A Royal Mark

"What? She left?"

The High Alpha's head shot up in surprise as they were dining.

"Yes, your Majesty." The Zeta, butler to the King, bowed his head in shame.

"We desperately convinced her not to cancel the engagement and stay with the Prince, but she already made up her mind. The Forthwights also supported her decision. She sends her apologies to Your Majesty."

The white-haired man with prominent wrinkles exhaled heavily. He abruptly sets down his gold cutlery and roars, "Bring me Sirius!"

If the butler could go any lower with his bow, he would've bowed until his balding head almost reached the floor.

"But his Highness has been bedridden for days—"

"And he cannot even apologize to his own father for ruining his sixth engagement?!"

If the King's voice could be any louder, it did, or maybe it was the nerve-racking fear of the servants within the vicinity, as the ground was already shaking from his rage.

The butler flinched.

"I-I will seek out His Highness in his residence…" He stutters.

Bullets of sweat trickle down his forehead as he prepares himself to return empty-handed, well aware of the nature of the sickly Prince.

He still shifts into his wolf form and breezes through the woods to uncover the isolated residence of the Prince. He's the High Alpha and late High Luna's only child and direct heir to the throne, whose humble residence would never hint who resides within.

The Prince was born with a weak body, although caged within him is a powerful Alpha-blooded wolf. They are the strongest Alpha-blooded clan in the entire kingdom. His residence was built in the secluded woods to help him recover, but he'd been so weak all his life that the entire kingdom barely had any hope in his usurpation of the throne.

Regardless of his strong wolf, he is physically weak. And the High Alpha must be perfect—strong, wise, and powerful.

The prince is nothing like that.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!"

A few moments of silence pass before the humble, almost eye-level stone gate creaks open.

The rust of the gate screeches as the Zeta of the Prince, Florence, meets his eyes. He glances into the humble stone brick palace overgrown by moss and covered by trees of various fruit varieties inside and sighs at its dull state.

Florence, an old lady with a slightly hunched back, smiled sadly.

"His Majesty is, to put it lightly, unimpressed, after his Highness's recent fiancée ran away. Again. He orders the Prince to report to him in the palace," he says.

Florence does not bat an eye.

"The Prince is not feeling well."

"Well, I—"

"He is bedridden," she curtly cuts him off. "His sickness has recently returned and worsened; which is why the fiancée canceled the engagement. She does not see him recovering and deems him a lost cause."

The butler's lips pursed, worry momentarily replacing his fear of the High Alpha's wrath.

"Does he need any further treatment? Shall I raise this concern to his Majesty?"

Florence, unlike his worry, was calmer and more composed as she shook her head.

"No, the Iota healers recommended the best treatment he needs is rest. He had been forcing himself to be active too much to please his Majesty which led him to worse health."

She moves to close the gate and finally mutters, "On behalf of the Prince, thank you for your concern and understanding of his current predicament."

When the gate was closed, its rusty hinges creaking, the butler could only stare at the old stone wall before returning to the palace alone.

And when he relayed the Prince's condition to the King, his own father merely scoffed, saying, "Find another woman. Someone without much of a choice to stay by his side. I don't care about her title, but she should have one at the very least."

—

Florence immediately released the breath she'd been holding as soon as she returned inside.

He must not see the inside of the manor—an almost empty residence.

"Oh, your Highness, please return soon," she whispered.

Florence was not anxious at all that her master's condition was worsening, mainly because it was a lie. And that if the butler wanted to see him, he can't. Because he's not here in the first place.

—

By the time the Prince arrived, it was already sundown.

A blur of gold and a strong gust of wind indicated his arrival.

The humongous wolf could not fit into the creaking gates and so it leaped over the gates at the back of the residence, his arrival as discreet as his escape.

His soft, golden fur ruffled with every movement he took and his regal golden brown eyes reflected the setting sun's hues.

When he landed, Florence's head was already bowed, her hands politely folded over her abdomen. She curtsies, her simple middle-class dress expanding on the ground as she lowers herself.

"Welcome back, your Highness."

She did not raise her head until she heard him finish shifting back into human form.

Two more wolves landed behind him; one grey, one brown-gray. When he shifted, they brought a coat to him that covered his bare body. And then they too shifted, revealing two men of almost the same features. The one on the right had his long hair in a high ponytail, while the one on the left had short, tidy hair. Twins.

"Tell me what happened while I was gone."

The Prince's deep and steely voice filled the silence of the woods.

"Of course, your Highness, but before that…" Florence led them to the dining hall, where a generous amount of dishes lay waiting. "I have prepared your dinner."

"Thanks, Florence!" one of the twins beamed. His other twin shook his head at him but also nodded thankfully her way.

The three men chomped down the food, and while they ate, Florence reiterated everything that happened in his absence. Which she doubted he didn't already know. Except the one that happened just earlier.

"And then… he left," she finishes. "I do not think the King will push you to meet him, your Highness."

He nods.

"But he will not stop until I marry."

She kept quiet. She agreed to that.

She observed the Prince. His lean frame was hidden under the thick coat, his pale complexion hints at his fragile body, and his solid posture—a sign of well-concealed strength, part of his elaborate scheme.

The boy she raised, who she knew was living two very different lives. This boy's been through so much at such a young age.

And yet, his own father remains blind to his struggles, of his identities.

"What will you do then, your Highness?" she asks. The twins steal a glance his way mid-bite.

He indifferently shrugs, his gold eyes glinting mischief with an unpredictable glow within.

"Let him be. He's my father, after all."

And with that, Florence knew she'd be sending away another frightened maiden in the next few days.