Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder

Chapter 1465 - 64 : Impenetrable

*Rhys*

The morning air was crisp as we left the opulence of the royal Egoren palace behind. The sky stretched above us while my boots crunched on the path. I could feel the weight of my father’s instructions pressing upon my shoulders like a yoke.

"Keep a sharp eye," Malcolm murmured to his men, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the breaking day. His gaze lingered on me, doubtful and edged with disdain.

"Are you sure about this, Rhys?" he asked, turning to me now. "I hope you’re not just your father’s puppet. We need more than noble blood for what lies ahead."

His words stung, but I kept my head high.

"Your concern is noted, Malcolm," I replied, my tone even. "But rest assured, when dangers arise, I’ll stand ready."

Malcolm, on the other hand, was mostly untried. He was spoiled and carried a sense of entitlement he had not earned. It was him our men needed to be worried about, even if my attention was split between Pyroth’s impending attack and Saoirse.

"Let’s hope so," he said, his eyes lingering a moment longer before he signaled his men to move forward.

The tension between us was a living thing, coiling tighter with each step we took. That brief moment of truce was long gone, but there was no turning back. This mission was crucial, and I knew that somewhere within me lay the strength to face whatever Hunters Glen might hold.

"Rhys," a gentle voice echoed within my mind, its presence both calming and emboldening. It was Daxton using the mind link to offer silent support. "Remember what you’re fighting for."

I nodded slightly, grateful for his timely reminder. The welfare of our people weighed heavily on my shoulders, and I wouldn’t allow personal conflicts to cloud my judgment.

"Focus on the path ahead," I whispered back through the bond, my resolve hardening. "Dangers may lurk, but we won’t falter."

"Strength and honor, Rhys," Daxton replied, his voice fading as he withdrew from our connection.

With each step, my determination grew. I would demonstrate the leadership expected of me not through words but through action when it mattered most.

"Keep up, Crimson," Malcolm called over his shoulder, his stride purposeful and swift.

I followed, matching his pace, my mind racing with thoughts of strategy and the uncertain future that awaited us.

***

The forest gave way to the open expanse of the valley as we approached Hunters Glen. The tension between Malcolm and me simmered, but I refused to let it show. My father had always said that true leaders are like the ancient oaks, unmoved by the fleeting storms and steadfast in their purpose.

As we crested a ridge, the sight before us halted our advance. Hunters Glen had changed. The cheerfulness had been replaced by fortification.

Before us, an imposing wall sliced through the forest, cutting us off from Hunters Glen.

"By the Goddess..." I heard someone murmur behind me.

The walls were new, intimidating in their height and breadth. The openness that once welcomed friend and foe alike to parley under the banner of peace was no longer visible.

"Malcolm," I called out, pointing toward the unexpected barrier. "This is not the Hunters Glen we knew."

He squinted at the sight, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His face was a mask of contemplation, perhaps considering strategies or pondering the implications of this transformation.

"Indeed," he muttered, his voice betraying a hint of unease. "We must tread carefully. This bodes ill for our mission."

"Agreed," I said, stepping forward. "But tread we will. The king’s instructions were clear, and we shall not be deterred by stone and mortar."

"Let’s hope your optimism is well-placed, Rhys," Malcolm replied, his eyes meeting mine with a spark that could have been begrudging respect or a challenge yet to be met.

We pushed on, making our way down until our procession halted before the looming structure. My gaze traveled upward, catching sight of the banners that flapped ominously in the wind. Each one was emblazoned with the sigil of a snarling wolf, the symbol of the Blackstone pack.

"Those certainly weren’t there before," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The banners, black as night, seemed to swallow what little light remained, marking the territory with an authority that was new and foreign.

Even with Conall gone, Blackstone had dug its claws into this land.

Malcolm drew up beside me, his eyes narrowing at the sight. "Blackstone," he spat out the name like it was poison on his tongue. "This is their work."

We shared a silent moment, understanding the gravity of what lay ahead. This was no longer the neutral ground we had hoped to find but a declaration of dominion by a pack known for its ruthlessness.

"Let’s move," I said with a determined nod, and we resumed our approach. As we neared the border where the open gates of camaraderie should have been, I realized something was very wrong.

Instead of the familiar warrior patrols who would greet us with nods or cautious smiles, platoons of fierce armored soldiers blocked our path. They were lined up in formation, their armor glinting dully under the twilight. They were a barrier as impenetrable as the walls behind them.

"Who goes there?" one of them called out, stepping forward. The warrior’s helmet obscured his features, but his posture spoke of unyielding resolve.

"We are envoys from Egoren," Malcolm answered, his tone commanding yet laced with a tension that mirrored the tightening in my chest. "We come with matters to discuss with your Alpha."

The soldiers shifted, the sound of metal against metal ringing through the silence that followed. I could feel the weight of their gaze, the collective scrutiny of eyes unseen behind slits of steel.

"State your business," another voice demanded. I knew without doubt that these men would not be swayed by mere words. They were the embodiment of the change that had overtaken Hunters Glen, the loss of trust and rise of suspicion.

My heart pounded with a mix of dread and defiance. We were there at the king’s bidding, yet standing before this display of martial might, I felt how fragile our position was. Things could very easily unravel.

"By order of King Xander, we seek passage," I found myself saying, stepping forward to share the burden of parley. "Our intentions are peaceful."

A tense silence fell upon us once more. The soldiers’ response would dictate the fate of our journey and maybe more than that. It could decide the future of relations between our packs.

"Your names," the first soldier said, finally breaking the quiet. It was not acceptance, but it was not outright refusal either.

"Prince Rhys Crimson," I replied firmly, "heir to the Crimson throne."

"And I am Malcolm," my companion added, his voice steady and resolute, “the king’s nephew and trusted advisor.”

The armored figures exchanged unreadable looks behind their visors, yet the air thrummed with the undercurrent of decisions being made. Only time would tell whether those decisions spelled our welcome or our demise.

"State your business," came a commanding voice from the front line. The man who stepped forward was clad in armor darker than the night sky, the insignia of the Blackstone beta embossed on his breastplate. His eyes were steel-like and unyielding as he surveyed us with an air of authority that left no room for protest.

Without a helmet, I recognized him easily. It was Beta Silas, Alpha Aleric’s second in command.

"Sir," I began, but it was Malcolm who spoke next, his words ringing with the force of his frustration.

"By command of King Xander Crimson, we demand passage to fulfill a royal mission," Malcolm declared, his voice rising above the din of armored men. "You have no right to bar members of the Egoren from these lands."

Beta Silas narrowed his eyes, his stance unwavering as he took a deliberate step toward us. The soldiers behind him shifted, their readiness palpable and a silent threat that whispered of the violence they were prepared to unleash.

"King Xander’s reach ends at the border of Blackstone territory," Silas stated, his tone brooking no argument. "No member of Egoren shall set foot beyond this point. Turn back now or face the consequences."

I could feel Malcolm’s fury radiating like heat from a forge. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He took a step forward, his stance mirroring that of the Beta before us.

"Are you defying the will of your king?" Malcolm challenged, his eyes blazing with the fire of his conviction. "We are here on royal decree, and I will not be turned away by a mere Beta."

The soldiers surrounding Silas tightened their formation, an impenetrable wall of steel and resolve. It was clear that any further attempt to reason would be as futile as commanding the tide to reverse its course.

The air hung heavy with the promise of a storm, the kind that left nothing but devastation in its wake. There had been enough devastation.

"Malcolm..." I murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder to temper his anger. There would be no winning this battle through force, not with the odds so clearly stacked against us. We needed to find another way through this impasse that did not lead to bloodshed.

But my companion’s pride was wounded, and his voice rose with the ferocity of a cornered beast. "We are royals of Egoren, emissaries of the crown. You would do well to remember that, Beta Silas."

Silas’s expression remained impassive as if carved from the very stone his pack was named for. "Remember this, Malcolm. Here, the word of Alpha Aleric is law, and his will is that none from Egoren shall pass."

The silence stretched between us. Silas’s gaze never wavered from Malcolm’s. They were two wolves locked in a silent battle of wills.

"Your king has no sway here," Silas finally spoke again, his voice a low rumble that rolled through the tension-thick air. "Alpha Aleric reigns supreme over Blackstone territory. His command is the only one we acknowledge."

"Then let us speak with Alpha Aleric," I said, stepping forward, my tone steady despite the quickening of my pulse. Diplomacy was a blade I had learned to wield alongside my physical weapons, and it was time to put it to use.

"Out of the question." Silas’s refusal was as solid as the walls surrounding Hunters Glen.

"Surely," I pressed, "there must be some arrangement we can come to. We seek only to fulfill our duty to the crown, and then we shall leave peaceably."

"Peace?" A scoff escaped Silas’s lips, a sound as cold as the steel of his armor. "There is no peace to be brokered with Egoren. Alpha Aleric’s orders were clear. There are no exceptions."

"Is there no honor left among wolves?" Malcolm’s voice cracked like thunder. "Will you deny the command of the Alpha King?"

"Times have changed," Silas replied, his eyes hard as flint. "Loyalties shift. The Blackstone pack owes nothing to Egoren or its royals."

"Then what are we to do?" My hands clenched at my sides, frustration simmering beneath my calm exterior. "Must we resort to bloodshed to pass? We will not abandon our mission."

"Your choices are your own." Silas’s gaze swept over us, unyielding. "But cross this border without Alpha Aleric’s blessing, and bloodshed is assured."