Cillian.

Mordeu was surprised to hear that. He lifted an eyebrow at Fjall, but before he could say anything, Alana said:

“How are you so lax about everything that’s happening?” Alana’s voice was getting louder and angrier, her eyebrows were narrowed, and her heartbeat was quickening.

Mordeu was taken aback by her tone, bewildered as to why she was getting so emotional over the issue. “Well, because it’s none of my business!”

“They invited us here, and our safety might be compromised. What if one day you wake up and you’re engulfed in flames?” She gestured with so much enthusiasm, it looked like she was losing her mind over her unhealthy obsession with the issue.

“Well, if that day comes, I’ll regret not listening to you right now. But if it doesn’t, then I’ll be happy that during my time here, I never got into things that were not my business,” Mordeu finalized sternly. He hoped she would finally get the message that in that aspect of her interest in the Alvitirs, he did not wish to indulge.

Alana looked him straight in the eyes. She shook her head at him before turning to the one standing beside him. “What about you? Is the safety of your mate still none of your business?”

She was manipulative; she aimed straight at where Fjall would not refuse her. And she was successful. Fjall cleared his throat for the second time, his hand fell from Mordeu’s shoulder, and his ten fingers intertwined as he looked between Alana and Mordeu, cautious as he tried to pacify both parties.

“They will surely say something about what has happened. We should wait till morning. But if they don’t, then I’ll join you to investigate the issue. It’s never too late, Alana,” Fjall said softly. He shamelessly moved his eyes to Mordeu, but the other only shook his head in disappointment at him.

In disappointment because he could hardly believe that with mere words, Alana had succeeded in convincing him to go aboard her ship of meaningless curiosity.

His inability to understand where Fjall was coming from was, consequently, the lack of the intense desire and concern for his mate.

“Fine,” Alana acquiesced. Before she walked away, she shared eye contact with Mordeu, allowing it to linger a tad more than it should. Mordeu removed his eyes first.

Watching Alana walk away, Fjall could not hold back from saying, “It’s so weird watching couples bicker.”

“What nonsense are you uttering?” Mordeu asked.

Fjall laughed and focused his gaze on his brother, finding it funny that he could not see what was staring at him right in the face. “Come on, don’t you see that she likes you?”

Mordeu was already fed up with anything that had to do with Alana. “Damn it, Fjall, she and I just met. It’s too soon to jump to that conclusion. She just wanted someone to accompany her in her stupidity to find something against the Alvitirs.”

Fjall dismissed his words, holding steadfastly to his observation of Alana’s feelings. “Screw that, Mordeu, can you not see the way she looks at you? She obviously likes you and wants you to fuck her.”

“Disgusting,” Mordeu said as he walked away from his brother.

Mordeu was not a saint. He was far from being a virgin. He had a reputation in his village—he even earned himself a nickname. However, having to think of the slight possibility that Alana wanted something more than a platonic friendship with him, he found disgusting.

Fjall laughed before joining him. They headed to their room. He looked over his shoulder and could see that some guards were already taking the bodies of the assassins away from the courtyard where the fight had taken place.

“I still cannot stop thinking about how good Alvitir’s boy was with the sword. He was fast, precise, and very flexible.” The compliment flowed out of his mouth as a result of the memory of Alvitir’s boy easily sending the assassins to their makers. He couldn’t hold it back.

Mordeu’s focus moved back to him, his previous wonder popping back into his head. “Why didn’t anybody help him out?”

“He told them not to. He said that he was not our responsibility and, as such, we shouldn’t involve ourselves, especially since it was an assassination. Simply, he just didn’t want anyone hurt,” Fjall shrugged.

“I guess he’s not as snobbish as he looks.”

Mordeu agreed with him, though he had never found him snobbish. “He’s one of a kind.”

“Undoubtedly. Why would a wolf be using a sword? I mean, Ayra was more brutal and feral, as expected of a wolf, but her brother—do you think he isn’t a wolf?”

Mordeu looked at him in the eyes. He couldn’t deny that that question had surfaced in his mind, but it was impossible that Alvitir birthed a human or another creature that wasn’t a wolf. And also, he just did not want to entertain the possibility that Alvitir’s boy wasn’t a wolf—reasons he had not the faintest idea of.

“I don’t think that’s the case. It’s more plausible that he just hasn’t really been in touch with his wolf yet,” Mordeu defended. More so that he would believe his own words.

Fjall nodded in agreement. “Maybe that’s the case.”

It wasn’t a rarity that there existed people like them who hadn’t been in contact with their wolves yet. In simple terms, they had not wolfed out. Some, however, still possessed the special abilities that came with being acquainted with their wolves, even though they hadn’t wolfed out. And others were reduced to living as mere humans.

Mordeu took into consideration that the latter was the case with Alvitir’s boy. He prayed that it would be so. Practicing the sword probably was his own way of trying to live above the mere human.

It made him unique.

Swords and whatnot were mainly for elves, especially the ones not born with magic. Having a wolf practice sword was a rarity, one unspoken of in the history books.

With a ghost of a smile, Mordeu and his brother entered their room, and with thoughts finding their way around the events of the night, Mordeu slept off.

In the morning, after they had been served breakfast in the feasting hall, Mordeu, Fjall, and Alana took their positions in the courtyard as they listened to Alvitir begin his speech on the pedestal, standing with his children behind him.

Ayra’s gaze was on the trio. Alana noticed this.

“I apologize sincerely for the unforeseen and threatening events that took place here. It is a fault of mine for not providing appropriate security during your stay. I ask that you forgive my incompetence,” he bowed.

Alana scoffed at him.

Mordeu ignored her and continued listening to what Alvitir was saying. However, his focus was disrupted by the sound of a door creaking. He and most of the trainees glanced toward where the sound came from.

It was the elven princess, along with her entourage of vampires and elves.

Ayra’s gaze turned wicked in a second, as if at any moment, if given the opportunity, she would rip the skin off the princess. Her gaze was frightening.

“I urge that you people worry not about your safety. Today we will be joined by our brothers from the Houses of Balor and Stregobor, and with them, they will bring more guards for your protection.” He cleared his throat. “However, it is to my greatest disdain that I have found myself in an unfavorable position where I have to ask for your help.”

Murmurings filled the courtyard. Ayra’s face contorted as she stared at her father in confusion. The white-haired boy was expressionless. He stared ahead, dead in the eyes—he was not looking at anything in particular. It seemed he was lost, his focus nowhere in the courtyard. It seemed like whatever was going on around him was of no concern to him.

“I need your skills—witch, vampire, wolf, or elf—to protect my son,” Alvitir announced to the wonder of the spectators.

The crowd gasped.

“It is not an obligation. It is not an enforcement, but a volunteering effort. My son is in need of help. As you all have seen, his life is in danger, and he needs to be protected.”

“Why?” Alana asked loud enough for everybody to hear, and that caused the attention of every single creature in the courtyard to turn their eyes to where she stood.

“Why is your son’s life in danger, and why are you risking our lives trying to protect him?”

Ayra’s gaze hardened once more as she saw Alana. It was surprising to Mordeu that her gaze had the ability to harden more than it already had. Once more, she scared him.

“Like I said, it is not an obligation nor an enforcement. I ask those who are willing to do this to please come forward and put down your names. If you don’t want to protect him, then you shouldn’t concern yourself with the issues plaguing our family,” Alvitir said in a strict tone, his gaze laid on Alana.

She subtly squirmed.

“What’s your deal with the Alvitirs?” Mordeu whispered to Alana.

The question caught her by surprise. Her eyes went round; she looked away from him before answering, “Nothing.”

Mordeu scanned her appearance. From what had just happened, it seemed that Ayra had recognized her, and from her refusal to say anything about the subject and her desire to dig up dirt on the Alvitirs, it was palpable that they had history. Alvitir had openly scolded her. It couldn’t be that they were just old friends.

Alvitir ended his speech, and a white sheet of paper was nailed to a wall. Those who desired to volunteer were expected to write their names down on that paper.

The crowd had dispersed, and the trio headed to where the paper was nailed.

As they arrived there, Fjall took the brush that was kept in a small containment beside the wall and scripted his name on the paper. Mordeu followed.

“For someone who seemed to be very against this hoax, you are in the first group of people to put down their names.”

The trio turned around. Their eyes went round as they saw who was talking to them.

“Your Highness,” Fjall blurted out.

The princess chuckled. “Alvitir made sure to inform me that in these walls, I’m not royal. So please, call me Freya.”

“Freya,” Fjall blushed. Being able to call a princess by her given name was not something he would’ve anticipated in his life. But as Alvitir had said, within the walls of this camp, they were all equal.

“I see you’re interested in putting down your names. Why?” Freya asked. Her tone was commanding, but her voice was welcoming, and her gaze held a kindness. However, their reasons—whatever they might be—were none of her business, whether or not she was welcoming or nice. Mordeu did not feel obligated to share.

Fjall looked ahead to the path that Ayra takes to her chambers. “I have found my mate, and volunteering as a guard would bring me closer to her.”

Mordeu almost face-palmed at the naivety of his brother.

Freya smiled at him and his obvious gullible trait. She turned to Mordeu, guessing he was the same. “And you, have you also found a mate?”

Mordeu chuckled. “No.” He was direct.

“Then why are you volunteering?” she prodded, probably intentionally dismissing his tone.

“It’s because I want to,” he said in a tone that gave way to no more questions.

Freya rolled her eyes and turned to Alana. She must’ve finally caught on to what Mordeu wanted to relay to her. Upon seeing Alana, her gaze hardened. “Alana.”

“Freya,” Alana said with the same contempt that Freya had used to say her name.

“Protecting Cillian is something I expected from any other person but you. Do you know no shame?” Freya asked derogatorily.