The Invitation II

The princess frowned at him and stopped walking for a moment, which made Mordeu chuckle. But she didn’t turn back—she kept walking forward with her group.

“So you’re telling me I could slap that princess and not get in trouble for hitting a royal?” a girl asked Mordeu.

Mordeu didn’t even look at her. He was too busy laughing hard at what she said.

His loud laugh caught the attention of Lord Alvitir and his group. The Lord stood with two people: a pale boy with white hair and dull grey eyes, who looked tired just hearing Mordeu laugh, and a pretty girl with brown hair and bright green eyes—just like Lord Alvitir. Mordeu could see they were probably related.

Then he heard a low groan. It wasn’t from him, but it was close, so he turned to see.

It was Fjall. He was standing still next to a girl, staring at the Alvitir family with a look Mordeu knew too well—lust.

“My mate,” Fjall groaned again, his eyes fixed ahead. He looked like he was starving, but not for food. It gave Mordeu chills, but what could he do?

Curious, Mordeu followed his gaze and saw a pair of green eyes staring back. The girl Fjall was talking about was frozen in place, not moving with her family. She was looking at them, confused, eyes going back and forth between them. Mordeu recognized the look on her face—she wasn’t sure who she was drawn to.

She’ll figure it out soon enough.

Mordeu smiled and clapped a hand on Fjall’s shoulder. “Congrats, brother. You found your mate—and not just any mate, but one from a fancy family like the Alvitirs.”

The girl beside them laughed. “Don’t get too excited yet. Wait to see if she feels the same. If she doesn’t, trying to win her would be a dumb fight.”

The Alvitir girl walked away, and Fjall finally snapped out of it. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“She’s rich. You, on the other hand…” She sniffed him and made a face. “You don’t smell rich.”

Fjall looked shocked and sniffed under his arm. “Are you saying I stink?”

She sighed. “No, you just don’t smell like money.”

Mordeu laughed again. He was happy for Fjall, but also felt bad. Every wolf hopes to find their mate—but Fjall’s mate came from a world way above his. And worse, she didn’t even seem sure who she wanted.

They dropped the topic and moved on. After showing their invitation cards to the guards, they walked through the gate.

They still had to climb a long flight of stairs to reach the top of the mountain, where the training camp was.

The buildings were made of smooth white gravel—something Mordeu and Fjall had never seen before. Their home village was so poor, most houses were made of cheap wood.

Mordeu had never seen skies so blue. The clouds were so white, they looked close enough to touch. The air smelled fresh and sweet, like fruit. He stood still for a moment, soaking it in. It was like nothing he’d ever felt.

“This place is amazing,” their new friend Alana said, beating him to it. They had learned she was a witch who got her invite like everyone else.

Fjall and Mordeu didn’t tell her how they got theirs. It was something they silently agreed to keep to themselves.

They saw the Alvitir family standing on a raised platform—Lord Alvitir in front, his kids behind him.

They walked over and stood near the platform, waiting with the others. Soon, the Lord began his speech.

“Welcome to the training camp on Mount Belvot, where you’ll all train to become fighters—warriors of the goddess. One way or another, you were chosen to be here, and I personally welcome you.” He bowed.

No one said a word. All the wolves and witches stood in silence out of respect.

But Mordeu heard a heartbeat pounding fast. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Fjall was lost again, barely holding himself together as he stared at his mate on the platform. His wolf was close to taking over. The feeling was so strong that Mordeu could almost feel it himself.

He gently put a hand on Fjall’s shoulder. “Take it easy, brother. Don’t ruin your chance.”

“I know she feels it too,” Fjall whispered, nodding toward the girl.

Mordeu looked her way. She was staring back, and his lips curved into a smile.

“Still, hold it in,” he whispered again, turning back to Lord Alvitir.

Too late. The speech was already over.

He knew Fjall hadn’t heard a word, so he asked Alana, “What did he say?”

“Training starts in two days. They’re preparing everything for us,” she said, then looked past him. He knew who she was eyeing.

“You can take our love-struck teen to his room. Your room number’s on your card,” Alana added before leaving to find her own room.

Mordeu led a tired Fjall to the housing area. He searched until he found their room number, and they went in.

Fjall fell onto the bed and passed out instantly. The trip had been long and exhausting. Mordeu was excited, though. This would be his life for a while, and so far, it wasn’t bad.

He laid down and fell asleep too.

Loud bells and screams woke Mordeu. He jumped out of bed, looking around—but Fjall was gone. Panic hit him like a baby clinging to a blanket. But he forced himself to stay calm and check outside first.

Good thing he did—outside, he spotted Fjall in the crowd and felt relief wash over him.

The sun had set, and stars lit up the sky. Lanterns glowed on every pillar, making the courtyard feel bright again.

Curious, Mordeu made his way over and put a hand on Fjall’s shoulder. Fjall turned fast, almost scaring him, but relaxed when he saw it was just Mordeu.

“What’s going on?” Mordeu asked.

“Lord Alvitir’s son was attacked by assassins.”