The Hybrid, the King's Cure

Duskton Kingdom

Alaric stood in the rain, surrounded by a group of men from his council, his trusted bodyguard, Avark , Lord Preston and his aunt, Sapphire. The rain poured down on his black clothes, damping his hair, but none of that compared to the pain of watching his seventh wife’s coffin being lowered into the cold earth.

Finally, it was over. Without another saying anything to either of them, Alaric turned and walked away from the scene. He had suffered this horrid pain six times before each death a sad reminder of the curse placed on him when he was nothing more than a baby. The person who had cursed him had been unforgiving, now any woman Alaric married would die the moment he slept with her. In return, he would never produce an heir until he broke that curse.

“Alaric, wait!” he stopped,before rolling his eyes. He had heard this familiar voice to many times to count.Without even turning, Alaric already knew that it was his aunt, Sapphire. Unlike most Lycans,aunt Sapphire was gifted. While many could not determine the root of Alaric’s curse, she, through her visions, had discovered that he was destined to marry a Hybrid born of  royal blood, because only a gifted Hybrid could break his curse placed on him as a child.

“What is it, Aunt?” Alaric asked, his voice calm. Alaric was known to his subjects as a cold-hearted Alpha and he intended to keep that reputation that way.

“I… I do not know what happened,” Sapphire said, her voice low and edged with guilt. She was by far the kindest member of his family. In fact, Alaric often wondered how she had managed such a heart when the rest of their bloodline craved nothing but power.

“There is no need to apologize. I guess it was meant to happen. Once more, the curse has taken yet another wife from me,” he replied bluntly.

“No, it has not. We simply have to find you a Hybrid born of…”

“That is enough!” Alaric snapped. His jaw clenched, fists balled at his sides. Alaric turned to face his aunt, his eyes glowing a fierce amber as his anger was set free. But when he saw the fear in his aunt’s eyes, he shut his eyes and exhaled sharply. When he opened his eyes again, they had returned to their usual deep green color.

“My apologies, Aunt,” Alaric said at last. “But I think it is best that we no longer discuss this subject of finding me a bride.” Alaric said calmly. Marriage was the last thing he wanted, especially now that every wife he had made love to had died the next day.

“But the curse can only be lifted if we find you a Hybrid that is born of royal blood,” Sapphire pleaded, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Then I only have this to tell you, my last wife was the final Hybrid that is born of royal blood in my kingdom,” Alaric replied coldly, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

“But I am certain there are…”

“There are no others, Aunt Sapphire. I have had my men comb through every kingdom I have ever conquered. Not a single Hybrid born of royal blood remains. Perhaps this is my punishment for all that my ancestors have done. Now, I must go. There is a war to prepare for.” He added before turning away from her.

“Alaric!” Sapphire called out to her nephew, but Alaric walked on without so much as a glance, as though he had not heard her.

Sapphire stood there in silence, her heart heavy for the broken man that Alaric had become. For years, Alaric had conquered kingdoms until his name alone was enough to make his enemies tremble, yet beneath it all, he was a broken man.

Hearing footsteps approach from behind, Sapphire stiffened. She did not need to turn to know who it was, because she could feel the dark aura radiating from him.

“Good day, sister,” Lord Preston greeted her, his tone far too casual for a grim day like this.

Sapphire turned to face her older brother, Lord Preston, her expression hardening the moment she saw the smug curve of his lips. His smile alone was enough to ignite her rage, but she could not attack him, not even if she wanted to. “Your nephew has just lost his wife. There is nothing good about this day,” she said coldly.

Lord Preston did not answer immediately. Instead, he let his eyes drift to her clenched fists. A deep, rumbling laugh escaped his throat.

“I hope you are not thinking of attacking me?” he asked knowingly. The bond between them as twins, sealed long ago with a spell, ensured Sapphire could not harm him even if she tried.

“I could not harm you, dear brother, even if I wanted to,” she responded, her voice low but laced with venom. “But mark my words, your day will come.”

“Oh, I am sure it will,” Preston said with a smirk. “My day will come when I finally become Alpha of the Duskton Pack.” Lord Preston knew full well that was not what she meant, but he enjoyed twisting her words whenever he fancied.

Sapphire watched him walk away from her, her stomach twisting as she was disgusted by her brother’s behaviour. Her mind spun and she felt unsettled. Nothing made sense. There was no way that the prophecy could be wrong, Alaric needed to marry a Hybrid born of royal blood. But it seemed like all hope is lost, now that Alaric had said that his late recent late wife was the last of the Hybrids born of royal blood.

**

In the Woods

Escaping from the palace, Alaric ventured deep into the woods under the cover of night. He had changed into simple clothes, put his weapons away and now he looked like a commoner. When he was younger, Alaric remembered dressing up in simple clothes and sneaking out of the palace to mingle among the ordinary Lycans. But this time, as an adult, his escape was not for entertainment, it was out of necessity and he needed to be careful in doing so.

A Alpha like himself was not always welcomed in places like this. He was Alaric Bloodbane, leader of the Duskton Kingdom. Many referred to him as Alaric the Avenger and there were many who would gladly have his head on a pike. Concealing his identity was the only way for Alaric to move freely and wearing a hooded cloak was by far the safest option for him.

The further Alaric walked into the thick forest, unsure of exactly where he was going or what he sought, the more he sensed that he was not alone. Up ahead, a gathering of Lycan warriors had formed in a small opening. There was music, loud cheering and the clinking of mugs as they drank heavily around a burning fire.

“Who are you?”

Alaric froze at the sound of a loud, deep voice calling out to him. His instincts urged him to attack, but he knew better and therefore, he needed to remain calm. Slowly, Alaric turned to face the warrior who had spoken. The man’s face was covered in battle scars, each one telling a story of survival during battle.

With his head lowered and his hood concealing most of his features, Alaric gave a slight nod.

“I am no one, I am merely a wanderer who has found his way here. Would you be kind enough to offer this stranger a drink, perhaps?” he asked, deliberately disguising his voice so it sounded nothing like his own.

The warrior stepped closer, studying him carefully. Alaric’s heartbeat stayed steady, but his mind was on high alert alert. If at any point his identity was discovered, he would have no choice but to grab the warrior’s blade and end him before the others were aware.