Prologue — The Wolf and The Snake

Snake and Alaric sat beneath a willow tree on a warm summer day. Alaric draped his coat along the young omega’s shoulders in an attempt to conceal his sensitive skin from the sun. It did little to prevent a burn, but the gesture was sweet regardless.

Alaric had always been rather quiet, not that Snake particularly minded, but it did grow boring after some time. 

Snake met Alaric’s gaze, red eyes shaking and squinting as the sun shone bright, “—and my sister had this book in her study! It’s about a war between your kingdom and the kingdom of De Guise, she says that your great grandfather wrote it all out before it even began—”

“Snake, please.” Alaric sighed. Snake narrowed his gaze but closed his mouth. “It is far too early for you to be telling tales.” The prince pinched the bridge of his nose, tongue pressed to his cheek.

“But it’s not a tale, Alaric. I’m telling you, it’s true! I can bring it by your palace tomorrow—”

“Snake.” Alaric narrowed his own eyes at Snake. The young omega shut up once more with a huff.

“I should go.” He said, standing up, discarding Alaric’s coat on the grass.

By the time Snake returned to his own home—a small commoner’s house on the border of Fallon Ridge, his skin burnt a bright, furious red, and did it ever sting. Snake had purposefully avoided hot baths, opting for the cold water at the riverbank, but his skin was even too sensitive for that, and he would return home shivering despite his heavy attire.

Snake recalled asking his sister one time, “Laina, why do I look like that?” He stared at his pale reflection, his red eyes and pure white hair. His eyebrows and eyelashes were no less white.

She had simply told him, “It’s okay to be different, dear.”

If that was true, why did Alaric not like him, Snake wondered.

It was only a matter of time before Snake found out the true reason Alaric was no longer interested. Alaric had attended a meeting alongside his father at the Castle of De Guise. There, he had met a young prince—younger than Alaric and himself—in search of his elder brother, Aris. Snake remembered meeting Aris once, briefly. Alaric’s mother had thrown a charity ball and Alaric invited him and Snake over for a sneaky glass of wine in the greenhouse. 

Aris was a year older than Snake and Alaric, and quite handsome, if Snake recalled correctly. A talker, too. Aris had told him all about the upcoming war and how De Guise would take over Vaust and Fallon Ridge and all other Northern kingdoms. Snake didn’t believe it, of course, and he hardly heard it over the music of the ballroom, but it was interesting to learn, nonetheless. Snake decided then to tell Aris of his sister’s book. Aris listened, at least, but he, too, brushed it off. Perhaps it was because Snake was not royal like him or Alaric.

Anyways, the young prince had apparently wrapped Alaric around his finger in whatever brief exchange they had. While Alaric continued to lie beside Snake, continued to touch him, continued to call him his, the young scholar knew, deep down, that his attention belonged somewhere else.

For years, Snake had done everything imaginable to earn Alaric’s attention. He gave Alaric his body, and every parchment he’d ever written his research upon—after he developed a special skill for political, historical, and geological journalism, that was. He promised Alaric a great future with as many heirs as Alaric pleased, and a palace as grand and glorious as the sky above. Snake would have dug to the depths of the earth with his hands if that was what Alaric asked of him. He had even grown his hair out after finding out Rhys’ hair was long, he had attempted putting kohl on his eyes to make his eyelashes darker. Instead, Alaric asked for nothing. And he gave nothing in return. Snake knew why, of course. He wasn’t naive. He was simply in love.

When the war Aris told Snake about finally did begin, Alaric had told Snake it was for the best if they no longer saw each other.

“It’s for your protection, I don’t want you to get dragged into this.”

“Then I will stay at home and write you letters, Alaric, I know we can make this work—”

“No.”

And that was that.

Snake sat under another tree, quill and parchment in hand, twenty-three at the time. He’d been researching the layout of Fallon Ridge and, fortunately, the riverbank granted him a perfect view of all the mountains and paths leading that way.

Heavy boots thudded against the bridge that crossed between Fallon Ridge and the Kingdom of Vaust, and before Snake could properly see who was stepping up behind him, a deep voice came, “Are you the scholar who goes by Snake, perchance?”

Snake flinched so violently, his head nearly hit the trunk. It would have, had the stranger not placed his hand behind it.

“I would assume so,” Snake raised an eyebrow, “how do you know who I am?”

“I’m Fallon. Well, Fallon III. I’ve recently been crowned king and Alaric said your research would be useful for the war. I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

So much for Alaric not wanting him to get involved, Snake thought.

“How did you know what I looked like?”

“Alaric described you to me. I’ve never heard of someone with red eyes before. Besides, you’re pretty hard to miss. You’re all white, like an angel.”

Snake’s heart clenched, his gaze lowering. Red eyes. All white. Freak.

“What kind of offer?”

“Well, are you a fan of gold?”

Done.