Lycan's Affection
A King Without a Crown

Eleanor stayed back as she watched Conaan standing in front of the mirror, his eyes cold and heavy. He completely lacked emotions, his eyes unblinking as the omegas worked to help him wear his robe.

Slowly, she came to his side, her hand gently cupping his face. She moved her nail, then removed a petal that had stuck to his face from the bath.

He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since he woke up. She had checked on him numerous times in the bath, and he had been unmoving, not even a sound coming from it.

It had broken her over and over again, every time she saw him the same way.

But the sun had slowly set, and it was finally time for the rites.

"Let me do it," she said quietly, her eyes still holding hers.

He did not object as the omegas walked away, leaving them alone. The room was dimming slowly, and she came in front of him, the petal still resting on her hand.

"You always leave petals on yourself. It is so beautiful."

He swallowed, but still said nothing, his eyes still low.

"White is indeed your color. Even if...you are this sad wearing it."

He lowered his head as she slowly brought the comb. Gently, she propped herself up on her toes, then tried to reach for his hair.

It brought back memories of when she had tried to reach for his head on his birthday. But Brandon had been there, and he had been complete.

Without a word, his hand reached for hers, and she swallowed, feeling the familiar warmth of his hand flood hers again.

She turned to him, her eyes slowly tearing up.

"Conaan?"

He raised his eyes for only a brief moment, before he gently went down on his knees, his head low.

She swallowed hard, tears running down her cheeks now. Abandoning the comb, she leaned, cupping his face in her hands, her lips parting.

"A king does not go on his knees for anyone. Or anything."

He swallowed, looking up to her. His teeth gritted hard against each other.

"Until...until this kingdom flows with blood, until this palace fills with blood. I am a king on my knees. I am a king without a crown."

Eleanor said nothing, kneeling in front of him, wrapping her hands around him. This time he rested on her easily, his fingers tightening around her dress, his body lightly trembling.

Five million lycans stood in front of the great river of Waynes, the sacred river for Lycan spirits. Each held a candle that lit up the otherwise dark night, and the screaming howls could be heard from the lycans that had shifted.

Brandon's body, clean and pristine was waiting in a decorated boat, waiting on the river, with only an anchor stopping it from moving. It was a solemn ceremony, and slight whimpers penetrated the howls, the moon shielding itself from the sorrow.

"Here comes His Majesty!"

The path slowly opened up, and Conaan emerged. His left hand was held by Eleanor, and she held on tight, her fingers intertwined with his.

On his right was the light torch that would set Brandon's body on fire and lay him to eternal rest.

He walked slowly, his head held high, his hair only put in place by Eleanor's fingers, his unruly strands tucked behind his ears.

The walk to the boat felt too fast, unreal, and before long, he was in front of the shrouded body of his best friend.

He felt a lump rise in his throat as he looked down at the body, his chest tightening. Suddenly, Eleanor let go of his hand, then switched places.

He did not have the time to ask why, before she slowly collected the torch from him, then gave a small nod.

Without question, he leaned forward to Brandon, his hand gently caressing his face.

"Rest in peace, Brandon. I will take it from here."

He let his eyes roam Brandon's face one last time. But dead and pale was not what he wanted to remember Brandon as.

"I will never, ever forget you."

It was a solemn promise, and he moved away, with new found determination, regaining ownership of the torch.

This time, he held on to Eleanor himself, his fingers tight around her as the anchor was released, a second before he set the boat on fire.

It went up in glorious flames, flames that would burn Brandon's remains and end a lifetime, a friendship, a love that remained forever untold, yet engraved in blood on the plaques of eternity.

The flames reflected in Conaan's glassy eyes, the orange reflection set off in the one tear drop in his eyes.

"They shall not get a proper funeral, Brandon. I swear it."

Eleanor turned to him, then nodded. "They will not get to rest in peace." She brought his hand to her lips, then placed the smallest of kisses on it, as if to seal the promise.

He didn't say a word more as the boat floated farther and farther away. Conaan flinched as it finally broke apart, erupted in flames, breaking apart for good.