1. The Last Order

Nearly every Aurelian nobleman had stepped into the Estate of Lord Pelham at some point in their life. They always had a look of pride on their faces as they watched Master Pelham mature before their eyes, toasting to his good health the moment he came of age. They fawned over Lady Pelham, kissing her aging hand in greeting and praising her gardens. Although Lord Pelham himself was very straight-laced, he treated his guests just as well as they did his family. He was courteous and an excellent entertainer when it was of mutual benefit to him – such was a nobleman's life.

I expected that every other estate owned by aristocrats was about the same. The lavish artefacts around the house were still a novelty to me, boasting pieces of history across rooms and filling each empty space with splendour. It was history that was just as much mine as it was the Pelhams'.

Unlike any of the previous visits, Prince Hardin's one was one that would be unannounced. That scared Master Pelham more than anything, and in anticipation he had given me clear instructions about what to do upon his arrival.

I brought my legs closer to my chest in a bid to contain my body heat. Instead of waiting in the shadows to be called upon when necessary, I was to slink into darkness and wait for it all to be over. I didn't question why I had to hide from the Prince of Aurelis, but Master Pelham warned me all the same.

"He'll take you away from me. He'll make you his own, and push you twice as hard as I have. That's something you don't deserve."

So I did what he ordered. I conserved my energy to wait for the master's return, keeping the sword close to me. It was blunt, but it could still end my life if matters turned for the worst. The hours and days blurred into long moments of resting and waking; the sun only crept into my quarters through a slither in the wall. I rarely strayed from my corner, and when I did, it was merely to do my business in the other.

I was already awake when the outside world recognised my existence. The door handle rattled a bit first, and then more frantically as the intruder noticed it wasn't opening. I stared at the sturdy bolt, as if my willpower alone would be enough to ensure it didn't break away from the frame. I waited for the stream of curses to follow, reassuring me that Master Pelham had returned and it was safe for me to come out. I wasn't sure if I could even get onto my feet, but I sat up all the same.

There was inaudible chatter from the other side, chatter that assured me there was more than one assailant and neither of them were Master Pelham. The sword was within arm's reach, but did I have the strength? I had to fall onto it, and I didn't have a lot of time.

"Coyote, he's here!"

They were banging on the door now. The blood pumped ferociously in my head, summoning the adrenaline to fight for the last moments of my life. My fingers were so numb it took me several feeble swipes to bring the sword closer. My breaths were shallow, but I was determined to fulfil Master Pelham's last order.

I was his and his alone.

There was a crash, and instinct stupidly made me lose my grip. The sword met the stone with a clatter, and the dim light from the hallway told me that everything was over. I had failed…or had I?

The shadows of three men crept into the room, the men themselves stationary at the doorway, but that wasn't enough to stop me reaching for my salvation again. Instead of directing it at myself though, I turned it to them.

The largest man reached for his nose in recoil; the other leaned across to the one in the middle, I assumed to mutter something in an undertone. I couldn't make out their faces of greed and delight, but I certainly wasn't going to go down without a fight.

I breathed harder as the man in the middle stepped into my quarters. The resonance of heels meeting stone was surely the sound of hell to come.

It had been a long time since I had been this afraid.

The man knelt down in front of me, making sure that his knees didn't touch the floor. His mantle wasn't so fortunate, skirting the floor in a crumpled pile of rich white material. It was only this close that I could make out the adornment atop his head and the tidy moustache.

More than anything though, I noticed the weapon that he set to one side. That was the sort of thing I needed to finish myself with. The man ignored me eying his sword, instead reaching for my own. It took me by surprise that he would grip it by the blade, but quite naturally it was easy for him to force it out my weak grasp.

With absolutely nothing to save me now, I braced myself for the worst. I forced myself to wear a blank look to bury the panic. I had to steel myself for this; it didn't matter whether I was ready or not.

"What's your name?" His voice was deeper than I had expected. It was well-controlled; perhaps he too was burying his inner glee.

I didn't want to answer, but I knew I had to. "We have no need of names." I could barely work out the voice as my own, and yet I was pleased I remembered how to speak.

He sighed. Evidently it was not the answer he'd hoped for, but it was the truth. "And why's that?" he asked next. "What did you call your comrades?"

"The Pelhams called us filthy rats." It was that or colourful variants of it. It really didn't make much difference what they called us – we knew when they wanted something from us, and that was all there was to it. "We called each other that too."

I was content with limiting my answers to short sentences. I had answered each of the man's questions in turn, yet as his dark eyebrows gradually furrowed, he seemed less happy to hear my responses. Perhaps next time I ought to lie – would that get me one step further away from being struck?

The man sighed again, and I couldn't figure out why he kept doing it. "We will have to work on that. Unnamed one, my name is Hardin. Will you come with me?"

I had known that Prince Hardin would come for me if Master Pelham didn't, but for some reason I hadn't expected him to come in person. Now that I could put a face to the very man whose wrath I was trying to avoid, I could see the vague resemblance. He could barely take his eyes off me like Master Pelham; I could tell that much so far.

I blinked slowly, and I dared to ask the one question I had been desperate to ask since their arrival. Slaves didn't ask questions, but at the same time I was curious how he would react. "What happened to Master Pelham?"

Prince Hardin didn't seem to mind, and gave the answer very freely. "He's alive, if that's what you mean. Naturally he'll have his rights and privileges stripped of him for supporting the slave trade. He tried to use your existence to keep his social standing and walk free, saying that he was the only one who knew where you were, but we were fortunate to find you. It's a relief you held out for so long."

I had survived to be reunited with Master Pelham, yet that didn't seem likely anymore. If anything, it seemed that my survival had sealed my master's fate. I would never see him again, and now I had changed hands to Prince Hardin. I was a disgrace to Master Pelham, but for him I will endure all that was to come.

Prince Hardin held out a hand. He gave me an odd look – what was I meant to do? "You've got more spirit and bite than a filthy rat. Is it okay for me to call you Wolf instead?"

I didn't reply. I was his – he could call me whatever he pleased.


A/N: And it was meant to end there, then it started writing itself one morning. Wolf is easily the most damaged out of the foursome that is Wolfguard, but surprisingly there doesn't seem to be much exploration into this. It's going to be a bit disturbing, hence why the rating is so high.

Plus we need to bring more stories out which aren't Awakening/Fates centric, so thank you for reading to the end and overlooking all that :) Any comments, for this chapter or future ones, will be hugely appreciated.