Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

Malric

The impact echoed across the open arena like a crack of thunder. Malric slammed into the Lycan runner with terrifying force, the raw power of a royal Alpha shuddering through both of their bodies. Bones crunched faintly upon contact. The Lycan let out a choked gasp as the air was forcefully expelled from his lungs, the ball popping free from his grip and tumbling into the dirt.

Vance scooped up the stray leather with an arrogant bark of laughter, instantly sprinting toward the end zone while Theo cleared the remaining defenders with brutal shoulder-charges.

The whistle blew, a deafening blast that cut through the roaring wind.

"TOUCHDOWN! SUN-CLAWS WIN!"

The distant cheers of student spectators rained down from the floating stands, but down on the pitch, the air was thick with tension.

Malric stood over the fallen Lycan runner, casually wiping a smear of mud and blood from his cheekbone. The runner, a hulking third-year Lycan named Sean with jagged scars running down his jaw and fiery red eyes, scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. His face was twisted in a mixture of humiliation and blinding fury.

"Fuck You. You think you’re untouchable, don’t you, Malric?" Sean spat, clutching his bruised ribs as his chest heaved. He stepped right into Malric’s personal space, baring his elongated fangs. "You strut around here like a god, but everyone saw it! You got slapped across the face by a pathetic, tiny lower-year in front of the entire dining hall! The great Prince Malric, humiliated by a weakling Whitelock!"

Something snapped inside Malric’s chest. The cool, calculated composure he so carefully maintained shattered instantly.

Before Sean could even blink, Malric snapped his arm forward, throwing a vicious right hook straight into the Lycan’s jaw. Sean’s head snapped back with a wet crack, but the Lycan retaliated instantly, lunging forward with extended claws to swipe at Malric’s throat. They crashed into the mud in a flurry of absolute savagery, throwing wild, bone-breaking punches, pure animal rage driving them both as the crowd began to chant.

"Enough! Break it up!"

A massive, looming figure stepped into the fray. Coach Vane, a towering, heavily built Alpha veteran with a pristine military posture, a thick silver beard, and a body forged from pure muscle pushed his way between the two sprawling shifters. With effortlessly trained strength, he grabbed Sean by the collar with one hand and hoisted Malric backward with the other, prying them apart.

"That is enough!" Coach Vane bellowed, his deep, resonant voice echoing off the stone walls. "This is a training session, not a back-alley arena brawl! You are behaving like unsanctioned beasts!"

Malric snarled, his eyes glowing a dangerous, luminous gold as he shoved the coach’s hand off his shoulder. "Get your hands off me, Vane."

Sean tried to lunge again, spitting blood onto the green grass. "I’m not done with you, royal trash!"

Malric dodged past Vane’s arm, stepping straight into Sean’s space and landing a brutal kick to the Lycan’s stomach, sending him rolling across the dirt. Sean wheezed, groaning as he struggled to stand.

Coach Vane’s patience evaporated. His chest puffed out as he leveled a lethal glare at both boys. "That’s it! Sean, you’re off the team for the rest of the season! Pack your gear and get out of my sight!" He then turned his hard, unforgiving gaze toward the prince. "And you, Malric—you’re sitting on the bench for the next two games."

Malric wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his upper lip curling into a dark, contemptuous sneer. "The bench? Dream on, Coach. You know as well as I do this team falls apart without me."

Vane opened his mouth to deliver a stern reprimand, but Malric’s attention was suddenly derailed. A faint, lighthearted laugh drifted across the perimeter of the field.

Malric turned his head slightly. Passing along the cobblestone walkway that edged the pitch was a neat, orderly line of students from the Herbalism Club. They were carrying woven baskets overflowing with freshly harvested, glowing night-blooms and damp herbs, returning from the glass conservatories.

Right in the middle of the line walked Travis Whitelock.

The boy was wearing oversized gardening gloves, his hair sticking up in soft tufts, and he was laughing—really laughing—at something a girl with soft wolf ears beside him had just said. A bright, genuine, luminous smile lit up Travis’s face, making his small frame look almost ethereal under the harsh afternoon sunlight.

For a single, terrifying second, Malric forgot how to breathe.

His heart gave a violent, heavy thud against his ribs. A sudden, inexplicable surge of heat pooled in his chest, pulling at him, commanding him to step closer, to reach out, to wrap his hands around that narrow waist and pull the boy against him until that soft laughter was buried against his shoulder.

Then, reality slammed back into him.

Why? Malric’s thoughts roared with bitter venom. Why does he get to walk around looking so pure, so unbothered, so happy? While I’m stuck here bleeding, dealing with absolute fools, and being disrespected?

The contrast burned through Malric like acid. The soft, warm feeling in his chest instantly rotted into a black, suffocating rage. He hated how Travis made him feel. He hated that the little Whitelock rat could disrupt his peace with just a flash of a smile.

Malric slowly raised a muddy hand, lifting a long, blood-stained finger, pointing directly at the unsuspecting boy in the herbalism line. "Coach," Malric said, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet, chilling pitch. "We’re a player short now that you threw Kaelen off the pitch. Put that boy on the Lycan team."

Coach Vane blinked, following Malric’s finger until his eyes landed on Travis. The coach’s jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. "What? Prince Malric, are you insane? That is Travis Whitelock! He is a wolf shifter, a fragile one at that! He cannot be placed on a Lycan team! It goes against every rule of the academy, not to mention the boy would be torn to shreds!"

Malric stepped closer to the coach, towering over the older man, his eyes narrowing into two slitted, golden ovals of pure Alpha authority. The air around them grew heavy, saturated with a suffocating, terrifying aura that forced the air straight out of Vane’s lungs.

"Listen to me carefully, Coach," Malric purred, every word dripping with cold, murderous intent. "You will put him on that team right now. If you don’t, I won’t just kill you, I will make every single second of your remaining life an absolute, waking nightmare."

Coach Vane swallowed hard, a drop of cold sweat rolling down his weathered temple. He looked at the royal prince, realizing with stark clarity that Malric wasn’t bluffing. The sheer, unhinged power vibrating off the boy was enough to make even a seasoned Alpha sweat.

"I... I will assign him to the Shadows immediately, Your Highness," Vane stammered quickly, bowing his head in forced surrender. "I’ll call him over."

A dark, slow, cruel smile spread across Malric’s face, baring his sharp white teeth. He turned his eyes back toward the small, unsuspecting boy in the distance, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.

"Good," Malric whispered, his blood thrumming with dark anticipation. "I am going to thoroughly enjoy ramming into you, Travis."

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