Wolf Heart (Heart Series 1)

During the night, the upper part of Athea, the capital of the Kingdom of Nodor, remained mostly quiet except for the Militia patrolling the streets. Down at the port, built between the Eyor River—that split the city in two—and the great Ucias Lake—from which the river was born—things were quite different. Most streetlamps were broken, and the Militia was seldom present, making it an ideal location for disreputable establishments such as taverns and brothels. It was in front of one of these taverns that a carriage pulled up. A young woman shrouded in a dark blue cloak with the hood drawn over her face, stepped out.

After paying the coachman, the young woman made her way down the street. Drunk sailors and prostitutes tried to stop her, but she kept her head down, paying attention only to her steps. Puddles of mud and other substances of doubtful origins covered the dirty streets. Minutes later, she stopped in front of a tavern built at the end of a narrow and dark street behind some warehouses. 

Before entering, she looked over her shoulder. Except for a few drunken men, the street behind her was empty.

Sailors and local thugs occupied most of the tables. The smell of tobacco was thick in the air, the young woman covered her nose with part of her hood as she made her way inside the busy tavern. 

At the very end was a small table, where a man donning a black cloak sat drinking from a pint of beer. His face was in the shadows. The young woman stopped next to the table, and after she made sure no one in the tavern was looking at her, she sat on a chair next to the man. 

The man leaned over–as if to see the woman better. He drank from his beer while studying her, his blue eyes shining with intelligence. He appeared to be around nineteen years old. His short black hair was disheveled, the shirt beneath his cloak was partially unbuttoned—as if he had been in a hurry when he left home. With high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, he could easily be mistaken for an aristocrat if not for the piercing on the bridge of his nose. 

In the Kingdom of Nodor, those born out of wedlock were considered illegitimate. Sons and daughters of mistresses, prostitutes, or drunken sailors and travelers—the bastards—were hated in the entire kingdom, for they were a sore spot, a reminder that women were not as pure as many men wanted. 

The young woman put her hands on the table, the man slid his right palm across the hardwood and brushed his fingers against hers. A smile tugged at his lips as he whispered her name, “Rosalyn.”

Despite not being recognized by his father at birth and not having a family name, he was finally in a good place with his life. It hadn’t been easy, and he had to work hard—especially after the death of his mother, but he had accomplished something that many bastards only dreamed of—becoming an apprentice to one of the most respectable Masters in the city. 

Rosalyn looked around the tavern nervously. Content no one was paying them any attention, she returned her gaze to the man in front of her. “What did I tell you about using my name while in public?” she hissed, anger flashing in her brown eyes. “What if someone heard you?” 

The man didn’t look at the busy crowd eating, drinking, and chatting. He would have known if someone was spying on him. “No one was listening to us. Besides, I love your name. It is as beautiful as you.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know no one was listening? Do you know what I’m risking, coming here tonight?” 

He knew the risks she took by meeting him at the tavern. Bastards were, after all, the pariahs of their society. Those like him had no hope of ever marrying and having a family. Those like him usually sired more bastards—children with no hope or future. Not something he wanted for his offspring. He had made himself a promise long ago that he would not let his family—if he would ever have one—endure all the hardship he had suffered since the day he was born. 

He took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. “Forgive my small mistake, my Lyn. It won’t happen again,” he apologized before placing a kiss on top of her hand.

Her features softened and the corners of her mouth twitched. “Small mistake?” she huffed. 

Gods, how he loved her. “You know I would never put your reputation at risk.”

Rosalyn sighed. “Why did you summon me here, Jayden?”

Jayden.

That was his only name, for the man who had sired him vanished long before he was born. The family that was supposed to be Jayden’s birthright vanished into the night, along with his father. 

“We need to talk, Lyn. I rented a room, but I can order something if you are thirsty or hungry.”

Rosalyn shook her head. “I just had dinner with my cousin,” she let him know, rolling her eyes. 

Jayden knew all about Rosalyn’s cousin, Minerva. He had seen her down at the port but had never approached her, not wanting to put Rosalyn at risk. Being born in the upper part of the city came with many privileges but with just as many rules, especially for women. While he couldn't care less about what Minerva was doing down at the port, between drunk men and bastards, he cared about Rosalyn’s reputation. If the Gods were to finally take pity on him, in a few years, he would not only have a family name but also marry the love of his life.

“If you want to talk, do so, for I can’t stay too long. The only reason I could come tonight is that my father and brother are at the Royal Palace, talking with King Baswein. Hugo is to depart for war in a few days. My father is not very pleased and he is hoping King Baswein will change Hugo’s mind. But my brother is very stubborn.” 

Jayden finished his beer. “Then let’s waste no more time and retire to the room.”  

They stood up, and after putting a few copper coins on the table, Jayden guided Rosalyn upstairs. At the top of the staircase was a door that led to a small room. Jayden opened the door and Rosalyn entered.