The Alpha's Temptation

Menkar chuckled. He pulled out a dagger with an ivory hilt from beneath his coat and handed it to her. When Tania took it in her hands, she realized that the hilt was made from bloodstone that was carved in the shape of a teardrop. The feel of the bloodstone in her hands was so intense that a shudder passed through her body. Why had he given her a dagger? It was a useless burden.

“Thank you. It will help me.”

He chuckled. “Look at it closely. Do you feel anything?”

She did. She pulled it out of its sheath and turned it around. The blade wasn’t sharp. She had never had any training as a soldier, so her movements were dull. “The hilt is made from a bone.” Once again, a strange feeling passed through her.

Menkar narrowed his eyes. “If you are unable to step out of the palace to communicate , then escape. Don’t stay back. Return to us with whatever knowledge you have learned.”

She nodded, as she ran her finger over the iron of the dagger to get a feel of it. She didn’t even know how to use it, but it felt good in her hand. She had no intention of returning without fulfilling her task.

Even though they had all stopped to have their lunch in the afternoon near a rivulet, Menkar had instructed his men to only stop when necessary to rest the horses. He seemed to be in a rush to reach the Draka palace.

A seeping cold penetrated her clothing as the moon rose higher into the sky. Tania wanted to sleep but the biting cold kept her awake for most of the journey. Last night’s rain had brought dense clouds over the forest. Mist curled inside the carriage through the cracks and caressed her ankles. She took out another uniform to cover with, hoping to warm herself .

When Eltanin returned to the palace, he saw that the place was buzzing with activity. His chest rumbled with frustration as unease crept up into his chest. He rubbed his chest to subdue the restlessness. The servants were going about their duties with excitement. He could hear them murmuring and giving him knowing glances. They were expecting King Biham and Princess Morava to reach them by afternoon. It was as if the entire palace knew that he was going to marry Morava. Or was it that his father had already declared it? ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​

He strode through the corridor with his usual scowl. He wanted to confront the girl who had left him hanging and shake her up badly. If he ever saw her again in his lifetime, he was surely going to interrogate her, shake her and maybe throw her in the dark dungeons, then perhaps ask her as to what she was up to? Maybe he would chain her up. Or, maybe he was going to chain her to his bed. The way he continued to think about her, even after his decision to marry Morava, was leaning to the point of obsession. With each passing day and night, he wanted her and wanted her badly. No amount of alcohol was preventing thoughts of her from invading his mind. He cursed himself for not ripping off the golden mask that was on her face to see who she was. He cursed himself more for not ripping off the white gown she was wearing and feeling her naked body beneath him. The mere thought sent his b***d rushing to his groin.

When a servant giggled at him excitedly, he scowled at her so intensely that she flinched.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Eltanin walked all the way to his library. The room was large and had tall wooden shelves that spanned from the ceiling to ground, covering three sides of the room. The white and gold rug felt soft beneath his feet. The morning sun filtered through the mullioned windows illuminating the room in muted lights. He walked straight to a shelf behind his table and opened a glass window that had a tiny wooden dragon perched inside. He turned the dragon and a panel started groaning as it moved to the left. A small door opened on the right. Eltanin took his boots off and stepped in the garden that was only accessible to the royal family. He admired the mesmerizing golden apple tree surrounded by mist. The apples were sparkling. Some that had fallen on the ground were turning red and brown.

The beauty of the tree stole his breath away. An enchanting deep emerald green dragon was coiled tightly around it. Its spikes shimmered even in the dim morning light. Smooth black spikes that started from the middle of his nose ran right up to the center of his head. The spikes became longer and sharper as they traveled up.

As if it had sensed its protector, it raised its head and let out a huff, offering him to touch. Eltanin reached the dragon and touched its head, but his hand went through the delineation of the draka. The draka spirit hissed at his touch. This was the only place that calmed him, that calmed his beast. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sharp, dewy smell of the grass and sweet and tangy smell of the apples.

Eltanin reached his bedchamber where his servants were already waiting for him. Dismissing his thoughts about her, he went to take a bath. The servants made him dress in a crimson and white tunic, with a dragon embroidered in gold over the chest. A cape of white fur hung over his shoulders and a sword was sheathed at his side. The hilt was encrusted with emeralds and diamonds in the shape of a dragon. The sword was of his ancestors. Its name was Vaskil. He had used it in all his battles and it had never failed him.

Eltanin made his way out to the throne hall where he was expecting to receive King Biham and his daughter. He wished Rigel was there with him, but the bastard was probably going to stay longer in an attempt to avoid everything, and to return no earlier than the afternoon.

When he reached the throne hall, he felt like giving instructions to the guards to not allow Princess Morava to enter. He closed his eyes for a moment to let his foolish thoughts pass and with a shake of his head, he entered the throne hall. Immediately, all the councilmen got up and bowed to him. Without acknowledging them, he walked arrogantly by them to sit on his throne. Once he was seated, with dark eyes he scanned each one of them, his aura so strong that everyone could feel his power. Their faces were the same as he had seen them over the years—scarred, cold, more muscles than brains, and without a kernel of mercy.

Each nobleman was wearing fine clothes and decorative swords. They each had a man standing beside them as their guards. None of them could meet his gaze.

Fafnir stood on his right in his sleeveless tunic, displaying his muscles and strength, his long brown hair tied in a bun. The man’s arms bulged so much it was as if he could crush a stone to dust. One might think that he was dangerous, which he was, but his tanned face was rather pleasant to look at. It was his demeanor that warded people off the most, as well as his king.

The court proceedings started and hours passed quickly. It was not until the afternoon that the guard at the entrance announced, “Your Highness, Alrakis, King Biham of the Pegasii Kingdom and his daughter, Princess Morava, have arrived.”