The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Upon rising he turns his attention to Namora and she gets her first look at her future husband. If she never knew anything about his personality or his cruel disposition, she might have thought him to be physically handsome despite being older than her. With deep auburn hair sprinkled with grey and a very strong jaw that outlines his features, he truly is an attractive man; however, Namora’s prejudice doesn’t allow her to see that.

“Princess Namora, my dear,” he says and with a brilliant smile he drops, overly dramatic, to one knee. Irron takes Namora’s hand into his and kisses it passionately. It takes all of her restraint not to yank it away from him and slap him across his fake smile. From his jacket pocket he pulls an elegant golden box; upon opening it he places a hideous, gaudy looking golden ring on her finger. The sacred symbol feels cold and foreign against her skin, reminding her of a shackle.

She forces a smile onto her face, “Pleasure to meet you, King Irron.”

Rising up, he offers her his arm; she has no choice but to take it as they follow her father into the castle. Outside of a dance, training with Irron and the occasional shove with Amyee’s older brother, Namora has had no contact with men. With the exception of normal family relations, the people of Derven aren’t the touching type. Even her father stopped hugging her when she became of age to participate in the Festival. To say that even the most innocent of touches-like a hug or holding hands between the genders-is taboo, would be an understatement.

“Please, my love, just call me Irron,” he says as he places his right hand over hers. She stills her anxiety of his nearness, reminding herself that they are to be wed, which means that soon they will be closer than she has ever been to another man in her life. Together they wind their way through the long castle hallways to the Grand Hall. Set in an L shape, they sit in the center of the long table while her father takes his seat at the shorter table, along with Laren. While Irron has his Advisor to his right, Namora has no one to sit next to her, making her feel even more alone.

As the townsfolk stream into the room, some sit at tables while others mill around the large open area before Namora and Irron. With her back straight as an arrow, she sits perfectly still, focusing her energy on keeping the pleasant smile plastered on her face. Irron says nothing, merely watching the people wander about the room.

As a bunch of musicians begin to play, the people clap happily, gathering up their partners. Irron speaks under his breath. “Oh a dance, how quaint,” he says cheerfully, but Namora can detect a hint of snideness in his voice. He turns to her, “Do you like to dance, Namora?”

Turning to him, she looks into his eyes to discover that they are the only thing physically unattractive about the man-dark and cold, they remind her of how her heart feels. “Occasionally,” she lies, as she dearly loves to dance but feels herself reluctant to share anything she enjoys with the man.

“Perhaps later you could do me the honor of a dance? I’m afraid I’m not that good, so you’ll have to bear with my clumsiness,” he smiles at her. Though Irron thinks himself a very charming individual Namora quickly sees past his deception to his true nature.

She returns his smile, “Perhaps.”

As the night drags on, everyone dances, drinks, eats and laughs, but Namora. Though only those who know her best, namely Laren and her dear friend Amyee, can see the amount of suffering she is forced though, Irron is ignorant to her distaste of him. With a smile on her face but not in her heart, she sits patiently at the table next to him, listening to him brag about his wealth and possessions, feigning interest when warranted.

Signaling the end of the dance, her father rises from his seat. With a nod to Irron and Namora, he makes his exit from the room. The musicians take the cue, pausing for a few minutes before playing the last song of the night. Irron, having almost forgotten that he asked for a dance, smiles to Namora as the first few chords of the Hunter’s Waltz begin, “Shall we dance, my love?”

Namora stifles a fake yawn, “I am so sorry, King Irron, but I am awfully tired. Would you be terribly upset with me if we waited until next time?” Giving him her best apologetic look, Namora hopes he will agree with her. Her favorite dance, the Hunter’s Waltz, also happens to be the most technically challenging and while she would love to make a fool out of him, she doesn’t think that it would be wise.

Somewhat relieved, he replies “Very well, but you must promise me your very next dance, yes?”

Placing her hand on her heart, she closes her eyes, “I promise.” She half vows that she will never dance again if he is to be her next partner.

When the Hunter’s Waltz is about half over, she takes the opportunity to make her exit. Standing gracefully, she bows as best as she can with the constricting corset, “Good night, King Irron.”

Before she has a chance to make another move, he is on his feet, gathering her hand up and wrapping it around his arm, “Please, let me escort you to your room.”

Seeing Laren walk over to them, as a chaperone, Namora persists, “I wouldn’t want to impose on you, King.”

He smiles somewhat deviously at her, “I insist my love.” Before leading her out of the room, he addresses his Advisor, “Thank you, Jones, but I think I will be safe enough in this castle that I won’t need your company. I will meet you back here as soon as I see Namora safely to her room and we will figure out where I am staying.”

She catches the irritated, worried look on Laren’s face. Having forced her hand, Namora must abandon her chaperone, lest she seem distrustful of Irron, “I won’t be needing your services tonight, Advisor Laren.” She gives him a tight smile, both sharing the same anxiety of her being left alone with Irron.

Though Irron leads her out of the Grand Hall, it is up to Namora to guide him through the twisting and turning paths to her room. They walk in awkward silence. When they reach her door, she releases his arm and gives him a small curtsey, “Thank you, King Irron. I shall see you tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

As soon as she rises, he steps closer to her. Namora freezes; with her back to her door, she is trapped. Irron reaches up to her hair, briefly touching the white orchid in it.

“What a beautiful flower,” he says softly, looking into her eyes as he lets his hand drop to her cheek, “but not as beautiful as you, my love.”

Namora’s stomach twists into knots, burning hot with a feeling she has never felt before. Surely, it can’t be love, she thinks. Unable to respond, she gives him a tight smile.

His hand lingers on her cheek as he continues, “Do you know what is said about you, Namora? The peddlers lucky enough to have seen you boast of your beauty, saying that it is unparalleled across our land. For a few years I have pondered over finding a Queen for my country but upon hearing the rumors I was sure that you could be the only one worthy. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that I loved you.” A less savvy ear would mistake Irron’s silver tongue for truth but Namora can see past his deception and flattery. He leans in to her, looking for a kiss but at the last moment Namora turns her head and his lips land on her cheek.

The fire inside her flares up and for the first time in her life she recognizes the feeling to be anger. Forcing her face to remain that of a schooled Princess, she tries to calm herself down but when Irron pulls away from her, the irritation in his face adds fuel to her fire.

“Do you not love me, Namora?” Though his voice is laced with sadness, his eyes threaten her.

She drops her gaze to the ground and speaks quietly, as if to calm herself down, “I have only known you a few hours, King Irron. I know nothing of your character, save the way you went about securing my hand in marriage.” When she looks back up to him, his eyes remain the same, though his face changes to shame.

“It was a foolish, selfish thing I did to you, my love, but I was afraid the only way you’d entertain the notion of marrying an old man like me was if you didn’t have a choice. I truly am sorry that I did that to you but now I can see that you aren’t a shallow person,” he holds her hand to his heart, as if to convey his false sincerity, “So I will promise you this: give me the next few days to win your affections. If I do not, I will call off the engagement and no ill effects will be bestowed upon Derven.”

Though his voice sounds genuine, his eyes betray a threat that she has no choice but to marry him. She comes to the realization that the only way she will be free of the man is if she is dead. Unable to muster a smile, she says, “Very well, then. I shall see you for breakfast tomorrow morning. Good night, King Irron.”

Without waiting for a response or for him to attempt to kiss her again, she pushes against her door and backs into her room, shutting it between them. With her forehead pressed against the wood, she doesn’t feel safe until she can hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway.

Inside her room, Eunice waits patiently to help her undress. Still a little unnerved by her encounter with the King, she only allows Eunice to unbutton the top portion of her dress before she dismisses her, letting her know that she can take it over from here.

Once alone, Namora hastily pulls the dress off, throwing it onto her bed. It takes a few tugs but she manages to loosen the corset and draw in her first full breath of the evening. After removing her crown, she quickly pulls on a simple cotton dress and kicks off her dress slippers, exchanging them for her hunting boots. Grabbing her hunting knife, she blows out the candles, leaving the glow from the fireplace as the only illumination. She silently makes her way to the corner of the room, pushing quietly on one of the hidden latches that opens a panel to the secret passage ways of the castle. Known historically only to the women of the ruling family, Laren was the one who had to show her the entrance when she was little, as her mother died when she was very young.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.