Page 3

P resent Day:

“The agenda for the day, your grace.”

“Thank you, Bobbin,” Or’Ang murmured.

He took the sheath of paper from his advisor, the crispness of the parchment a mere whisper against the rustling of the accounts he was reviewing.

A frown creased his brow, the silence of Bobbin's stillness jarring him back to reality.

He looked up, observing the short, portly man whose eyes darted nervously, avoiding any direct contact.

He sat back, crossed his arms, and let out a weary sigh.

“What is it?”

Bobbin cleared his throat, the sound a tiny, nervous rasp in the quiet room. “The Countess of Lyons requests an audience with you, sire. As does the Duke and Duchess of the Hyenas, the Earl and his ladyship of the Cougars, as well as the?—”

Bobbin's voice trailed off as Or’Ang waved his hand, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up.

He knew he was in serious trouble when the antelope shifter gave him a smile that was as unsettling as it was apologetic.

Every corner of the town was filled with hushed voices and furtive glances as rumors of his search for a bride spread like wildfire, shattering any hope of secrecy.

It would appear that wildfire had become uncontrollable if the list of names was anything to go by.

“I’m afraid the list is rather long, sire,” Bobbin finished.

Or’Ang pushed himself back from his desk and walked toward the window, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the quiet room.

He contemplated the courtyard and the sea of people below.

When he counted more than a dozen carriages, each one overflowing with people and baggage, a wave of dismay washed over him.

The abundance of predator shifters was worrisome, their presence casting a pall over the normally vibrant residents.

Or’Ang’s kingdom was a sanctuary of peace, and the last thing he wanted was to see it turned into a battlefield by his potential bride's aggressive family.

A sense of tension and apprehension hung over the kingdom, in stark contrast to its usual vibrant energy.

“Let the staff know that we have guests. I surmise they plan on staying overnight, so warn the cooks as well. Please give them my respects and tell everyone that I look forward to seeing them at dinner tonight,” he instructed.

He turned back to Bobbin with a rueful smile.

“You may want to separate them as best you can.”

“I’ll do my best, sire,” Bobbin replied.

Or'Ang nodded, his contemplation returning to the tall, arched windows, their stained-glass panes catching the brisk afternoon light.

The murmuring crowd, with their furrowed brows and clenched fists, made it clear that the tension was about to boil over.

He carefully studied the crowd that had gathered, his ears taking in the chattering voices and the cacophony of sounds.

The cavalcade of carriages, bearing the emblems of far-flung kingdoms, had suddenly arrived at his gate, bringing with them the expectations of pomp and ceremony the uninvited royalty felt due them.

A hush fell over the courtyard as a group of his personal guard entered the gates, their swords glinting in the sunlight and the formidable sight of their raw power commanding respect and calm.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he watched the enormous man, his hair as white as snow, astride a powerful black steed, its hooves drumming a steady beat on the ground.

From where he stood, he could see the displeasure on Polar's face at seeing the crowd.

“My poor friend, what have I gotten us into this time?” he chuckled.

“The first thing I would do is cage all these disgusting humans. They are nothing but pests,” Angelica Hyena declared.

“I don’t understand why he allows them inside,” Arraya Wolfcomb added.

“They do make decent servants… if you can stand their stench,” Robert of the Coyote clan said.

“The smell can be overcome easily enough,” Angelica chuckled.

The scent of expensive perfumes and the murmur of hushed conversations swirled around Or’Ang as he pushed through the crowd of shifter royalty, his teeth gritted in frustration.

Their disdain for the humans, evident in their sharp words and hostile glares, grated on his nerves.

He found humans to be a fascinating species, impressed by their intelligence and tireless work ethic.

With his parents' acceptance of humans as the foundation, a village had sprung up over the rise, a testament to the growing bond between humans and shifters.

He had grown up with them, and Oliver, a member of his royal guard and advisor, was more than just a colleague; he was a genuine friend.

“Your highness, you have a beautiful kingdom,” Lady Catamay said.

Or’Ang’s eyes crinkled as he smiled politely at the countess, whose face was etched with the lines of time.

Her daughter, Lai-mai, walked beside her, clutching her hand tightly.

The slender girl's hands trembled, her eyes darting nervously around, as if she were a cat trapped on a hot tin roof.

His lips tightened with disapproval when she bared her teeth and released a low, threatening hiss.

With a scoff, the countess cast a withering look at the human server.

The server hastily retreated; his shoulders hunched under the weight of her disapproval.

“Disgusting creatures. I hope you made them bathe before allowing them near the food,” the countess remarked in greeting.

“They are members of my home and under my protection, Countess. Please remember that before you make disparaging remarks or threaten them again,” he retorted, not trying to conceal his disapproval.

He turned on his heel, leaving the countess staring after him with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.

Seeing his irritation grow, Polar and Bobbin moved closer, flanking him on either side.

As he neared the head table, a deafening crash, followed by a bloodcurdling scream, reverberated through the chamber, sending a shiver of dread down his spine.

A heavy silence filled the receiving hall, punctuated only by the low, menacing snarls that echoed ominously.

A hush fell over the room as he changed direction, and guests instinctively parted to let him pass.

Polar's growl echoed through the air, a warning to anyone who didn't move out of his king’s way quickly enough.

Before him, a young human woman lay curled up on the floor, her eyes wide with fear.

She was surrounded by shattered plates, the remnants of the refreshments strewn across the floor.

The sight of her holding her arm was all it took to make him see red.

The stench of iron filled the air as blood from four deep claw marks seeped through her clothing.

Oliver stood over her, his sword held high, his eyes narrowed as Count Orban, a massive lion shifter, roared and bared his fangs.

“You dare threaten me, human?” Orban sneered.

“You dare threaten a member of my personal guard and attack a resident of my kingdom?” Or’Ang demanded in response.

Orban's golden eyes narrowed, filled with a cold fury, as he turned.

Instantly, the anger vanished when the lion shifter saw who stood before him.

The malice melted into a charming smile, but Or'Ang gave it no credence, his own face expressionless.

With a gentle smile, he walked over, bent down, and offered his hand to Jessica.

“Oliver, see that the healer attends to Jessica’s wounds,” he requested.

“Right away, sire,” Oliver replied.

“Polar, please ask the cook to request that all humans remain downstairs,” he added.

Polar’s eyes flashed with disgust, the disdain clear in his posture, as he bowed his head stiffly and motioned the servers to follow him. Or’Ang inhaled deeply, seeking self-composure before confronting the arrogant count. His fingers twitched, fighting the impulse to grab Orban by the neck.

“You are a guest in my home. Those that live here are not. I would advise you to remember that,” he said, his voice hard and cold.

Orban’s lips curled. “I don’t know why you protect them. They will all be dead soon. The war against humans has begun. They tried to take what is ours and we will stop them!”

Orban’s voice boomed out, emphasizing his last words with a powerful, resonant tone.

A murmur of agreement, low and growing, swept through the gathered crowd, like a wave breaking against the shore, carrying the sound of many voices in unison.

Or’Ang’s glance moved over his guests, catching both the nodding heads and the hushed whispers of those who threatened both the humans and those who dared to defend them.

His eyes met Polar's, and a silent understanding passed between them.

The polar bear shifter's head dipped low, his eyes flickering with regret. Or’Ang was troubled by what he saw and heard in the crowd.

The war between shifters and humans was a lose-lose situation, a brutal struggle that would leave both sides scarred and broken.