The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

CHAPTER 6: THE LOGGERS

Thoroughly touched by Laren’s comment, Namora uses her wrapped wrist as an excuse to let her inner pain show in her face. Though she omitted the fact that Irron was with her upon her injury, she doubts that her father believes the tale. Tonight the usual party of both Kings, both Advisors and Namora is joined by a few of the well-to-do families of Derven. Ignorant to the abhorrent situation, they gush over Irron and he is happy enough to oblige them with tales of Alumenia, though he constantly looks over to Namora.

Keeping her eyes down, she avoids questions with quick one or two word answers. She picks at the food that is placed before her, eating but not tasting a few bites of the squash soup, nibbling on some of the fresh beans but not the meat. When the meal draws to a close and all rise to go to the drawing room for after dinner refreshments, she plays again on her injury as a way to part companies.

“I am terribly sorry, my dear guests but I am not feeling very well tonight. You’ll have to excuse me, but I am off to rest.”

Before Irron can insist that he walk her to her room, Laren asks one of the attendants to do so. Namora provides a quaint “Good night,” to her future husband before disappearing out the door with some help.

Though she is deposited in her room, Namora doesn’t stay there. She knows it will be the first place that Irron looks for her tonight but the last place will inevitably be the exact spot of their previous encounter, so that is where she sneaks off to.

When she sits down, she wishes she had taken the time to change out of the hideous gold dress and corset. However after few moments, when the tears begin to burn her eyes, she is thankful because the restriction around her chest prevents her from a full on sob. Crying quietly, alone in the darkness, she lets the sadness seep out of her bones.

This time, she hears the footsteps. But this time, by the unevenness of the gait, Namora knows it is her father.

When he sits down next to her, she wipes the tears from her eyes and puts on the blank face of a princess that her tutors taught her. Together they sit in silence for a while, both wanting to say what is on their minds but neither wanting to do it first. Finally, her father rests his hand on Namora’s shoulder, “My child, I am sorry for the way things have turned out.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for Father. I have chosen my path and I will follow it with grace and dignity to the end,” after pretending to be in love with Irron, Namora finds it easier to keep her voice steady and devoid of emotion.

He sighs, squeezing her shoulder tight, “I have been dishonest with you. The path that lies ahead is not what you think. There is something that is yet to be done, before any of us can rest peacefully. I cannot tell you what you will need to do just yet but you have to trust that I would never let my only beloved daughter be stuck in grasp of such a despicable person.”

Namora turns to her father in shock. Being the King of Derven, she had never heard him talk unkindly of another creature in her life. To him each creature, even the disliked brush tiger, serves a purpose in the only way it knows how; it is up to the ruling family to realize that and to respond with patience and tolerance. Tonight, however, he wears the ugliness of anger on his face, something she has never seen.

Looking upon a man she doesn’t know it takes her a long time to draw her eyes away. When she does, she discovers that he clutches in his other hand a box that belonged to her mother. Even when she was a child and tried to steal that box and open it, her patient father didn’t get angry.

Namora had never known her mother for the Queen died when she was too young to recall. Many of the attendants in the castle-the head chef, Laren, the elderly handmaidens-had always told her how much she resembled the Queen. There must have been something about Namora, something she couldn’t see that reminded them of her mother because even though she had spent countless hours staring at her mother’s portrait in the throne room, she couldn’t see what they saw.

Her mother had a strong, pointed face, beautiful dark hair and deep green eyes. Namora has a feminine rounded face accompanied by the pale brown hair and plain brown eyes of father. She resembled the rest of her kinsmen, almost all of Derven having brown hair and brown eyes. She isn’t sure if it is the proportion of her features or the arch of her nose or even the shape of her lips that made everyone else think Namora is beautiful; to her, every quality of her face looks plain and dull when compared to her mother’s, as the Queen didn’t resemble any of the Dervens. Namora couldn’t help but imagine that the Queen must have stuck out like a rose in a field of grass.

She notices for the first time just how old her father looks; the color that should be in his face, the redness of his lips, the brown hue of his eyes all seem to be faded, washed out. She doesn’t know what to say to her father, so she doesn’t say anything at all, knowing that no words could convince either of them at this moment.

He squeezes her shoulder firmly again before his hand falls back into his lap and curls around the box. He can’t look at her anymore, she suspects he will cry if he does, “Please, Namora, just be strong for a little while longer. Be vigilant, be alert and keep an open mind and an open heart. I know that they are not one in the same and that the pair often lead us in opposite directions but I trust you to know when it is appropriate to follow one and shun the other.” He stands, pausing before he leaves, “I love you, daughter.”

. . . . .

It isn’t long before Namora finds herself bareback on Greystar, trotting toward the lone tree in her meadow. She didn’t change her clothes and is forced to hike the dress up to her knees in order to straddle the beast. Though she wanted to, part of her-her heart-was worried that she would run into Irron once inside the castle; the other part-her mind-told her that she might as well get used to wearing a corset and dinner dress, because she will be doing so for the rest of her life.

Once under the tree, she is unable to slouch back against her horse’s chest; Namora simply lies down on her back and stares up at the moonless sky. Though most citizens fear the night on account of the brush tigers becoming active, Namora has always had a fondness for it. As the normal life drifts off to sleep, the night brings with it new mystery, excitement and beauty. She has always wondered what secrets it holds, what creatures sneak around in the shadows.Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

She looks over to the woods every few moments for her brush tiger but he does not come tonight. While she should be glad, she finds that it only makes her feel even more alone. Her eyes are tired and dry from all of the tears; she closes them to extinguish the burn. Soon, she drifts off to sleep.

. . . . .

Namora pushes the fruit around on her plate before looking up to see Irron across the table from her. He waits patiently. It takes her a moment to realize that he asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, King Irron, what was that?” She doesn’t remember waking up, coming back to the castle or how she ended up in the breakfast room.

“Are you feeling better, Princess? I was thinking perhaps we could go for a ride after breakfast. I would like to see how the trees are processed; I was hoping we could spend a little more time together, since I will be heading back to Alumenia tonight, after the feast.” Her days have blurred together. Though Irron has only been in Derven for a week, for her it seems like a life time. While he tries to feign interest in others, it didn’t take her long to discover that he was a very pompous, self centered individual. She knew that very few Alumenians and even fewer citizens of other countries had ever set eyes upon him because he chose to remain segregated from his people. However, after getting to know him better, she is only able to fain a smile towards him at the thought that perhaps he wasn’t able to be in the company of others because few could stand him.

“Oh. I feel a little better but still weak. I think that would be wonderful but would it be possible for us to get back early enough that I could rest a little before the feast tonight?”

“Of course, my love,” his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “I would like you to be well rested for tonight. You did, after all, promise me a dance.”

She keeps the smile painted on her face, “I haven’t forgotten.”