Page 7 of A Reign of Malice
“My Sloane,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sincerity. “My queen. I know you don’t trust easily, but I hope you’ll believe that I have only the best intentions. If you’re blessed to meet your mate, I will not hesitate to let you go, no matter how much I love you. I only want your happiness.”
I study him, not reacting to his use of “love,” but also hating that he sounds so damn convincing. His authenticity makes me wonder if I might be searching for lies where there are none.
Something for me to keep in mind as things progress, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting my defenses slip away again. Dreams or no dreams.
“Thank you, Aeson.” I mirror his smile, keeping my expression warm and open. “You’ve been more than patient with me, and I appreciate that you continue to do so.”
He winks, leaning back in his chair. “Except when it comes to our mating ceremony,” he teases, his tone light but purposeful. “But that’s only because I think it’ll offer peace to the people. Bringing in all these new wolves without you officially joining the Venaris pack has some on edge.”
It’s a rational explanation, and I can’t fault him for it. In his position, I might have done the same to keep my kingdom calm amidst changes they didn’t ask for.
But something inside me remains unsettled.
I need clarity, but I suspect time will be the only way to find what I’m searching for. Time and an unshakable resolve to stay true to myself.
CHAPTER FOUR
SLOANE
The crisp afternoon breeze carries the scent of pine and freshly turned soil, mingling with the faint murmur of approaching carriages. I stand at the edge of the castle’s main courtyard, my crown resting lightly on my head. The perfectly manicured area sprawls before me as I wait.
The expanse of carefully laid cobblestones, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, and manicured hedges frame the space, their emerald leaves trimmed into precise shapes. Clusters of vibrant wildflowers—deep purple, white, and crimson—spill from stone planters placed along the perimeter. In the center, an ornate marble fountain bubbles quietly, its cascading water catching the sunlight in glittering arcs.
Clara’s at my side, her usual sharp gaze scanning the procession of wagons rolling through iron gates embellished with a wolf-head design. Behind me, Aeson’s pack moves efficiently, preparing to guide my people to their new homes.
The first transport comes to a stop, its wheels creak as the driver pulls the horses to a halt. About a dozen people stepdown, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and uncertainty. My heart clenches at the sight of them. These are wolves who’ve endured so much. Wolves who’ve been uprooted from the land they’ve called home for generations.
But I don’t let the sorrow show. I can’t. They need a queen, not a grieving woman.
Clara steps forward as the first family approaches, her presence as commanding as ever. “Queen Sloane is here to welcome you personally,” she announces, her voice ringing clear and strong.
A young girl clings to her mother’s skirts as they approach me. Her wide eyes meet mine, and I drop to one knee, bringing myself to her level. “What’s your name?” I ask gently.
“C-Cleo,” she stammers, glancing up at her mother for reassurance.
“Cleo,” I repeat, letting her name linger with warmth. “It’s very nice to see you. You’re going to like it here. Venaris is a beautiful place, and we’ll make sure you and your family have everything you need.”
She nods hesitantly, her grip on her mother’s hand tightening.
I rise and place a soft touch on the woman’s shoulder. “I know this has been a lot,” I say, my voice steady. “But I’m going to make sure you’re all taken care of. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to tell me.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.
As they move toward the waiting pack members, I catch Aeson out of the corner of my eye. He’s helping an elderly man off one of the carriages, his hands firm but gentle as he steadies the man’s trembling frame.
“You’re stronger than you look,” Aeson teases lightly, earning a weak chuckle from the elder wolf.
“I’ve still got a decent right hook too,” the man retorts, his voice rough but good-humored.
The exchange stirs something in me—relief, perhaps, that Aeson’s handling this transition with such care. For now, my people are in good hands.
The carriages continue to roll in, their wheels rocking over the cobblestone courtyard as family after family steps into the unfamiliar. Each one is met with warmth and guidance, not only from me but from Aeson’s pack, their belongings unloaded with care and efficiency. Some are escorted to the guest quarters within the castle—a temporary arrangement until more houses can be prepared—while others are led toward the village homes that have been readied.
The late afternoon sun casts golden light over the courtyard as the final carriage comes through the gates. My heart lifts at the sight of Trey, one of my advisors, descending from it. His broad shoulders carry the weight of our pack’s troubles, but the familiar determination in his expression feels like an anchor amidst the chaos. His coat, worn from travel, hangs heavy on him, but as our eyes meet, his gaze softens.
“Your Majesty.” He bows deeply.
“Trey,” I say, stepping forward to clasp his arm. “It’s good to see you.”
