The Alpha's Temptation

​​”Did you see a girl leave this room?” Eltanin asked Fafnir.

Fafnir frowned, checking the looks on his soldiers. All of them returned a blank, unknowing stare. “No,” he replied, shivering inside.

Mood plummeting, Eltanin’s fury broke free, and he pounded the door with the side of his fist. It shattered, and wood splintered the air. He looked like a wounded lion whose prey had been plucked from its mouth.

“Find her!” he cried.

Fafnir and the guards, and all others in the corridor, were aghast at the instruction. No one dared to breathe.

After a moment of silence, Fafnir coughed lightly and asked, “Find who?” Only Fafnir could dare ask this of King Eltanin without the fear of decapitation and his head being hung upon a wall.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

Eltanin glowered at Fafnir, and for a moment Fafnir thought that he had invited death to his door.

“Get Petra and ask her for her details. Now!”

Fafnir released a tight breath. “I will.”

“And get that girl here as soon as possible!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Fafnir said, bowing, knowing nothing about the girl he had to capture. A thin sheet of sweat beaded on his brow, and he wondered if Princess Petra would be of any help at all. At the gathering last night, alcohol had flown freely. He had seen many such gatherings and knew that no one remembered much the next day. He wondered if the girl in question also remembered.

“Where is Prince Rigel?” Eltanin asked.

“He is in his chamber,” Fafnir said. “Still slumbering.”

He remained fixed in that position until Eltanin barged past him.

The King’s presence was so heavy in the corridor that every person there bowed to him, frozen in place, until he turned the nearest corner, Fafnir and his guards following him behind.

Eltanin headed to his bedchamber in a torrid mood.

Unhappy, Eltanin paced his bedroom. How could she simply leave without him knowing? How did she escape the room so softly that no one had seen her? He wanted to give Fafnir a good dose of his anger, but that would mean that the King of Draka was crazy for a girl. Which, he supposed, he was, but didn’t want to reveal, or admit.

He stopped at the window, wondering how far she could have gotten. If she had entered the Grand Hall, then she must be a child of nobility and so it was highly likely that she was in the palace premises because all the nobility that was invited stayed over for the night.

He leaned against the window’s edge, watching the dark clouds roll in the sky. Inhaling the crisp scent of moisture, he closed his eyes to relax his speeding heart — but the moment he did, flashes of last night bounced across his mind. Her slender waist held against his body, her citrus scent infusing his nostrils. Just the thought of it made his body go as tight as a bow string. He jerked open his eyes and grabbed the window ledge harder. _{ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​}

“Where are you?” he murmured.

When he had her back here, he would lock her in the deepest dungeon for the crime of leaving him without his approval. No — he was going to lock her in the highest tower and have his way with her. He bit back a g***n, glaring at the Black Fang’s peak. Surrounded by a thick layer of clouds towards the top, the spruce trees and Solaris oaks that marched down its base seemed darker, more ominous. All at once, lightning cracked in the midst of the clouds, and with a loud explosion, they burst into a heavy rainfall.

He closed the window and drew the curtains, pacing once more. He had to meet with Prince Rigel.

A soft knock on the door ended that thought. “Who is there?” he growled, wanting to dismiss whoever it would turn out to be.

“M’lord, your father wants to see you,” said a low, polite, and submissive servant. “He says he will be waiting for you in his chamber.”

He bit back a grunt. He knew exactly what his father wanted to talk about. “Tell him I will be there in an hourglass turn,” he snarled. The servant scurried away.

Eltanin sat back down on his bed. It sagged under his weight. He didn’t want to see his father; the old man was going to sing the same song, one he strongly disapproved of. Nonetheless, he had to visit him. Alrakis could be extremely persistent if he was ever neglected.

His father had given him the reins of the kingdom when Alrakis thought that he had grown too old to rule. The truth was he wanted to spend the rest of his life relaxing and, of course, spending time with his mate. He would go to the sea and stay with Eltanin’s mother, where he cherished her company. He had spent centuries trying to coax her back to the kingdom, but she couldn’t. She was a sea goddess and had an empire to look after. Her father was a sea god and had assigned his daughter to the northern seas.

Taiyi took her work seriously. As soon as his son was old enough to be king, Alrakis didn’t waste a single hourglass turn and crowned him king. After that, he left to be with his mate. He returned a hundred years later to find that Eltanin had expanded the kingdom and was still expanding it further. Since then, Eltanin had only increased the kingdom’s reach.

Eltanin marched down the corridor in his usual attire, black tunic and trousers with a red cape pinned to one shoulder. He rounded a corner, flanked by his guards, and came to a landing of a steep stairway that ended in yet another landing. Across another hall, he reached his father’s chamber, the doors ajar. Without knocking, he entered, finding the old man sitting at his table, playing chess against himself.

“Join me,” Alrakis said, beckoning his son down to the chair opposite to him.

Eltanin sighed heavily. He plopped on the chair like a petulant child, crossing his arms tight across his chest. He stared at his father and then at the room until his father made his next move. Windows were closed as rain pelted the glasses, encasing the world outside in darkness. A brazier lit in the corner, imparted glow in the room.

Alrakis smoothed his neatly trimmed beard. His white hair looked silvery as shadows from the fire made patterns on it. With a black robe over his night pajamas, he looked domineering with features as sharp as Eltanin’s own.

The room was neatly arranged with blue and white tapestry, the embroidered insignia of the kingdom, two crossed swords, hung behind his canopy bed. Candelabras burned in his chamber, and the smell of wax wafted liberally.

Alrakis moved the queen and sat back with a smug smile. “Your move,” he said, sipping from a goblet of wine.

“Father, why have you called me?” Eltanin asked, unwilling to indulge in his little game.

“Good question,” Alrakis said, taking a second sip. He came straight to the point. “The King of Pegasii, Biham, has asked that you marry his daughter, Morava.”