healers failed. Entire generations dedicated themselves to breaking the curse. All failed.

The curse endured. The tree remained. The kingdom suffered.

Unable to undo the witch's magic, the Moon Goddess sought help from another divine power.

The Earth Goddess.

Together, they created the first Ronas. Human women blessed with fragments of nature itself. Flowers answered their call. With that, plants flourished beneath their touch. Most importantly, their presence nourished the Everlasting Fig Tree.

For centuries, the arrangement worked. Every Alpha King married a Rona. Every generation produced another heir.

The tree remained healthy. The curse remained dormant.

Not broken. Never broken. Merely sleeping.

The solution was imperfect. It was temporary. But it kept the kingdom alive.

Until King Valir discovered how valuable Ronas truly were. The current king of Aurelia possessed many talents but mercy was not among them. Over the last three decades, Valir had systematically gathered every known Rona.

Some were purchased. Some were kidnapped. Some were born inside his own palace.

All belonged to him.

At least according to the laws he wrote himself. Soon, the entire continent depended upon his auctions. Eventhough only the Wolf Kingdom was cursed, other kingdoms recognized the value of Ronas in fertilizing their own lands. Kings competed for powerful Ronas. Princes bankrupted kingdoms for them. Merchants paid fortunes simply to possess one. Some bid Ronas only to acquire a possession, like a beautiful antique vase –only to brag about having Ronas to their friends and enemies. Acquiring a Rona meant wealth and influence. Having multiple Ronas showed power. 

The scarcity only increased their value. And Valir ensured they remained scarce.

Every Rona carried a magical seal. A spell personally crafted by Valir's court sorcerers. It prevented them from conceiving children. 

No matter who purchased them. No matter who married them. No matter how desperately kingdoms wished to breed more.

Only Valir could revoke the spell. Only Valir controlled the future generation of Ronas. Only Valir profited from their existence.

A monopoly.

Cruel. Brilliant. Profitable.

Grey hated him for it.

Yet he was still traveling to Valir's capital. Still playing by Valir's rules. Still begging for a chance to save his people. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Your Majesty." Marcus leaned against the stone wall. "You don't have to look like you're marching toward your own execution."

Grey glanced sideways. "It feels similar."

"Buying a wife isn't usually considered a death sentence."

A humorless smile touched Grey's lips. "Depends on the wife."

Marcus laughed.

Grey didn't.

The Beta's amusement faded quickly. Because they both knew the truth. This journey wasn't simply about acquiring a Rona. The Elder Council expected him to marry her, produce heirs, continue the royal bloodline, and restore hope. The thought alone exhausted him.

Marriage. Love. Family.

Concepts that meant little to him now. Perhaps they never would again.

Grey looked toward the brightening horizon. His jaw tightened as he remembered his father. Not the king. Not the warrior. Not the Alpha. But he remembered the broken man who remained after Queen Elara died.

At first, Grey had pitied him. Then worried for him. Then hated him. Because grief transformed his father into something worse than a corpse. 

A coward.

The kingdom needed him. His son needed him. Yet he abandoned both. Every council meeting. Every crisis. Every responsibility. He abandoned them all in pursuit of a dead woman. And eventually, he followed her.

The day they found his body beside her grave, Grey had stopped believing in love.

What kind of love destroyed an entire kingdom?

What kind of love left a fifteen-year-old boy to shoulder responsibilities meant for grown men?

What kind of love mattered more than a living son?

The answer was simple.

The selfish kind.

Since then, Grey had viewed love as a disease. A weakness. A distraction.

His father had loved too much. So much so that his kingdom paid the price. Grey would not make the same mistake. Which was why he had no intention of loving whichever Rona he brought home.

He would marry her. Give her a title. Ensure her comfort. Nothing more. The arrangement would remain practical. Professional. Necessary. No affection, no devotion, no dependency. Just duty.

The kingdom deserved better than another ruler willing to sacrifice everything for a single person. For love.

"You're thinking about him again," Marcus's voice was quieter this time.

Grey didn't deny it. The Beta knew him too well.

"Maybe."

Marcus studied him. "Your father wasn't weak because he loved your mother."

Grey looked away. "He abandoned us because he loved her."

"That's not the same thing."

"It is to me."

The conversation ended there.

Neither man wished to continue. Some wounds remained too old and too deep.

Eventually, a horn sounded from below. It was the departure signal.

Marcus straightened. "Our escorts are ready."

Grey nodded.

Without another word, they descended from the wall. The castle courtyard bustled with activity. Twenty warriors waited beside mounted horses. Supply wagons stood prepared. Servants hurried through final inspections.

The journey would take nearly two weeks as Valir's capital sat far beyond werewolf territory. Far beyond lands Grey enjoyed visiting. 

As he mounted his horse, several elders approached. Elder Rowan carried the familiar expression of concern. 

"Your Majesty."

Grey resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes?"

"The auction."

"I know."

"You must secure a Rona."

"I know." Grey's jaw tightened.

"The tree cannot survive much longer."

"I know."

The elder hesitated. Then spoke more carefully. "Preferably one of the stronger Ronas."

Grey nearly laughed.

As though he hadn't considered that. As though he possessed unlimited wealth. As though the kingdom wasn't nearly bankrupt.

Everyone wanted the strongest Rona. That was precisely the problem.

Celeste.

Serena.

The names echoed across the continent.

Even Grey knew them.

Celeste possessed the rare ability to create luminous rainbow-colored flowers. Entire gardens transformed into masterpieces beneath her touch. Kings reportedly offered castles simply for the chance to purchase her.

Then there was Serena. The Red Rose Rona.

Equally famous. Equally expensive.

Her crimson roses supposedly bloomed year-round.

Never withering. Never fading.

Some believed her magic rivaled that of the first Ronas. Both women would undoubtedly attract absurd bids. Gold the Werewolf Kingdom simply didn't possess.

Grey wasn't foolish enough to compete. Not when his treasury struggled to repair roads. Not when villages lacked medicine. Not when his people starved.

No.

The strongest Ronas belonged to wealthier kingdoms. Grey intended to settle for someone in the middle.

A capable Rona. Nothing exceptional.

Someone able to sustain the Everlasting Fig Tree.

That was all.

He didn't need perfection. He didn't need love. He didn't even need heirs.

Contrary to what the elders believed, Grey had no intention of relying on Ronas forever. The arrangement was temporary. A delay. If he could keep the tree alive for a few additional years, he would continue searching for the true solution.

A way to break the curse entirely.

No more dependency. No more auctions. No more kingdoms buying women like livestock. No more fate tied to a cursed tree.

Freedom. For everyone.

That was the future he wanted.

The Rona would merely buy him time. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Your Majesty?" Elder Rowan appeared concerned again.

Grey realized several seconds had passed. "I'll secure a Rona," he said.

The elder visibly relaxed. "As you say."

Finally, the conversation ended.

Grey urged his horse forward without a second glance toward the elder. The gates opened and cold morning air swept across the courtyard. His escort followed behind.

Villagers gathered along the roads as the royal procession departed. Many bowed. Others waved. Children smiled hopefully. Grey acknowledged them all with a solemn nod. Yet each hopeful expression only deepened the weight in his chest.

They believed he could save them. He wasn't certain they were right.

The kingdom slowly disappeared behind him.

Forests replaced villages. Hills replaced fields. Hours passed. Then days. Each mile carried him farther from home. Farther from the Everlasting Fig Tree.

Closer to Valir's capital. Closer to the auction. Closer to the wife he didn't want.

On the seventh evening, the company camped beside a river. Most warriors relaxed around the fire. Marcus joined Grey near the water's edge.

"Have you ever wondered what she'll be like?"

Grey didn't need clarification.

The future Rona. His future wife.

"No."

"Not even once?"

"No," Grey said flatly.

Marcus looked unconvinced. "You're going to marry her. You know that, right?"

"I'm going to save my kingdom," Grey growled, definitely annoyed by Marcus' phrase.

"Same difference." Marcus didn't back down from the growl.

Grey stared across the river. "No." His voice emerged colder than intended. "Not the same difference."

Because one implied emotion. The other implied duty. And Grey only trusted one of those.

Marcus wisely chose not to argue.

The fire crackled behind them. Night settled over the camp. Somewhere above, stars emerged. Grey found himself wondering whether the woman he eventually purchased was looking at the same sky. Whether she dreaded the auction. Or welcomed it. Whether she dreamed of princes. Or feared them. The thoughts irritated him immediately.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

She would be a stranger. A necessity. A means of survival.

Nothing more.

Yet for reasons he couldn't explain, unease lingered long after he returned to his tent.

Because despite everything he told himself-

The path ahead no longer belonged solely to him.

And somewhere in King Valir's palace, fate was already preparing a woman neither of them expected.