But the lupinhominids, and at least one genus of the anthrohominids, he asserted, had begun developing tools, language, and rudimentary expressions of art. The Royal Geneticist believed both genera had the potential to evolve into two distinct, civilized species, and should therefore no longer be treated by drakkon as mere game and beasts of burden.
The petition had proven vexing for the drakkon planet’s king and Damianos, his Royal Huntmaster.
For various reasons, a few restrictions had been added to the king’s previously unchecked power when the Blue Drakkon line took over the throne. Petitions by members of the court could no longer be dismissed out of hand. Nor could they be simply ignored because the Crown Prince wished his hunts to continue uninterrupted.
The solution? Send the Royal Overlord with a team to the third planet from the sun. Half the team would conduct a thousand-year survey of both the evolved and the genetically manipulated hominids and collect the data needed to refute the Royal Geneticist’s claim.
And as for Damianos and the other half of the team?
They would prepare the mutations for the hunt.
Chapter Seven
FENRIS
“Forgive this intrusion. But after hearing tale of your great feats in the kingdom village, I could not pass up the chance to meet with you in person.”
“Chance” was as his mate would term it, putting it quite liberally.
It was not as if they had invited the traveling skald currently seated across from him to their home. Nor had Fenris told anyone in their auld kingdom village where they lived. The skald had searched for a full day and made a camp overnight before receiving this “chance.”
“I am honored that you traveled out of your way to their home,” he answered, nonetheless as Chloe set a bowl of porridge in front of each of them. They were seated at the table upon stools his mate fashioned from the leftover trees he felled to make this cabin. “Have you tale of the village?”
“Indeed I do…”
They talked easily over their porridge about the recent homecoming of Fenrit, the fenrir who replaced him. After viking abroad from spring to harvest time, their current fenrir had returned to happy news. His mate had born their second child while he was away, a boy this time. “Thus is the next generation of the new Fenrit line secure,” the skald told them.
“That is lovely news,” Chloe said from her position seated near the hearth. Having no expectation of ever receiving visitors, she and Fenris had only made two stools. She’d insisted on sitting on the floor with her porridge, her legs folded in a style she referred to as crisscross applesauce when their sons and daughters were children.
Fenris was surprised by the light tone of her voice.
Even though they’d both decided together to give up their royal titles, he would not have blamed her in the least for feeling jealous of the son of his former beta. Fenrit the Chosen, formerly known simply as Randulfsson had grown up beside FJ and had been meant to take on the role of beta when their eldest son assumed his destined place as ruler of the North Wolves.
Now Fenrit not only held the title that should have belonged to FJ, but he had also given his village an heir, thanks to his making a conventional mateship—ironically with the bride Fenris and Chloe had brought back from their last sea voyage for FJ.
With this second bairn, it would seem Fenrit now fully had the life that should have belonged to their son
Chloe had cause to be jealous, to rue her mate ceding to him both the title and bride originally meant for FJ. But nay, her genuine delight upon hearing this news flowed over their mate bond.
She was still a true queen, Fenris realized then. Happy for others, even when they received gifts she and Fenris could never hope to have. Such as grandchildren they were fortunate enough to meet.
“More porridge?” she asked them.
“Yea, thank you,” the skald and he answered together.
As they tucked into a second bowl of porridge. the subject turned to the Great Serpent Battle. And Fenris relayed the tale from beginning to end.
“So, you were not here the first time the drakkon set down upon your village, but you and your sons led the warriors who drove the drakkon from your villages?” the skald asked after he was done.
“Yes, that is correct,” he answered, tensing. He did not mind the skald’s question. Fenris did not often get the chance to talk with anyone other than Chloe. And regaling the skald with tales of their village warriors’ feats of bravery during the Great Serpent Battle had been an enjoyable way to pass the morn.
However, the skald was now venturing onto what his wife would call “a sensitive topic.” he glanced over his shoulder at Chloe, who had now moved on to a sewing project, adding pockets to the lining of the bear coat Fenris would wear for his upcoming week-long hunt.