Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

While Aina was busy inside her cabin, plotting how to change her appearance before reaching the capital, far away the heart of the world was alive.

The capital was called Hollow Prime, a city that bore the weight of centuries yet pulsed with the energy of the present.

It was not a place of steel towers or lifeless stone, but a modern‑medieval wonder, where soaring structures were built from stone, cobalt, and marble that shimmered beneath the sun.

Streets stretched wide, paved with polished black cement, lined with lush vegetation.

Trees heavy with fruit shaded the avenues, gardens spilled over balconies, and vines curled across bridges.

The city was vast, home to over one hundred million lycans and wolfshifters, its avenues crowded with merchants hawking wares, nobles riding in gilded carriages with others rode luxury cars, and common folk bustling on foot through markets alive with color and sound.

At the edge of the city stood the Imperial Castles, a cluster of palaces that dominated the skyline. The largest, the Palace of Unity which had been raised by King Alaric Ironfang when he united the packs centuries ago. Its walls glowed faintly with runes of power, its spires crowned with banners of a wolf howling at a melting moon. Inside, the palace was a marvel: vaulted ceilings painted with murals of battles and victories, floors of polished marble, and corridors lined with statues of past rulers whose eyes seemed to follow every visitor.

In this magnificent palace, a council meeting was underway.

The Council Chamber was circular and vast, with a round table carved from black oak at its center. Around it sat the kingdom’s most powerful voices, each bearing titles that carried weight across the land.

Lord Darius Stormclaw, High Commander of the Imperial Guard and Alpha of the Stormclaw pack, was responsible for the defense of the capital and its borders.

Beside him sat his former mate, Lady Selene Moongaze, Mistress of Trade and Commerce, overseeing markets, coin, and the prosperity of the realm then there was Archmage Corvin Duskwrought, Keeper of Lore, guarded ancient knowledge and sorcery secrets.

Baroness Elira Thornfang, Overseer of Agriculture, ensured the land fed the millions who lived within the capital.

Chancellor Veyron Blackmane, Master of Diplomacy, maintained alliances and treaties. This was the Kings’ Council, made up of the most brilliant minds, each a graduate of Moonside Academy, the empire’s most prestigious institution.

And among them sat the rulers themselves, the Kings of Kings, four sovereign brothers who shared dominion over the united packs and a mate. King Alaric Ironfang, the eldest, named after the founding father, ruled with an iron fist, his presence commanding silence. King Theron Bloodfang, his brother, was known for ruthless campaigns against rogues, his armor still scarred from battles fought decades ago. King Kaelen Stormfang, the strategist, possessed a mind as feared as his claws, his eyes always calculating. King Lucien Shadowfang, the youngest, wielded charm that masked ambition, his smile as dangerous as any blade.

They were all blood brothers. The only reason they bore different surnames was to differentiate themselves. The second king in the line of history had found it difficult for his people to distinguish between rulers when they all carried the Ironfang name, so he had every king have a different surname, and the practice had remained ever since.

The chamber buzzed with voices, the council deep in debate.

”The rogues grow bolder,” Lord Darius declared, his fist striking the table hard enough to make goblets tremble. ”They raid villages at the borders, slaughtering innocents. My guards cannot hold them back forever.”

Lady Selene leaned forward, her voice smooth but urgent. ”Trade routes suffer. Merchants fear the roads. If commerce collapses, so does the kingdom’s wealth. Already caravans avoid the western passes, and coin bleeds from our coffers.”

Archmage Corvin’s eyes glowed faintly as he spoke, his tone grave. ”The rogues are not acting alone. There are whispers of a shadow force guiding them, binding them with magic older than our laws. If this is true, brute force will not be enough.”

Baroness Elira slammed her hand against the table. ”And while you debate, crops rot in the fields. Farmers cannot move their harvests. If the rogues choke our supply lines, famine will follow.”

Chancellor Veyron raised his voice above the din. ”We must act decisively. If our allies see weakness, treaties will crumble. The empire cannot afford hesitation.”

The Kings of Kings listened, their expressions unreadable, the weight of centuries pressing down on their shoulders.

Archmage Corvin’s eyes glimmered. ”There is more to these rogues than hunger. I have read signs in the stars. Something stirs them, something of great evil. We must prepare for war. Your majesties should think of investing coin into the defense department, not merely trade.”

Baroness Elira scoffed, her voice sharp. ”Stars do not feed mouths. Crops rot when villages burn. We must act before the land itself starves.”

Chancellor Veyron raised a hand, his smile calm but deliberate. ”We must not rush. Diplomacy may yet tame them. A rogue king may rise, and if he does, we must be ready to speak before we strike.”

King Alaric’s voice cut through the noise. ”We united the packs once. We will not let rogues tear us apart. But we must know, are they driven by chaos because that is what they desire, or by a hand unseen?”

King Theron growled, his tone fierce. ”Chaos or not, blood must answer blood. I say we march.”

King Kaelen shook his head, his words edged with frustration. ”A march without strategy is slaughter. And where are we marching? Rogues are everywhere. They are not a pack, they are a plague.”

King Lucien leaned back, his smile faint, his eyes shadowed with thought. ”Perhaps the rogues are not our greatest threat. Perhaps they are a symptom. We should ask, if they rise, who benefits?”

The chamber was tense, voices rising and falling as the debate stretched on. The council members leaned forward, their garments rustling against the polished oak table, each word striking like a weapon.

Lord Darius Stormclaw wore his commander’s uniform, a deep crimson cloak draped across his shoulders, the insignia of the Imperial Guard gleaming on his chest. His knuckles pressed against the table as he growled, ”If we do not send reinforcements to the border, the rogue packs will overrun the villages. My men are stretched thin. Every day we lose more ground.”

Lady Selene Moongaze, dressed in flowing sapphire robes embroidered with silver threads, shook her head, her jeweled fingers tapping against the table. ”And if we divert soldiers, the trade routes will collapse. Merchants already whisper of abandoning the eastern roads. Without commerce, the kingdom starves.”

Archmage Corvin Duskwrought adjusted his hood, the dark fabric shadowing his face. His voice was low, but it carried. ”I have studied the omens. These rogues are not acting alone. There is a force behind them, something older than our kingdom. If we ignore the signs, we invite disaster.”

Baroness Elira Thornfang, her gown of green velvet marked with the crest of agriculture, slammed her palm against the table. ”Omens do not plow fields. My farmers cannot harvest when villages burn. If the rogues are not stopped, famine will follow.”

Chancellor Veyron Blackmane, dressed in sleek black attire with a silver chain across his chest, raised his hand once more, his smile calm but his eyes calculating. ”We must not rush into war. If a rogue king rises, perhaps he can be reasoned with. Diplomacy may yet save us bloodshed.”

The chamber fell into uneasy silence, the weight of their words pressing against the vaulted walls.

The Kings of Kings listened, hearing the same complaints again and again, each sharing a look of defeat at the situation.

”Okay, that’s it. Council adjourned. You may all leave,” Alaric said, waving his hand. Begrudgingly, everyone but his brothers departed, still arguing as the heavy doors closed.

The chamber fell quiet, and the rulers let out exhausted sighs, carrying the weight of ruling for years. For a moment, peace lingered, until the doors opened once more.

A girl rushed in, her laughter echoing through the chamber. She looked strikingly like her mother, with sharp green eyes, tanned skin, and blue-colored hair. Yet her features were softer, her youth shining through, her eyes bright with excitement.

Her freshly cut bob bounced as she skipped forward, arms full of bags. She wore a simple cream dress with lace trim, her cheeks flushed from the market air.

”Father! Fathers!” she gushed, dropping her purchases onto the table. ”Look at all the things I bought at the market for the new school year. Isn’t it wonderful?” She had gained admission to the prestigious Moonside Academy without even applying, a perk of being the princess.

Everything was handed to her on a golden platter, unlike the other students who had to fight for even a one percent chance.

The Kings of Kings softened instantly, their stern faces breaking into smiles.

King Alaric chuckled, rising from his chair to embrace his daughter, Princess Molly. She had just turned eighteen not long ago, her birthday celebrated with grandeur far beyond her coming-of-age at fifteen when she had presented as an omega and entered society officially, her path laid out before her.

”Our little star, already preparing for her studies.”

King Theron nodded, his voice warm. ”You look radiant, child.”

They riddled her with compliments, their pride evident, their voices wrapping around her like a shield.

But then her mother entered. Posy, the Luna, swept into the chamber, her gown of deep crimson flowing behind her. Her face was thunderous, her eyes locked on her daughter’s hair. ”What have you done?” she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade. ”You cut your hair into a bob?!”

The girl squeaked, darting behind King Lucien, clutching his arm for protection. ”I just wanted to spice things up! I’m eighteen now, it’s time I dated. I should have at least been engaged by now, and since you didn’t arrange it... I’ll do it, with my new hair, maybe a boy will notice me.” Her voice trembled, but her eyes pleaded for understanding.

The fathers tried to shield her, their words soft. Yet the Luna’s fury did not waver. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tight, and the chamber seemed to grow colder.

Slowly, fear of their fated mate and wife overcame them. The Kings faltered, their voices fading, their gazes turning away.

And Molly realized, with a crushing weight in her chest, that they were throwing her under the bus to escape her mother’s wrath.

Her heart pounded, her bobbed hair framing her flushed face. Desperate, she blurted, ”Well, at least I didn’t sneak out like my brothers do! They’re the ones who break rules, not me!”