Lycan Alpha Claim 3 (100 page)

CHAPTER 2

Clara entered with Olive, her lady-in-waiting, who she also called friend, at her heels. Royalty was a lonely role and every friendship sacred
.
Clara searched the crowd for Charles. Surely he was somewhere around the room.
Nowhere... drat.

Her eyes scanned the Gathering Room, taking in the rich tapestries lining the walls. “Walls” was a misnomer. There was no puncturing the interior of the sphere. The tapestries had been hung from scaffolding with copper fasteners. The huge Gathering clock
donged
, chiming three hours past noon. Clara loved the enormous timepiece. Ten feet in diameter, it had a symmetry that gave one pause, its beauty striking as sure as the chime she felt reverberating in her chest. The steam-powered gears moved and clanked, clearly seen through a layer of crystal. Hot vapors rose to the highest apex of the sphere, flowing through unseen air portals, which fed to a central ventilator.

Relief swept through Clara as she saw Charles moving toward her. He had finished his studies one year ago and begun to work in the fields. He would stay by her, understanding that she would have to spend a good portion of her time in the presence of her betrothed.

She noticed that he wore his clothes with grace and charm. He looked dashing, his hat a shining wonder topping soft black hair, his time piece tucked safely in the front pocket of a smartly striped brocade vest. His soft velvet pants were charcoal, tucked into tall boots that rose to the knee. His deep black coat lined in scarlet swirled mid-thigh.

Charles bowed. “Princess Clara.” His eyes twinkled. The sod knew very well how she hated the title.

Clara automatically returned a perfunctory curtsy. “I see you are in good spirits.”

“Ah yes, a Day of Birth celebration for my dearest friend, what must I feel badly about?” Charles raised a brow, tapping a finger on his head as if confused.

Olive giggled behind them. She found Charles amusing. Clara did as well, but not so much this day.

Charles examined her expression. “Clara.” He lowered his voice.  “There is no alternative. You must persevere.”

His sadness cloaked her. Charles would rather slay himself with his own sword than have her married to Frederick.

Clara felt shame redden her cheeks. He was her dear friend and as constrained by rules as she. Taking his hand, she squeezed it, and he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “That is the Clara I know, brave heart. Take my arm, Princess.”

Clara slipped her arm through Charles's, noticing how tall he had become. The top of her head brushed his chin. His dark eyes regarded her solemnly. It was time to greet Queen Ada, her mother.

They approached the throne upon its circular dais. The steps leading to her throne shone in the warm light of the steam-chandeliers, their crystal orbs casting a golden glow directly over the dais, spreading like molten water over the floor.

The Queen regarded them with thinly veiled disdain, her tapered finger eternally running up and down the crystal stem of her shimmering emerald wine goblet.

“Daughter of mine,” Queen Ada said with silken menace encasing every syllable, “what reason have you for being late to your own Day of Birth celebration? Leaving”—she gave a slight incline of her head— “Prince Frederick in a most unescorted plight.” Her gaze bored through Clara.

She allowed herself to look at Prince Frederick, whose thunderous expression told her that her mother was not the only one from whom she would have to assuage temper.

“Do not look at Prince Frederick,” Queen Ada roared, causing the crowd to gasp. “Address your Queen!”

Charles moved behind Clara, putting his hand at the small of her back.

Queen Ada's razor stare turned to Charles. “She is not to be coddled.”

Charles hand fell away from Clara's back, and she stood, vulnerable and seemingly alone, before Ada.

Clara took a stoic breath, bracing herself, knowing the shock wave she would send through the crowd. “I have a tale of great magnitude.” Every eye was upon Clara. A feeling of great excitement stole around her heart, squeezing it. “I have seen a
savage.
”

The gasps were as one, loud in their combined softness.

Queen Ada stood, her goblet temporarily forgotten. Elvira, her lady-in-waiting, swooped forward to steady it. Clara watched Ada regain her balance, swaying only a little.

“You lie.” She stood in her swirling gown of deep purple, her favorite color, with a long, sensuous rope of black pearls looped and knotted, reaching her knees. Samuel's pearls, only the rarest for Ada. Clara never thought of her mother as such. It was always Ada, or the Queen.

“I do not. I was taking my leave before this celebration.” Clara turned to the many faces, some of which she was close enough to reach out and touch, and spoke to them, giving her back to Ada, a brave thing. “I saw him at the border of the Forest, which lays Outside.”

More gasping. The sightings of the
savages
had increased in number, along with the sentries at the critical sphere passages between kingdoms.

Charles grasped her elbows, turning her to face him. “You say you saw one? How close,
Cla
... Princess.”

“I ask the questions here, not you
.
”
The Queen turned her fearsome expression to Clara. “Perchance, you use this ridiculous story as a ruse to win you my mercy for the disrespect you show us by your lateness.” She looked at Clara, for all her drink, brightly and with a keenness that Clara knew very well.

Clara ignored the question, hoping to distract with her tale.

“He ran with great speed to my window.” Many voices began at once, and Clara was forced to stop.

“Silence!” Queen Ada bellowed, and the crowd’s voices faded.

Ada swung her attention to Frederick. “What say you? Does my daughter bear tales?”

As if he would have a fig's reckoning about her state of mind.

Frederick glared down at Clara. She a terrible but necessary inconvenience, one he would obtain to further his wealth. She was but a pawn on his kingdom's chessboard.

Frederick sat slightly lower and to the left of Ada, the King of Kentucky to Ada's right. It was he, not Frederick, who answered. “If I may, I feel disinclined that Princess Clara would falsify such a tale at a time when these
savages
are unveiling their presence.”

Clara gulped back her anxiety, eternally thankful for King Otto, who inadvertently paved the way for her next comment. “I may know why they survive Outside.” The silence was that of a tomb, but Clara continued. “The male had...” Clara gestured to the slender column of her neck, and the many faces of the crowd followed her motion. “...gills. They appear to aid in his breathing.”

Excited conversations exploded all around Clara, and she hazarded a look at Queen Ada, who looked as if her breath had been stolen, sitting down in a very un-royal heap upon her throne.

Charles studied Clara, his hand still encircling an elbow when Prince Frederick was suddenly there. “Unhand my betrothed, Mr. Pierce.”

Charles stared at the Prince with an unwavering gaze, his brown eyes steady, his fingers loosening then falling away. Clara looked at Charles, her eyes warning him. She saw in his eyes a wish to maim, which would not do. It would not do at all
.
Her gaze traveled, finding the Prince's guards.

“Come, Clara.” He said her name with an intimacy he would never earn. “Sit beside your future king.”

Clara would rather drown in the oyster fields than be near him. She turned to look at Charles, and he mouthed,
I will be here.

Clara lifted her skirts to assure her footing as she climbed the dais and sat in the small, gilded throne at Ada’s left, sandwiched between the loathsome Prince and her drunken mother, the one who would prostitute her for free grapes, giving up their precious legacy of pearls for her love of the cup.

CHAPTER 3

Clara's gaze fell upon the crowd, so deeply engaged in the titillating news of a close sighting of a
savage
. Not a glimpse, no, but an entirely intimate appraisal. She felt the uncomfortable presence of Prince Frederick at her back. He had made it clear that she was not suitable for him. With her very unfeminine desire to work the oyster fields, he had been quite vocal in his dislike of her duties.

His irritation pleased her
.

It was well known, at least in her sphere, that the Kingdom of Kentucky was ill managed. Prince Frederick acted not in the least concerned for his people’s prosperity. There had been rumors of poverty, which included starvation, unheard of in most spheres.

A hand gripped her collarbone painfully, and Clara checked her expression so the pain would not show. “Smile, my dear, let them all know how happy you are that I have deigned to show my affection for you,” the Prince whispered, his breath so like rotten fruit that Clara stifled a gag. She plastered a false smile on her face, which immediately alarmed Charles. Clara gave a minute shake of her head,
stay there,
the look said. She was stuck as a butterfly with a pin through its wing. The Prince abused her in a multitude of subtleties. She could guess what a marriage with him would entail. He released her, and the numbness where his hand had been faded, replaced with throbbing that kept pace with her heart.

Ada leaned forward. “You will explain this later, my daughter. In detail.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Ada placed her hand at the back of Clara's neck and squeezed hard, her favorite tender spot to abuse. At every vantage point, she was higher than Clara, as tall as most men, and always higher on the dais,
always.
Clara struggled not to whimper at the double abuse from the Prince and the Queen. It was a near thing and difficult to hide from her people.

Ada and King Otto had their heads pressed together in royal commune, which suited Clara very well. It meant that the Queen's attention lay elsewhere. Finally, amongst the noise of the people’s conversation, King Otto clapped his hands three times, causing Clara to flinch, which amused Frederick. The crowd quieted.

“Hail the People of the Kingdom of Ohio. On this day, it is not just a Day of Birth Celebration, but also a day of exciting news.” A somber expression rode his face. “Your Princess claims to have seen one of these
savages
near at hand and will now explain them to us.”

Once more, all eyes were on Clara. As unprepared as she felt, she knew the violence that would meet non-compliance, so she began. “He seemed of rugged countenance but not a danger.”

A person from the crowd shouted, “How can that be? We know they are to be feared.”

Clara's eyes narrowed, taking in the speaker’s stance.

“That is what we have been told by the Record Keeper.” A disquieted silence fell. “And this may be, but this
savage
offered no violence. It is my belief that he was... curious about us.”

“About
you,
Princess.” This came from one of the men who captained the pungy boat in the oyster fields.

“Mayhap of me, or it could be happenstance that I stood by the window at just the right moment.”

Olive spoke next. “Tell us, your highness, what did it look like?”

The group leaned forward to catch her words. “He was of huge body and limb, with long hair to here,” Clara indicated her shoulders, “and of fierce expression.” Clara did not indicate clothing, as it would be an embarrassment in front of the People, his nakedness scandalous.

The great timepiece chimed four times, its deep timber reverberating inside the Gathering Room like a quaking of the earth. Steam rose to the sphere's apex, the hissing vapors seemingly disappearing.

The Queen broke through the questions with a final, “Enough of the supposed
savage
. Let us celebrate my daughter's Day of Birth.”

Clara knew Queen Ada wished to know everything in private, an interrogation she would not escape.

Servants came forward with laden plates of grapes, cheese, and all matter of meats and pastries for the last course. A great cake was piled four tiers high. It was an absurd extravagance, more appropriate for a Wedded Joining than a birthday. They laid the feast at the foot of the royal dais on tables that had been arranged for the buffet. Another table was piled high with lavishly packaged gifts from her people.

Clara stood on feet shaky from stress. “Thank you all most kindly for your presence at my Day of Birth Celebration. I am most grateful for your allegiance and loyalty.”

Ada waved her hand dismissively. “Yes,
yes
Princess Clara, they understand that.” Her eyes narrowed.

Clara thought that might be the case but felt the words were most important to say. The Queen cared not, but Clara knew loyalty was an uncertain thing, cultivated through decent treatment, not fear. A lesson her mother did not ascribe to. A lesson taught by her father, King Raymond, long-since passed.

Someone she would never forgot.