The Alpha's Blind Fate
Chapter 162: Restoration

Chapter 162: Restoration

Declaration:

A gesture where an Alpha King declares his fated mate to be his one and true Luna Queen and Wife.

It is a public vow to never take another save for his fated mate, and is the highest form of vow an Alpha King can take. Breaking the vow would lead to the Alpha King’s bones breaking one at a time at each full moon till his rib cage is broken and his liver bleeds to his very violent death.

ZINA

The worst thing about hearing Norima’s offer was knowing that Daemon could not outrightly reject it. Something to do with politics and the dire straits of his hold over the North.

Zina’s vision could only do so much, so she was well aware that Daemon needed to acquire ties, and forge alliances. And one of the easiest ways to do so was through marriage.

It began to dawn on her the kind of man that she shared the mate bond with. Not just any ordinary werewolf, or even an Alpha, but an Alpha King.

A Supreme Wolf who would rule over the vast lands of the Arctic North and who for some reasons had an insatiable hunger to rule over more.

An Alpha was one thing, but an Alpha King? That was an entirely different thing. Even Daemon’s father had three proper wives of which one was his true mate. One could argue that he had his wives at different timelines, but the same couldn’t be said for the mothers of his seven illegitimate sons.

So did she expect Daemon to be any different? The gods, in her head, that sounded like she was asking for too much on a matter that had already been predetermined.

Surely, she didn’t expect his declaration for her?

Eldric had been different because the man swung the other way. But Daemon loved women if the way he worshipped her body during her Heat was any indication at all. Coupled with his high position, the man was free to have as many proper wives and concubines as he wished to.

The thought was like the taste of bile in her throat, and she barely had the chance to swallow it when Modrich and the same woman he had thrusted up on Daemon came up to them.

Modrich was grinning once again, and Igar, giant man he was, was trailing behind him. The young woman glanced at Zina and quickly averted her eyes. She was probably thinking back to the threat that Zina had made on her life which was comical to say but the least.

Zina could only see green, and she was sure it had nothing to do with the cloth that Norima Talga was wearing. Honestly, the mist of green was over her eyes making her blind to what the woman with Modrich wore, and what she looked like.

But Zina knew she was equally as beautiful—if not more—like Norima Talga and every other woman in the room that wished to be Daemon’s wife.

Zina threw the contents of her wine glass into her stomach without caring for how the alcohol burned at her throat. At least, it tasted better than bile. Daemon shut her a warning glance which Zina ignored as he refocused his attention back on the people before him.

People that were probably potential wives.

The ringing in her ears, coupled with Daemon’s hand still on her waist prevented her from hearing what he was saying to them. It felt like she was at sea, lost in the sounds of crashing waves and turbulent sea tides.

Words like, "it’s my pleasure to have you here," and "I will make sure to write a reply to your father," mixed in her head until there was no real coherence.

The ringing only stopped when their guests curtsied with a smile and left their table.

Daemon tugged her close by her waist, eyes coloured with concern. "Are you well? Should I call a servant for you?"

The visceral concern in his eyes took her breath away. Just that afternoon, Daemon had been kneeling at her feet and she had made it sound like she understood his political aspirations and could handle him. But now, barely hours in, and she was already falling off the high pedestal she had set herself on.

Under his prying eyes, she could not lie. So instead she frowned. "I think I am coming down with something."

’Yes, you’re coming down with jealousy.’ The alive voice in her head snickered and Zina internally rolled her eyes. How to get rid of... the thing? She would make sure to consult with Sybril on the matter.

His brows furrowed with concern. "What?" The back of his palm came up to her forehead to take her temperature.

"You’re hot." He commented, and Zina felt like melting into a puddle under the intensity of his appraisal. She had an idea what was responsible for her supposed hotness, and it only served to flame her cheeks.

"And you’re red. I shall immediately send for a healer to your room."

Before Daemon could beckon on an Epsilon, Zina clutched his fingers discreetly under their table in a bid to stop him. She chuckled awkwardly, "It’s just a minor fever. Besides, the highlight of the banquet is yet to arrive. How could I leave early?"

Daemon smirked, which only caused Zina’s hackles to rise further. She had tried to play the patient mate, but she had been a curious cat all along. What did Daemon want to announce? Surely it couldn’t be his coronation since he had entrusted it to Zina. So what could it be?

Before Zina could ask him, the doors to the banquet room opened, revealing Yaren and Marcus pushing in a huge board covered with a red cloth.

The board was rolled in, and the presence of it captured the guests attention, causing the peaceful chatter in the room to dim. Forks and knives stopped clattering, and every eye was on Marcus, Yaren and the unrevealed board.

Daemon gave her waist one final squeeze before he stood, swaggering his way down, a cup of wine in hand. Zina took in how ruggedly casual he dressed that made him brutally handsome. In a room filled with gold, silver, moonstones and diamonds, only the man who wore almost none of it captured the room with his mere presence.

He wore a sleek black doublet, adorned with intricate silver threading that shimmered in the candlelight. His white linen shirt, billowy and relaxed, framed his broad shoulders, while his fitted leather breeches accentuated his powerful legs.

A wide leather belt was cinched at his waist, holding a gleaming silver buckle shaped like the depiction of the Great Beast Wolf. His boots, polished to a dark sheen, reached mid-calf, bearing the subtle emblem of the NorthSteed house—the Arctic Wolf.

Zina had always wondered if Daemon would change the symbol of the North, but as expected, Daemon was a true son of the soil so he hadn’t done anything of the sort, and if the way he dressed was anything to go by, then it didn’t look like he would be changing it anytime soon.

He raised his glass up, his eyes managing to hold that of everyone in the room. "I am not a man of many words, so I would go straight to the point on why I’ve called this gathering."

Both Zina and the guests seemed to wait with bated breath for what he would say.

No particular emotion on his face, Daemon circled the unrevealed board as he spoke. "A great harm has been done to the House of my forefathers. Currently, as most of you know, the House is missing a Beta, Delta, Gamma, and an Enforcer of the Pack. It is for this that I wish to hold a tournament...."

The temperature in the room dropped down until it was unbearably cold.

A tournament?

Daemon tugged the red cloth off the board and the words, ’Restoration’ was written on it in the common language and the language of the Mountain Wolves. Zina knew that because a man screamed the words out loud.

"No matter the origin, no matter the pack, no matter the status, no matter the organisation, I shall now officially extend my invitation to all of Vraga to compete for the chance to occupy the four top positions in the Arctic North."

Zina didn’t know when she bolted up from her seat. The Houses of the Delta and Gamma would be incensed by his declaration, did the man not know that?

But more than that, this tournament might become the next biggest thing to ever happen in the whole of Vraga.

No one barely took notice of her as many bolted up.

"Does this mean rogues will be able to participate?" Someone screamed from the guests.

Daemon smiled shrewdly. "Of course."

"What are the rules of the tournament?! Is it just a mere fighting tournament?" Another asked.

"You could say that. But this tournament is mostly about impressing me. The man who impresses me the most whether through fighting or by his wit will be the best man."

"Can a woman participate too?!"

"Surely, you do not think of me a sexist."

"When will the tournament start?!"

"It will start a day after the Theta graciously fixes a time for my coronation."

Now, all eyes turned to her like she was responsible for withholding the one thing many men were sure to clamour after. All Zina could see though was the incumbent disaster of Daemon’s decision

Daemon held her eyes, raising his glass anew. "May the best man win."