The Wolf Prince

Betrayed and enslaved after his parents’ deaths, the Wolf Prince must escape, journey home, uncover treason, and choose his destiny.

Plot

ᚠ ᚢ ᚦ ᚨ ᚱ ᚲ THE WOLF PRINCE A SAGA OF BLOOD, CHAINS, AND THE UNKNOWN ᛟ WHEN THE NORTH WENT SILENT The King and Queen are dead. Their funeral fires burn against the northern sky while the kingdom mourns and Crown Prince Eirik Ulfriksson stands at the center of a future he was never meant to face so soon. Then someone places a horn of wine in his hand. THE LAST TOAST The first swallow tastes of cloves. The second is strangely bitter. By the third, the world begins to tilt. ᛏ WHEN THE WOLF WAKES Cold iron bites into his wrists. The air reeks of salt, sweat, wood, and strangers. Foreign voices move beyond the darkness. The floor shifts beneath him with the rhythm of the sea. No crown. No guards. No homeland. Only chains. SOLD Dragged beneath an unfamiliar sun, Eirik is displayed before people who do not know his name and would not care if they did. A trader checks his teeth. Coins change hands. The end of his chain passes to a stranger. ᚱ BEYOND THE CHAIN Who drugged him? Why was he taken alive? How far from home has he been carried? And what has happened in the North while everyone believes the Wolf Prince is gone? The answers are waiting somewhere beyond the iron. A WOLF MAY BE CHAINED. HE DOES NOT BECOME TAME. THE SAGA BEGINS IN IRON

Opening scene

The sea takes kings the same way it takes fishermen. Without apology. Rain whispers across the black water of the fjord as two funeral ships drift beyond the shoreline, their carved prows disappearing behind curtains of smoke. Flames crawl higher across tarred wood and crimson sails, turning the falling rain to steam. Your father's banner burns first. The wolf stitched across it curls inward as the cloth blackens. Your mother's follows. Hundreds stand along the shore behind you. Jarls. Shieldmaidens. Sailors. Farmers. Servants who knew your mother by name and warriors who followed your father into battle. No one speaks above the crackle of the pyres. Tonight there is no King. No Queen. Only their eldest son standing where they should have been. A horn of wine is pressed into your hand. "For the King and Queen." The words come from somewhere among the mourners. Other horns rise. "To Ulfrik!" "To the Queen!" "To Valhalla!" Hundreds drink. The wine is dark, spiced, and warm against the cold. The first swallow tastes of cloves. The second tastes strangely bitter. By the third, the flames across the fjord seem to stretch. Sound becomes distant. A drumbeat slows until each strike seems separated by an eternity. Someone catches the horn as it slips from your fingers. Hands steady you. A voice says something close to your ear. You cannot make out the words. The burning ships smear into streaks of orange against the darkness. Then the world disappears. * * * Wood creaks. Not palace timber. Ship timber. Your eyes open to darkness broken by the slow swing of a single oil lantern. Cold iron circles both wrists. A chain runs from the shackles to an iron ring driven through the hull. More chains scrape nearby. Men and women sit against the walls of the cramped hold, some sleeping, some staring silently through exhaustion and bruises. The air reeks of seawater, sweat, old blood, bilge, and sickness. Above, boots cross the deck. Foreign voices answer one another. The language is unfamiliar. The ship rolls hard enough to pull the chain tight. There is no wolf-fur cloak. No sword. No signet. No royal armor. Only rough clothing, bare feet against wet boards, and iron. A hatch crashes open overhead. Daylight knifes into the hold. "Up!" The word is accented but understandable. Guards descend. The chained captives are hauled onto their feet and driven upward. Outside, the cold northern fjord is gone. Brilliant sunlight beats against an unfamiliar harbor. Pale stone buildings climb hillsides beneath banners you have never seen. Merchant ships crowd the docks. The air smells of salt, spice, smoke, animals, and hot stone. Beyond the pier stands a raised wooden platform. Iron cages surround it. People are bidding. One by one, the prisoners ahead of you are dragged onto the platform. Coins change hands. Names do not. A thick-necked trader finally grabs your chain and pulls you forward. His eyes travel over your height, your scars, the tattoos across your skin, and the muscle beneath weeks-old bruising. His expression changes. Not recognition. Calculation. He turns toward the gathering buyers. "This one." The trader jerks the chain, displaying you to the crowd. "Northman. Young. Strong. Warrior-built. Teeth are good. No sickness." A buyer calls something from below. Laughter answers him. The trader grins. "Yes. Difficult, I'd wager." More laughter. Then the bidding begins. Numbers rise. Coins climb. Until finally... "Sold!" A wooden block cracks beneath a hammer. The crowd begins dispersing. A stranger steps forward carrying a heavy purse. The trader takes the money. Then he takes the end of your chain... and places it into the stranger's hand.

Tags: Fantasy Adventure PoliticalIntrigue Mystery Royalty Prince Noble Family Revenge HiddenIdentity Supernatural Multiple MalePOV ThirdPerson OpenEnding SlowBurn

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By: vexed1

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