Chapter 11 - First Taste of the Yard

Alexei

The tailor delivered my new garments with trembling hands and fled my quarters like his ass was on fire.

I can’t say I blame him. Marcus stood in the doorway the entire time, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, radiating enough “don’t-fucking-breathe-wrong” energy to suffocate a lesser wolf.

Now, alone, I run my hands over the new clothes. Kieran Arnulf has excellent taste. His attraction to me being a case in point.

The leather trousers are black, supple, and fit like a second skin, clinging to my thighs and ass in a way that feels both practical and deliberately provocative. The tunic is a deep, forest green. Almost the exact color of my eyes. A fact I’m sure is a coincidence and not some poetic choice from the pretty prince himself.

It’s made of a cashmere knit. Light and stretchy enough to move in easily, while still clinging to every part of my torso. I feel less like a prisoner and more like a high-stakes acquisition being polished for display.

The thought sends a jolt of raw satisfaction through me. He’s already dressing me in his pack’s finery, in colors that compliment me and display me to my full potential. The game is escalating, and I haven't even made my first real move.

Marcus returns, his face the same impassive mask. “You’re to begin your assessment of the training yard.”

“My assessment?” I ask, sliding the sturdy leather boots onto my feet and tying the laces securely.

“I thought I was just a consultant. Is he giving me command of his army already? He must really have it bad, but who can blame him?”

“You’re an asset,” Marcus corrects, his voice flat. “Assets are assessed. And supervised.”

“Ah.” I grin, rolling my shoulders to settle the new fabric. It feels amazing. Much lighter than the furs and leather vests I’m used to. I can get used to being pampered.

“And you’re my supervisor? I was hoping for the Alpha himself. He seems much more… hands-on.”

Marcus’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t rise to the bait, just turns on his heel. “This way. And Basov? Try not to bite anyone. It creates paperwork.”

“There’s only one person I want to bite, Captain. And I’ll wait for him to ask.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response.

The walk to the training yard is... interesting. I’m unchained for the first time since arriving, flanked only by Marcus. But every wolf we pass stops dead. They stare. They whisper. Their hostility and fear are so thick I can practically taste it.

They look at me like I’m a rabid dog their Alpha decided to keep as a pet. I don’t blame them. Redmaw has earned its reputation and I’m willing to do what it takes to show them I’m not the barbarian they expect me to be.

The yard itself is just as I remembered from my brief glimpse. Clean and orderly. The packed earth is raked smooth, the weapons on the racks polished to a high shine. About fifty warriors are moving through drills, their forms precise, synchronized, and utterly, laughably useless in a real fight.

It’s all posture. All performance. They’re practicing for a parade, not a war.

In Redmaw, we’re taught to kill by the time we can walk. We’re taught that a fight is about breaking bones and tearing throats, not about looking graceful while you do it. These wolves are soft and I’m going to need to toughen them up. There is no code of honor when you’re fighting for life or death.

My gaze sweeps the perimeter, eagerly searching. And there he is.

Kieran.

He’s standing on the stone rampart overlooking the yard, partially obscured by a decorative pillar. He’s pretending to be in a deep conversation with a guard, but his body is angled toward me, his focus a palpable weight on my skin.

He’s wearing a dark blue tunic that makes his shoulders look broader, his black hair perfectly styled, the weak morning sun catching the silver thread in his collar and making it glitter. The perfect, polished prince watching his new, savage toy.

My wolf lifts its head, a low rumble of amusement in my chest. He’s trying so hard not to look like he’s watching. Adorable.

Time to show him what I’m capable of. We’ll call it step one in the seduction of the polished, pretty prince.

I’m barely two steps onto the packed earth before someone blocks my path. A big brute of a wolf, with more muscle than sense and the same resentful glare I saw on Vorlag. He smells of old-guard entitlement.

“The Alpha may have let you out of your cage, Redmaw,” he snarls, deliberately pitching his voice to carry. “But this is our yard. Don’t think you’re welcome.”

I let my gaze travel up his bulky frame, taking in his open stance, his right hand already twitching toward a blade he won’t have time to reach.

I offer him a slow, lazy smile. “Just here to offer some pointers. You all look like you need them. For starters, your stance is open enough to drive a cart through. You lead with your chin like that in a real fight, and you’ll be swallowing your own teeth before you can blink.”

His face flushes a dull, angry red. The warriors around us pause, their drills faltering. The yard goes quiet.

“Think you’re better than us, dog?” he snarls as he shoves me. A heavy, loudly telegraphed push meant to intimidate.

I don’t budge and my smile widens. Finally someone I can fight.

“I don’t think,” I say, my voice dropping, losing all its humor. “I know.”

He roars and swings. A clumsy, rage-fueled punch aimed at my head. I move like water being diverted. It’s almost too easy.

One. I sidestep the blow, letting his momentum carry him past me, feeling the rush of air where his fist just was.

Two. I hook his ankle with my own foot. A simple, elegant trip he never saw coming. He stumbles, his balance shattered, arms windmilling. But I don’t just let him fall.

Three. I grab his tunic at the shoulder, use his own forward momentum, and spin, pivoting on my heel. I slam him face-first into the packed dirt at my feet. The thud is heavy, final and satisfyingly brutal.

The entire yard is dead silent. I can hear a single bird chirping somewhere beyond the walls.

I plant my boot firmly on the back of his neck, applying just enough pressure to keep him there. He groans, spitting dirt.

I don't look at him, or at the stunned warriors frozen in their stances. I lift my head, my gaze finding Kieran’s instantly across the distance. He’s gripping the stone railing of the rampart, his knuckles white. His face is pale, his deep blue eyes wide, his lips parted in shock. He looks delectable.

“See?” I say loudly to my victim, but my voice is aimed directly at the Alpha watching me. “Sloppy.”

I step back, brushing a non-existent speck of dust from my new tunic. I take my time, letting the silence stretch, letting them all absorb what just happened. Then, I give Kieran a slow, deliberate, mocking bow, full of the courtly grace he seems to value so much.

My voice carries clearly across the yard, sharp and laced with amusement.

“Just warming up, Alpha!”

His jaw tightens and I can see that he’s caught somewhere between annoyance and something else…

Something that may earn me the fuck I’ve been craving. I just need to play my cards right.