Some people liked to play God, and then some were the Avatar of God.

A beeline of eligible princesses wanted to marry him, but Marcus hated the idea of marriage.

"I don't want to get married!" he growled at his father, Alpha Alrakis, tearing into the oil canvas portrait of the princess of the Pegasii Kingdom. He hurled the torn pieces into the air. With that, he strode arrogantly towards the library door. Over the last few months, his father had been pressuring him incessantly.

"I told you a thousand times. If you won't marry, there is a high chance that you will fall into a darkness from which you will never return. Your life and this kingdom are at stake! Claim the princess, and if you don't like her, you can remarry." Marrying, and remarrying three or four times wasn't all that uncommon amongst kings.

Anger hummed in his chest, stroking his beast, making it pulsate. He clenched his fists and stifled his emotions when eather stirred inside him. It wanted out, but it never surfaced. Pressure gripped his body as it swelled and pushed against his skin, his flesh tingling. He didn't know how it would find its way out, but he was waiting… for something. He didn't know what.

Gritting his teeth, he closed the door behind him with a loud bang and marched out in a huff.

The Great Banquet Hall, Draka Kingdom, Araniea

King Marcus was watching her over the rim of his goblet with his raven black eyes like a hawk. His circlet of gold in his midnight hair that had shifted slightly in the left.

Perched on a high stool near the bar, he was flanked by a large number of young maids who were waiting for an opportunity to throw themselves at him. They just needed one indication from him, but he had no interest in them. His eyes were focused straight ahead on her, drinking her in.

He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. No matter where he turned, or who he talked to, he found himself looking at her, seeking her out. She looked like a… fae in that white chiffon gown that fluttered behind her with every movement, just like his heart.

Her hair, a pale gold, almost silver, pinned on one side as the rest cascaded over her shoulder to her bosoms. She was wearing a gold face mask, and he didn't like the fact that the rest of her face was smeared with gold dust, hiding her features. Cinched just above her waist, with a lacy square neckline, her gown had long bell-shaped sleeves. In her simple white dress, she looked like a swan in a lake full of vipers.

When he first laid his eyes on her, the feeling almost took his breath away. She felt… refreshing, like the first dew on grass, and as pure as the first snow flake. She was at least a foot shorter than him, and was slimmer than most girls around. He was sure that her slender waist would be covered by the sprawl of his left hand, come end of night.

"What are you thinking, my lord?" Vera, the princess of Kingdom of Veradanus, asked whilst admiring his beautifully deceptive face. Her hungry gaze drifted to his long, black velvet coat, the collar of which was embroidered with the pattern of the star constellation that represented his kingdom. It was open from the middle and fell on the sides, revealing his broad chest. Beneath, a black shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, showcasing his rigid muscles and the constellation dragon tattoo he was born with. It curled somewhere downwards.

Every pub in Aranea was born with a tattoo of the spirit of the kingdom they belonged to. While males had it on their chest, females had it on their upper left arm.

Vera offered him more wine from the pitcher on the bar's counter… except the wine she offered him was a deeper shade of red. Tonight, she had finally gotten an opportunity when she slipped a pinch of a poisonous powder into his wine, one that was going to keep him sedated long enough for her to finish her sexcapades with him. She had been trying for a long time to jump into bed with him.

Jolted out of his reverie, Marcus growled at her menacingly to ward her off, and then returned his gaze to his muse without answering her.

Vera winced. He was the strongest werewolf in all of Araniea, whose beast was so powerful that it could kill its foe merely with his claws and fangs. She didn't have the courage to ask him any more questions, thinking it was wiser to wait for the drug to take effect.

Marcus often wondered who would be his mate. Werewolves couldn't smell their mates until they were eighteen summers old, but Marcus was five hundred years old. He was grateful to all the gods that he hadn't sniffed out his mate yet.

So, why was this girl attracting him like no one else had?

She had grasped the wine glass tightly in her hands, close to her chest and hadn't sipped at all. How old was she? Asudden, her gaze snapped in his direction and her lips parted. Marcus's breath lodged in his throat when their gazes met, his chest vibrating with a rumble. Her lips trembled and moments later she drew her eyes from him. A low, rough growl of disapproval emanated from his chest.

He glanced at the Great Hall which was crowded by numerous girls in richly decorated gowns, with their hair styled in extravagant coats and layers of makeup plastered on their face. There were dozens of folks in the room, all dressed in the most extravagant silks and velvets, gold and diamonds. He was tired of the pomp, of the pageantry. They were all the same, vying for his attention, or that of Rigel's in whose honor he had thrown this ball.

Rigel, The crown prince of the Orion Kingdom had come to visit. The last time he had visited was five months ago. Rigel and Marcus had been in many wars together, participated in competitions, and were the closest of friends. They had each other's back, not only in the war zone, but in unpleasant, unusual situations also.

At present, Rigel had cleverly excused himself and gone upstairs to indulge in "passionate affairs," while leaving Marcus to the vagaries of the banquet.

Even though Marcus wanted to go up and indulge and blow some steam off himself, he couldn't. He was pinned in place, his attention on her. And right now, the world around him had faded into the background as he stared at her intensely, possessively.

Marcus's throat bobbed as he had this strange urge to snatch her up and lock her in the highest tower of the palace. The feeling was so overwhelming that he brought his goblet to his lips and swigged a large gulp. He was sure that it was just an itch, or maybe larger than that… he had to find out, and to do that he was going to take away his delicate butterfly from the forest of monsters up to his chambers tonight. He had to hurry up and move. What if she disappeared and never came back? He became anxious as hell.

He noticed that she was scanning the hall. It was redolent with wine, myrrh, and burning lavender. Large chandeliers that hung from the ceiling had thousands of bright candles that illuminated the room from one end to the other. On the walls were a stunning display of rare paintings. Shimmering white and gold tapestries hung from the walls, and servants in deep red uniforms scurried around. In the far-right corner, a dozen musicians were playing fiddles, ukuleles, and flutes. Some men and women were dancing to the ballads being played. Suddenly, he wanted to know if she was impressed by it or not?

As Marcus watched her, he recalled how his father, Alrakis, had been insistent on him getting married as soon as possible and to mark his wife. That would strengthen his position in some way. Not only his father and his councilors, but the Elders of the Draka Kingdom were pressuring him to get married as well.

Marcus hated the idea of being tied down to anyone, but he wanted the one who had caught his eye, for tonight, and then some more.