“He

cut your tongue?” Heaven almost shrieks. The child continues

moping. “Why did he do so? So that you won’t talk?”

Kaicha

shrugs, her eyes big and bright. It’s then it dawns on Heaven that

even this little girl may have been captured.

What

if she isn’t his daughter like he claimed she is? Everyone knows

that Alphas seldom have babies with people who aren’t their mate,

as it could sabotage their Alpha lineage.

Even

if Kaicha was his daughter, could be why he’s keeping her a secret

from his pack? Or is there another bigger reason as to why the girl

should be unknown?

“Do

you know why he’s hiding you?” Heaven asks again. Just then, the

woman fixing Kaicha’s hair finishes her job and bows out, while the

child suddenly breaks into a dance.

Her

steps are clumsy and lack rhythm. Even her attempt at fluidity is

terrible. Now Heaven can see why Ziason badly sought a tutor.

“He’s

hiding you so you can dance?” Heaven queries, utterly clueless of

the girl’s gestures.

Kaicha

shakes her head frantically and breaks into another round of amateur

dance. She keeps signaling something with her arms, placing her hands

on her chest and abdomen from time to time and then throwing them up

in the air while arching herself backward.

Heaven

still can’t understand.

“Can

you write?” she asks. If the girl can pen down the words she can’t

speak, it would be better. But Kaicha shakes her head.

Heaven

wonders how Ziason can be so heartless and cruel. Why would he treat

such a little girl like this?

Firstly,

he cuts off her tongue, then doesn’t give her education in such a

modern world.

He

really is a beast.

Now

Heaven can’t believe the fact that he seemed to care for Kaicha

yesterday. Or is it a toxic kind of relation between the duo? As in;

a man who needs Kaicha for something, therefore pretending to be kind

to get it, and the little girl who doesn’t understand why he

switches from good to bad from time to time but still acknowledges

his good side with all her heart.

>>>>>>>>

That

night, Heaven stands in her room window to watch the view below.

Her

window doesn’t face the pack house like Kaicha’s. What Heaven

sees from her window is the main gate from which she and Ziason came

in yesterday.

At

daytime, she can also behold just how the mountains surround the

pack.

For

now, due to the black night, she can’t see much. Except, there are

small movements happening below, which look like people leaving

through the tower through the main gate.

Heaven

knows that Ziason has a room in this tower, but she doesn’t know

which of these countless rooms it is. She doesn’t have the interest

in finding it either, since she’s now hellbent on trying her best

to simply avoid the man.

When

he left the tower after his gym session yesterday, she knew. When he

returned at night to spend the night in the tower, she knew. When he

left this morning and returned in the afternoon, she knew.

She

watched these movements from either her window or Kaicha’s window.

But who she’s seeing leaving the main gate now isn’t Ziason.

They

look like two men pushing a big wooden cart. And due to the lamp in

the cart, Heaven sees what looks like three male bodies inside the

cart, their clothes soaked in blood.

What

the hell happened? What did Ziason do to these men, and why were they

even here in the first place?

When

Kaicha’s maid comes in the next morning to serve Heaven’s

breakfast, it’s the first thing Heaven asks her.

“Do

you know whose corpse the Alpha disposed last night, and why they

were killed?”

The

girl says nothing.

“Is

he also holding your family captive?” Heaven pushes. She notices

the girl’s brief pause. “I’m correct, aren’t I?”

The

girl still doesn’t respond. Instead, she quickly sets the breakfast

on the bedside stool before turning to leave the room.

Heaven

jumps out of bed and grabs the girl’s forearm, pulling her back.

If

she can’t understand anything about Ziason, she deserves to at

least know the nature of the things that are already keeping her

here.

She

has tried with Kaicha—to know why Ziason needs the girl. That

failed.

Now

she has to try the curse. And since she doesn’t know much about

curses except that marks like Ziason’s mean a curse, she decides to

read about wolf curses instead.

“Where

can I find books; about wolves and curses, to be precise? Do you know

any place?” she asks the pain, who cranes her head in Heaven’s

direction.

“The

library,” she murmurs grudgingly, then quickly shrugs out of

Heaven’s hold.

“Wait.

Where can I find the library, then?”

But

the girl has already left the room. And the small breeze left by her

dash turns to cold, harsh wind on Heaven’s skin.

Heaven

lets out a breath she has been holding for long. Chills spread

through her body as she hugs herself, her mind running several

question about her moments of demise.

Would

she die by Ziason’s claws, or by his blade?

What

will she be doing at the moment when she dies?

Where

will she be; this tower, in Yule, or nowhere in particular?

>>>>>>>>

For

the next four days, Heaven experiences a trail of reoccurring events.

A

growing fear for her life.

The

nightmare of the day her parents died.

Teaching

Kaicha dance.

Struggling

to reach the depths of Ziason’s secrets.

Watching

him slip in through the small gate then sneaking to the ground hall

to watch him workout as she uses her eyes to trace the lines of his

tats.

Trying

hard to convince the maid girl into telling her the location of the

library while attempting to find it herself to no avail.

And,

every night, watching a group of young men flock in through the main

gate, only to leave as corpses.

Sometimes

they’re two, sometimes three. The highest so far is six.

Twice,

Heaven has hurried down the stairs the moment she saw these men

enter. But, by the time she reached the last floor, she always didn’t

find them.

She

even tried to look for where they could have entered. However, she

discovered that all the doors in the tower are locked except for the

ballroom, her room, and Kaicha’s room.

How

she didn’t see these coming still amazes her. She was always

cautious so as not to fall into a trap. And she avoided wolves like

they were virus. Yet, she fell for Alpha Ziason’s trick, how? Was

she that desperate? Was she so scared of herself that she resulted in

following a total stranger so blindly into his den?

Now,

what happens next? How certain is she that Ziason wouldn’t kill her

anyways, before or in five years? Also, being an Alpha, is it

possible that he could know what happened to her parents seven years

ago?

What

if… what if this was a ploy?

She

definitely doesn’t know the reason her parents were killed by ‘an

Alpha’. So

what if Ziason brought her here in the guise of teaching Kaicha

dance, only to repeat the incident of seven years ago—get something

from her, then kill her?

There

must be a reason her parents made sure she survived.

Wolf

Kingdom.

Tribalan

Pack.

They

say the Tribalan tribe of the wolf kingdom flourishes in all things.

But one most exceptionally notable is their beauty.

Their

ethereal appearances crawl from meager maids to the Alpha. From kids

to adults. From a males to females. All skin types. All genetic

inheritances. All body shapes.

Even

now, the banquet hall screams of beauty as several maids in satin

robes swiftly move about to set the table.

Through

the large, open door, a man steps into the hall, clad in a

neatly-pressed brown suit, his polished black shoes complementing the

glimmers of the diamond signet ring on his left index finger.

Without

knowing it, he fists his fingers, his hands stiff at his sides and

his chin held high as his gray eyes scan the hall.

The

maids, who once graced the hall with their elegant movements, quickly

lose their composure on the sight of him.

They

giggle and point fingers. Some whisper among themselves.

The

man notices these gestures, but never meets gazes with any of them.

Instead, he focuses his attention on the long, rectangular banquet

table ahead, and on the smell of delicious food, even as his name

flies about the air. A name that forces necks to turn once it’s

mentioned.

“Ambassador

Zeedar, you are an hour early,” a voice whispers behind him. A male

voice with a bland tone.

Zeedar

acts unaware of the person, so the voice owner slides into his line

of view, forcing an eye contact with him while standing a few inches

taller than him.

Zeedar’s

stoic expression doesn’t change as his eyes carefully analyze the

man in his front.

Brawny.

Chocolate, glowing skin. Short and shaped beards.

Those

fit the description of Tribalan pack’s Beta.

“I

am Beta Reamer of Tribalan. I represent Alpha Frail of Tribalan

pack,” the man says while extending a handshake to Zeedar, who

silently takes it. “From what I heard, when Moon’s Wrath pack’s

ambassador goes on errands for his Alpha, Moon’s Wrath’s delight

travels with him. They are quite inseparable, people say. But from

what I’m seeing now, I do not think that is true.”

Zeedar

diverts his eyes from Reamer without blinking. “This is not the

Alpha’s errand,” he mutters before walking past the Beta, heading

to the table and taking a seat without permission.

After

studying Zeedar for a while, Reamer sits down as well.

Since

Zeedar sat at the

right side of the head seat,

he expected Reamer to sit opposite him.

Seeing

the man seated at the head

seat

meant for the Alpha is quite the eyesore he didn’t expect to come

across. But even as the itch to drag the man out of the seat bubbles

within him, he holds it down, suppressing it with a huge exhale of

breath.

“Wine?”

Reamer offers while gesturing to a maid to pour them both a champagne

of wine each. Zeedar shakes his head in refusal when it gets to his

turn. “How about alcohol?” the beta asks again, this time taking

his own champagne glass by its stem and gently swirling the drink

inside. Zeedar refuses again. “Do you prefer soda, then?”

“Milk,”

Zeedar responds curtly, “with zero sugar.”

Confused,

Reamer squints his eyes at the ambassador. Valiant men alike Zeedar

Father prefer wine and alcohol. But here he is talking of milk. A

DRINK FOR BABIES.

“Give

the man his milk, then,” Reamer tells the maid, then proceeds to

sip his wine, sniffing in its aroma before starting another speech.

“I often confused you and your brothers as triplets. You look

almost the same, and your characters don’t tell your age. For

example, people know your Alpha is the oldest among you, but you act

like the oldest instead. Could you please clarify the age differences

so I would know how to address all three of you when we come together

in the future…” Reamer jerks his wine glass toward Zeedar, “…in

peace, of course.”

Zeedar

locks his stare on the man. Is he trying to anger him by asking about

age so bluntly?

In

the werewolf kingdom, it’s an offense to ask one their age,

especially since they age slowly and one can barely tell who is a

hundred. But this man going as far as asking about Moon’s Wrath

Alpha’s age tells just how fearless he is.

“My

Alpha is twenty-nine. I’m twenty-seven. Freck is twenty-six,”

Zeedar responds anyway, in a flat tone.

“I

heard that before your Alpha, there was a first,” Reamer presses

on.

“He’s

dead,” Zeedar replies curtly, “but wasn’t he part of your pack?

You should have known that.”

“He

rarely showed himself. But the day my Alpha killed him, he saw his

face. My Alpha keeps professing how beautiful the man was.”

Zeedar

nods about three times while looking away, his jaws clenching without

his control.

Reamer

notices that and asks, “Was that offensive?”

Zeedar’s

lips twitch a little, forming a tight smile. “Not at all.”

“Well,

I just thought since he was ‘part

of our pack’, you

wouldn’t mind.”

Zeedar

noted how Reamer put emphasis on the ‘part

of our park’,

probably as a sarcastic reply to his question.

Now

he knows that the beta was certainly trying to annoy him while acting

casual. It’s not like the man didn’t know what was offensive or

not.

“As

you may have heard, I have an intimate interest in men,” Reamer

continues. “Your last brother, for example, pleases my heart. I

would have loved it if he were here as well.”

Zeedar

squints his eyes. He didn’t know anyone would be particularly

interested in THAT brother, most especially a Beta of an enemy pack.

Of all people to be attracted to, it’s Freck?

“My

brother is not the best candidate for an escort on a peace mission.

He acts on instinct.”

“Hm.”

Reamer nods, sipping his drink again while never breaking eye contact

with Zeedar. “I hear you’ve been busy with the pack’s company.”

He lets that sentence sink in before proceeding. “You have spent

these past years in the human world, only going on errands assigned

by your Alpha. Why go out of your way now to come here outside your

Alpha’s orders?”

Zeedar

doesn’t respond as he diverts his focus to the food before him.

Usually, he would struggle to not eat a food given to him for fear of

poison.

But

he doesn’t struggle on this one. He won’t eat it unless convinced

it isn’t poisoned.

After

all, if Tribalan pack can kill an Alpha of Moon’s Wrath pack,

what’s there to kill an ambassador?

Reamer

seems to sense the man’s plight. “If my Alpha wanted you dead,

you would have already been the moment you stepped into our

territory. We do not deal with petty stuff like poison, ambassador.”

Zeedar

still isn’t convinced.

Reamer

rises up, walks to his side, and takes a spoon each from his food.

“See?” he says when he doesn’t die after thirty seconds.

However, Zeedar still stares at the food without interest as Reamer

returns to his seat. “Suspecting us of poison goes against your

treaty for peace, ambassador.”

“A

bowl of water,” Zeedar says to a maid, who leaves and returns with

a bowl of water. “Drink it.”

The

maid drinks the water after looking at the beta for permission. Then

Zeedar takes the bowl from her and washes his cutlery in it before

wiping them on his pants.

Now

there’s nothing stopping him from digging into the food.

Although

amazed by the man’s peculiar attitude, Reamer keeps talking. “My

pack and yours were founded by two blood brothers that were orphans

of an exterminated faraway pack. They were Alphas known for their

compassion and kindness. And they took in as many homeless and rogue

wolves as they could. For a long time, both our packs have excelled,

flourishing with equal strengths to the point they leveled with the

Alpha King. It was only because of these Alphas’ loyalty to the

Alpha King that they did not overthrow him. Even when the Alpha King

suddenly disappeared, the packs fought other packs who tried to

overthrow the Alpha King’s pack. They both remained strong

brothers.”

While

Zeedar busied himself with the food, Reamer studied the man’s

reaction to his words while telling to story.

So

far, no reaction.

He

intends to know the ambassador’s true intent for coming here, and

he must squeeze that out of him.

So

he pushes further. “However, eight years ago, the previous alpha of

my pack, his beta, and a son of Moon’s Wrath’s alpha, whom he had

adopted, suddenly died. Their killer then became the new Alpha of

Tribalan pack, known as Alpha Frail. Moon’s Wrath’s Alpha sought

revenge out of anger. He personally stormed here to kill Alpha Frail

himself. People say that was the first time he acted out of emotions.

And that became his last time on earth, as Alpha Frail killed him and

sent his head back to Moon’s Wrath pack, declaring war on the them.

Moon’s Wrath’s new alpha, Ziason Father, second son of the late

alpha, accepted the challenge. Since then, both packs have been

striking little battles that end in loss on both sides. However, even

though both packs have been affected over the years, they merely

climb down the influence rank by a step. Ambassador, do you think any

part of this story is false?”

Zeedar

shakes his head while still eating.

“Then

why have you suddenly made the decision to end the war?” Reamer

asks, completely relaxing in his chair. “According to logic, we

killed your uncle, your father, your brother, and stole the pack that

belonged to your uncle’s children, yet you still want to make peace

with us. Does it make sense?”

Zeedar

stops eating for a moment to speak. “If there’s anything both my

father and my uncle would despise with all their hearts, it’s

seeing the battle between the packs they struggled to build, or

having any one of them crumble. I just want to fulfill their wish of

making sure both packs strive.” He finishes the last of his food.

Even though the maid had served his milk, he doesn’t drink it. He

wipes his lips instead, then shifts nonchalantly in the chair to

adjust himself. “Since you’re done telling your story, can I

finally see your Alpha? I need to speak with him one on one.”

“Before

coming here, you must have known my Alpha doesn’t speak with just

anybody.”

Zeedar’s

stoic gaze lands on the beta. Sharp. Steady. Surrounded by cold air.

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

Reamer sips his wine again. “But he says I should ask if you know

what the prophesy child is.”

“What

is that?”

“Your

alpha didn’t tell you?”

Zeedar

doesn’t know what the man is talking about, but he refuses to look

lost, so he maintains his bland expression.

The

beta notices Zeedar’s effort and smiles, his thick lips stretching

as tiny wrinkles appear around his narrow, dreamy eyes.

“To

stop the war, your alpha has to give up the wide acre of land that

the previous alpha of my pack gifted your father,” he says. “I

know Ziason Father barely sees reason, but I trust you will try to

convince him. If he’s willing to let the land go, we will settle

our disputes.”

“Was

the land your major grievance for triggering an eight-year-old war?”

Zeedar mumbles.

Reamer

huffs. “Because my Alpha asks to settle with the land doesn’t

mean it was his reason for starting a war. We have our grievances,

but we’re willing to put that aside.”

“If

I may ask, what grievances do your alpha have against my pack?”

Some

moments of uncomfortable silence pass between the two before Reamer

sits up in his chair, setting his champagne glass on the table. “With

time, you will find out. For now, let us think about settling the

war.”

Zeedar

blinks once and forgets to do so for the next thirty seconds. “I

have one last question for you,” he mutters. “If I had not come

here, would you have thought of ending the war?”

Reamer

shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Then

why did you agree to the treaty so quickly?”

“You

said last question before.”

“This

one is last.”

“Well,

as you can see, the war is leading no where. We only keep losing

armies and wealth for the past eight years.” Reamer rises to his

feet and adjusts his fitting black shirt before traipsing to Zeedar,

placing his hands on the backrest of the latter’s chair. “It’s

obvious both packs are in the same level of strategical strength and

manpower. The war could stretch to three more generations and there

still would not be a conqueror.”

Zeedar

stands up too, facing the beta. “I didn’t expect the rumored

powerful Alpha Frail of Tribalan pack to give up so easily.”

“People

may not know this, but my alpha is wise. He knows when to stop.”

The

two exchange a goodbye handshake before Zeedar leaves the hall. As

Reamer returns to his seat, he hears a voice in his head.

[You

skipped the last part that says ‘he also knows when to NOT back

down’]

Reamer

reaches for his glass and gulps down allbthe wine in it, then he

replies the voice owner through a mind link. [Alpha,

why did you make me ask him about the prophecy child?]

[The

witches confirmed that his words were true. He truly doesn’t know

about the prophecy, which means Ziason didn’t tell his brothers

about it. He kept it from them for a reason. Probability one, he’s

trying to protect them. Probability two, he doesn’t trust them. I

prefer to bet on the latter.]

[What

are you planning, Alpha?]

[There

is no plan. For now, I want to see how that single information will

reform Zeedar’s mind. I want to see how much trust the brothers can

afford within themselves, and I want to see how strong their famous

powerful trinity is.]