The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Knowing that he would follow her back into town, which would cause a huge commotion and possibly another emergency Festival which would lead to the slaughter of hundreds of tigers, Namora remains put, waiting for the dawn to push the tiger back to safety.

It isn’t long before the moon disappears and the sky begins to brighten. As the sun rises over the forest and shines on the top of the willow tree, Namora can sense the tiger’s anxiety. Reluctantly, it withdraws into the forest, disappearing out of sight just as the sun lands on Namora’s face. Greystar stirs, rolling over before he stands up and shakes out his mane.

Still slightly confused by the tiger’s actions, Namora sheathes her knife, pondering her night as she mounts the horse and they head back to the castle.

. . . . .

She manages to sneak back into her room and change into a fresh underdress just before Eunice knocks and enters. With her she brings a new dress; a light green one. She helps Namora get her corset back on but she doesn’t cinch it as tight as the night before. The old lady smiles at her, “I had this one let out just a little, Princess. I figured you would like to breathe sometime today.”

Namora nods in thanks, slipping into the soft, silky fabric. Even though it shows a lot more skin than her previous one, Namora is thankful that it isn’t as tight. With three-quarter sleeves and a scandalous curved neck that barely shows her collar bone, she knows she won’t have a problem keeping Irron’s attention.

Eunice brushes and fixes Namora’s hair before replacing her crown on her head. She thanks the old lady and makes her way towards the smaller breakfast room a few hallways away. She can’t help but wonder what the Alumenian Queen’s crown looks like and if she will be made to wear it while she is in Alumenia.

She is the first one to arrive in the breakfast room, so she sits in her seat and waits patiently for company before she can gather up her breakfast. The beautiful buffet display on the table looks appetizing, especially the freshly baked sweet rolls. She sighs, slightly irritated that she won’t be able to have any until her wedding. In Derven, it is customary for women to give up bread once they are engaged and only on their wedding night can they resume consumption. The tradition represents that a woman’s life isn’t whole without a man and as such her meal must also be lacking a crucial part. She contemplates taking one when no one is looking but she decides that even though she doesn’t care for Irron, tradition is tradition. To stave off her craving, she stares blankly at the opposing wall.

Much to her dismay, Irron and his Advisor are the first to enter the room, shown the way by an attendant who begins to fill the glasses with water. Upon seeing Namora, he walks around the table to her; he rests his hands on her shoulders and leans in to place a gentle kiss on her head, “Good morning, my love. Did you rest well?”

She forces a smile on to her face, “I could have slept longer but I am fine, thank you King Irron.”

“Please, just Irron, my dear,” he sits in the seat opposite her; she watches his eyes wander from her face to her bare neck. Namora has to will her cheeks not to burn red with anger. “Say, my dear, I woke up to find the most beautiful flower on my desk this morning… it resembled almost perfectly, the one you wore in your hair last night,” his voice, though nonchalant, has an accusing tone to it.NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

Namora smiles softly at him, loading her plate with fresh cut fruit, “Yes, it was my flower.” He raises an eyebrow at her before she continues, “You don’t recall? You admired its beauty so much that I gave it to you before we parted ways.” Her smile fades as she drives home her intentions, “As a token of my affections for you.”

“How could I forget?” Irron stares at her somewhat coldly and as a strong willed Derven, Namora refuses to look away. Their gaze is only broken when her father enters the room.

“Good morning Namora, Irron,” he says quietly, taking his seat at the head of the table. He avoids looking at either of them while he loads his plate. As Irron now sits to his left, in Laren’s usual seat, the Advisor sits next to Namora. She says a quite hello before she delicately eats.

The table is silent throughout the breakfast, with only the brief inquiries of how everyone slept and comments on how wonderful the dance was last night. When she is done, Namora stares idly at Irron’s plate, watching his graceful use of utensils. Finally, as everyone is finishes, it is Irron who speaks first.

“Princess, if you would be so kind as to leave us for a moment, there is pressing business I must discuss with your father.”

Though none are more confused than Namora, she nods and quietly leaves the room, “I will be in the library then, if I am needed.”

Across the hall she sinks into the soft brown sofa in front of the library fireplace. It doesn’t take long before her eyes drift shut and she falls asleep. It only seems like seconds before a soft touch on her shoulder wakes her.

“Princess, it appears that your opinion is needed,” Laren’s gentle voice says. Without question she follows him back into the breakfast room.

The table has been cleared and in the place of the food sits three beautiful chests, each about as long as Namora’s arm. All three are open and she can hardly believe her eyes as to what is inside; in the first, mounds of golden tokens and jewelry, in the second the same but in silver, and the third is full of gems of every color imaginable. She is careful to hide the astonishment from her face as she turns to her father, “I was told I was needed?”

King Nathanial, his face flush with anger simply waves his hand at Irron, too upset to talk. Thoroughly confused as to what could have gotten her calm and collected father in such a state as she has never seen before, she turns her gaze to Irron. The frustration on his face is obvious.

“I was merely trying to discuss your dowry with your father,” he says plainly, though she does not understand.

“What is a dowry?”

“As I have now discovered, dowries are not given in Derven, though in Alumenia it is tradition. When a man asks for the hand of a woman, he presents a gift worthy of her to her father,” Irron’s gesture, though meant to be a compliment clearly comes off as an insult.

Namora now understands why her father is furious, “Let me see if I understand this, King Irron-in Alumenia, men give a gift in exchange for a woman’s hand in marriage?”

“Yes,” he says, throwing up his hands as someone has finally understood his intentions.

“So essentially you are purchasing me from my father? This is what I am worth to you?” She doesn’t find herself irritated, nor flattered, but simply curious.

“NO! I mean, yes, but it is not a payment, it is a gift,” he reaches out and clasps her hand in his, the falseness creeping back into his voice as he lowers it, “there is not enough items in the world that could convey how much you mean to me.”

Forcing her hand to remain in his, she turns her gaze from Irron to the chests on the table. She can see her father struggling to keep his mouth shut, his knuckles white from clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The vast amount of wealth on the table is worth more than all the precious things in Derven. Though it truly is an astonishing display, Namora finds it to be extremely frivolous. Beautiful gems cannot cut down trees, gold is too malleable to make into tools and the silver is equally as worthless. So Namora, even though she finds the items beautiful, does the responsible thing. Turning back to Irron, she gives him a pleasant smile, “I must say, King Irron, that I am touched by your generous offer. I understand it is all untoward, but might I make a counter offer?”

Somewhat shocked, Irron looks at Nathanial. The old man’s voice comes out tense, “It is her dowry, let her decide.”

She gently squeezes Irron’s hand to draw his attention back to her. Even more shocked by her actions, he says, “What is it that you want, my dear?”

Namora looks back at the extravagant display of wealth, “I fear you might have over valued me. I am but a simple Princess from a humble nation. A mere two thousand pounds of iron would be worth me.”

The tension in the room grows and she sheepishly looks back to Irron. Now, it is he that is furious and her father that is calm. Everyone knows that she is trying to position her country to do without the traders and peddlers for a few years, buying the Dervens some time should something happen to their agreement with Alumenia. Irron clenches his jaw, voice coming out as a whisper, “But wouldn’t you rather have pretty, beautiful things? You cannot make jewelry out of iron.”

Putting the nail in the coffin lid of their argument, Namora squeezes his hand tight in hers, bringing them both up to her lips, “I have the only piece of jewelry that I value, right here, my King,” to which she kisses the wedding ring on her finger.

Defeated, Irron sighs, “Very well, as you wish Princess,” nodding to his Advisor, he orders him “Jones, please send word immediately. I expect the Princess’ dowry to be here no later than tomorrow evening.”

With a stiff bow, the man leaves the room. Entwining her arm around his, Irron begins to lead Namora out for their day together. Briefly, she catches the proud look on her father’s face, before the pair, followed by Laren, exit the room.

As they walk towards the entrance of the castle, Laren reluctantly leaves their company when he is replaced by a Derven Officer, who will act as chaperone for Namora. Though she doesn’t recall his name, she recognizes him as Cari’s nephew. In an attempt to ease the tension, Namora breaks the silence, “What would you like to do today, Irron?” Though she feels uncomfortable addressing him in such a casual way, she knows that doing so will ease some of his anger towards her.