Red Riding Hood | BoyxBoy | COMPLETED

Spymaster

Duke Kellen's POV

I'm busy. I'm always busy. But this is on a whole other level. There isn't anyone else I'd entrust my job to.

I write my notes on paper—a dangerous thing to do for someone in my position—but even I need to visualise sometimes. The scrap will have to be destroyed immediately though. All of them will have to be burned.

My head aches with the amount of information I need to analyse.

I study the short missive from Rinidae; a letter handed to me by my assistant who had just returned from her time off with her husband. A quick scan told me that Rinidae had cast a spell on Prince Alexander, but that he didn't know if it worked as it was rather experimental, he had been caught off guard and his window of opportunity was too small for him to be certain. I sighed deeply. And now I didn't know what I was working with. My temples throbbed.

Upon reflection, I realise now that asking for a vulnerability might have been too vague.

Mentally, I reviewed the behaviour of Nasales' Princes. As far as I could tell, there had been no change in behaviour, appearance or scents. Did I need someone more sensitive to magic? A witch perhaps?

Forget it, I shook my head. Another failed attempt. How annoying.

I pick up the tiny slips of papers that my informants have sent me and stare unseeing at them.

The messages I currently hold are special. They are, shall we say, a special interest group that I'd recently come to hear of. Only, the special interest is a rather dangerous game to play. It had taken me months to ingratiate myself to the...community and work my way into a position of relative influence.

Radicals are so very often dangerous creatures with an alarming disregard for lives after all. Such games are even deadlier when played by people of considerable influence and finances, say, for example, members of the Lupus council.

I grimace at the thought of the self-absorbed creatures who imagine themselves to be above others. In truth, I believe they think themselves better than one another even!

Perhaps, this is to be expected. After all, political intrigue is but the bread and butter of a spymaster. A job that is utterly thankless and absolutely required to deal with extremist groups like this LuPur.

My mind wanders and my brain pulses dull and slow to the rhythm of my winding thoughts. LuPur is a strange name and completely hilarious when one thinks about it. I haven't cared to ask but I imagine the old men thought themselves clever when they coined a portmanteau of the words 'Lupus' and 'Pur'. I roll my eyes and regret my action when my head throbs.

In my hand, I hold a letter from LuPur politely requesting an isolated location for a private event. My brows contract in a frown at that. This is the first time I've heard them ask for special locations. And I am well aware that I am not as influential among the leaders as I need to be, as such, the request is more of an order.

My nerves feel rather grated.

Sighing in resignation, I force myself to read the notes from the various spies that I've planted in the group leaders' dens now.

They are always written in code—letters to family members. I gloss over the filler words and mentally note the real message. And I always hope otherwise, but the espionage checks out.

It seems that LuPur is truly planning something and they have not yet begun to involve me. Their latest request is a test of my loyalties then. My headache rapidly develops into a migraine.

My secretary knocks quietly at my door.

"Enter," I say.

Her head pops in and she tells me that dinner is being served in the dining hall.

I nod tiredly. "Yes, alright. I'm coming," I reply and wave her away.

When the door shuts, I gather the papers and throw them into the fire, sparing them a glance before I leave.

~

As is my habit lately, I am last to arrive at the dining table. The usual members are already present, and I make my apologies to them yet again. My sister-in-law invites everyone to begin eating and the pups descend on their food ravenously.

I look them over one by one, as is another one of my habits, cataloguing whatever information I can glean from their appearance and scents. I do it so often that it has become meditatively to check them over every day.

Princess Seffrin, my spirited niece, is as fiery as always. She eats quietly, her actions demure but her eyes never so. Prince Colin consumes his meal with far less restraint, choosing to put whatever food he can in his mouth as teenage boys are often wont to do. Teenage werewolves tend to do so even more intensely, and everything is as it should be. Prince Timmeu, the smallest of my nephews, somehow demonstrates more decorum than his older brother. It is as expected, however, as the littlest prince rather adores his big sister and has developed into a precocious child. All is well with this little one too.

My gaze shifts to the Princes of Nasales. Every day, I see so much of Ollie in him. Perhaps after all this, they might properly meet each other. Prince Alexander is well, slightly tensed, but perfectly fine. Proof that Rinidae failed at the task I'd given him. I wonder if that's a blessing. I turned to Prince Consort Cassidy instead, and frown.

The princes are seated much closer to each other than usual, Alexander's body tilted in Cassidy's direction. Seated across them, I can clearly see that Prince Consort's complexion is a shade paler than usual and he looks fatigued.

Prince Alexander eats quietly but glances worriedly at his mate with every bite of food. Prince Cassidy eats his meal mechanically. My sight shifts between the two of them. They do not look well. I sniff discreetly. Cassidy smells normal too which puzzles me greatly.

I sniff again and catch a whiff of distress. Alexander looks very concerned now.

There is a sense of urgency in the air that only Colin has failed to notice. Cassidy turns alarmingly pale and I stand, ready to offer assistance.

He vomits. All over himself. I step back involuntarily. Alarmed, Alexander catches his mate when he faints and nearly falls off the chair.

Tasha rises immediately. "Colin, take your brother back. Seffrin, get the healer. Quickly now!" She strides confidently over to the foreign princes. I come over too.

Alexander growls at our approach. Tasha tilts her chin to expose her neck and I do the same. The growling subsides but he watches us warily, arms tightening around his mate.

Understandably, he is afraid. I reach for Cassidy's arm and he hunches protectively over his mate. I pull back. Alpha to alpha, it was unlikely that he would have let me approach anyway.

"It's alright," Tasha says soothingly. She is not an alpha. Alexander allows her to take Cassidy's wrist gently and feel his pulse.

Tasha glances at me, eyes wide.

'What?' I mouth at her.

Before she can answer, Seffrin returns with Healer Trish in tow.

She takes stock of our position and nods to herself before smoothly taking charge. Tasha and I move away to give her space.

Healer Trish demonstrates utmost professionalism at her job. She narrates all her actions as she moves and easily gets Alexander to let her perform a full body check on Cassidy. By the end of it, she proclaims Cassidy to be perfectly fine, just exhausted.

Everyone looks relieved, but something niggles at the back of my mind.

"If I may," I ask, "what has Prince Cassidy exhausted to the point of collapse?"

Trish looks at Alexander with a raised brow. "I also would like to know what Prince Consort Cassidy has overexerted himself on," she said. "As his mate, you should know better than to let him exhaust himself," she scolded gently.

Prince Alexander looked half indignant and half surprised at the chiding. "Excuse me?"

"I understand that you are both healthy, young men, your highness," she says. "But even the body's limits will change when one is pregnant."

I drink directly from the bottle of wolfsbane wine.