Cillian II

Alana rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I don’t see how any of it is a business of yours.”

“Ahh,” Freya said like she had just had an epiphany. “Maybe your heart still longs for him?” she asked mockingly. “He openly rejected you. Take a hint, sister. You shouldn’t embarrass the coven with your lewdness, especially in a different Kingdom.”

A hand went across her face. Freya’s entourage gasped and moved to attack Alana, who was prepared, waiting for them to pounce on her. Surprisingly, Freya stopped them from attacking by lifting a hand.

She chuckled at Alana. “You must really enjoy hitting me, Alana. Does it excite you?” Her smirk was seductive.

“Only a shameless, ugly-looking ogre would ever get excited by you. Oh wait, one already has,” Alana mocked.

It was Freya’s turn to hit her, and so she did.

“Don’t you dare bring him up,” she seethed.

“Oh, you can bring up Cillian, but I can’t bring up your stinky ogre?” Alana asked rhetorically. “How rich, very elven-like.”

Freya humphed as she flipped her hair and walked away from them.

“So his name is Cillian,” Mordeu said. “And he rejected you?”

Hearing this piece of information from Freya piqued his interest. For Cillian to have rejected Alana meant that they must’ve had something or some arrangement of sorts, or probably Alana simply confessed her feelings to him.

It was quite risky. Wolves were mostly mated with other wolves and were hardly mated to a witch or an elf. In fact, it had never been heard of.

Did Alana not know of this?

Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew Cillian was not mated or there was a huge possibility that he would not be mated with anyone else.

“Is that why you’re so against them?” Fjall asked, disrupting Mordeu’s trail of thoughts.

Alana ignored them and took the brush from Mordeu. Regardless of what had just happened, she still scripted her name on the paper.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said as she angrily dropped the brush in the containment where Fjall had picked it from.

The brothers looked at her without saying anything to convince her that she could open up to them. They only managed a simple “okay,” and Fjall so graciously added a shrug.

And they made their way towards their room, perfectly ignoring Alana’s existence and seemingly not caring if she followed them or not.

“Okay, fine,” Alana called out dejectedly.

The brothers stopped in their tracks and turned to her, smug and victorious smiles on their faces. Alana rolled her eyes at them.

Their plan to act apathetic towards the issue had worked. They knew Alana wouldn’t pass off an opportunity to talk shit about the Alvitirs, and the situation gave her all opportunities and rights to talk shit about them.

“My mother is a member of the coven. To further the peace between our people, she proposed a marriage between Cillian and me,” she started off, to the brothers’ surprise.

Mordeu found his attention torn between the first and last part of what Alana had said. First, he had guessed that she was a highborn, but it had never crossed his mind how high her status lay.

Secondly, marriage! She had been engaged to Cillian!?

“Why would she? It’s not as if they are our rulers,” Fjall said, his concern dwelling on the political aspect of the news Alana had relayed to them.

Alana rolled her eyes at his ignorance. “The house of Alvitir is the richest in the three major houses, and they have a good relationship with the Luna Calvary. If you didn’t realize yet, please know that whether you people want to admit it or not, the three major houses are your rulers.”

It made sense. The three houses had provided what was needed during the drought, the war, and during other crises. Though they never asked for anything in return, it’s obvious that their brazen act of rising to take control over these matters was their rise to politics. They orchestrated their way and somehow became revered by the people. It was a hoax; they deceived the people so well, they didn’t realize they were serving the three houses.

The houses had forged laws and cunningly made the people follow them. And not just that—they implemented taxes for the people to pay. They took care of the political matters of the kingdom and maintained peace. Those were the duties of a leader. And the three houses really were their leaders.

“At least they’re three and not just one,” Fjall shrugged.

Mordeu laughed, seeing reason with Fjall and also understanding the humor. It would’ve been terrible and too palpable if it had been just one house ruling them. Since it was three, there was room for debates, votes, and understanding. The power struggle is inevitable, but it would have to be very subtle, as the people were not open to the idea of having a ruler. And so, the political aspect of the wolves was stable enough.

“Back to my story,” Alana ignored them. “Alvitir, who was very thrilled about this, told his son. I had no idea what happened behind closed doors, but during our engagement party, he refused the engagement. He apologized to me and begged that I forgive him, but I was hurt.”

Alana cleared her throat. “I had already fallen in love with him.”