Chapter 19 - A Fragile Truce

Kieran

I’m staring at the map of the territories as if it holds a personal grudge against me.

Every line, every border, every notation of a Redmaw patrol just feels like another bar in the cage I’ve built for myself.

Two days have passed, but the spar in the yard is a fresh bruise on my ego, and the subsequent conversation with Alexei in the library... that’s a different kind of wound entirely.

He didn’t just knock me down, he saw why I was so afraid of falling.

And then he offered an olive branch instead of pushing his advantage. A brutal, Redmaw-style olive branch that involves burying Brannagh's army alive, but an olive branch nonetheless.

I’m still trying to process that whiplash when the library door swings open without a knock.

Of course. There’s only one person with such pitiful manners.

Alexei saunters in, radiating enough heat to melt the frost on the windows. He’s bare-chested, wearing only the form-fitting training pants that hang dangerously low on his hips. Displaying those deep V’s at his hips in a way that makes me want to nibble on them.

Sweat gleams on his shoulders, making the intricate tattoos ripple as he moves. He’s holding a damp cloth, which he uses to wipe down his neck and chest in a slow, deliberate motion that makes my mouth go dry.

"Still brooding, pretty prince?" he asks, his voice a low, amused rumble. "You'll get wrinkles. And you’re far too beautiful to ruin your face with all that... thinking."

I force myself to look away from the distracting display of his abdomen and back to the map. "A concern you'll never have to worry about, Basov. I doubt you use your brain very much at all."

He laughs. A rich, delectable sound that pours into my ears and spreads thickly through my body.

"I don't need to think hard. I just know." He joins me at the table, leaning over the map, close enough that I can smell the salt and musk of his skin. He’s deliberately invading my space. Again. His arm brushes mine. "And I know you're looking in the wrong place."

I stiffen, my voice coming out cooler than I feel. "Your sudden interest in strategy is suspicious. Is this another game?"

"It's not a game if we're on the same side," he says easily, tapping a point on the map well south of my focus. "Brannagh's not smart, but he's a rat. He won't hit your main patrols, he’ll hit your supply lines. Here." His finger, calloused and strong, traces a faint trail. "Where the patrols are thinnest."

His tactical advice is sound. Annoyingly sound. It’s the same conclusion I was slowly coming to, but he got there in an instant.

"My council is my concern," I say stiffly.

"Your council is a gaggle of old wolves afraid of their own shadows," he says, not unkindly, but with blunt honesty. He leans back, bracing his hands on the table behind him, the pose stretching his chest and pulling his tattoos taut. I force my eyes back to the map and ignore how dry my throat feels all of a sudden.

“You should allow your wolf more freedom," Alexei tells me out of the blue.

He leans in, voice dropping to that low, conspiratorial purr he uses when he’s about to say something indecent. "You keep that part of you in a cage, Kieran. You should let it out more. It's... hot."

Heat floods my face. I step back, needing air that isn't ninety-percent pure, unfiltered Alexei. "Your tactical advice is appreciated. Your other advice is not."

He grins, all white teeth and predatory charm. "Who said it was 'other' advice? It's practical. A stressed-out Alpha is a bad Alpha."

He pushes off the table and follows me as I retreat, backing me toward the window. "You really need to unwind, prince. I'm available to help." His gaze drops to my mouth. "You can be as bad as you please with me. In the sparring ring of course," he concludes, just when I’m sure my head is going to explode.

"Basov, I value my life," I say, my voice sharp. Speaking to him harshly is my only real defense, but it feels like a flimsy wooden shield against a battering ram. "Sparring with you seems like a polite form of suicide. And as for... anything else... I'm not interested."

He stops, just a foot away. The amusement fades from his face, replaced by that same unnerving perception he had in the yard. "You're a terrible liar," he says, his voice soft.

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are." He steps closer, not touching, but the sheer heat and presence of him pins me against the window. "You're terrified. I get it. You’re wound so tight you’re afraid you'll snap." His gaze is intense, holding mine captive. "But you never need to pretend with me."

My polished mask cracks. My wit fails me. He’s right. I am terrified. Terrified of this attraction, terrified of trusting him, terrified of being hurt again, terrified that he sees all of it.

He’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, feel the warmth of his breath. "You're terrified of me because I'm the only one here who's not bullshitting you. You hate me because I’m the only one who sees the real Kieran Arnulf... and I still want him."

My breath catches. My heart beats like a captive sparrow in a storm. I’m trapped in place. I can't use my wit. I can't use my rank. I’m just… here. Exposed.

He must see the panic in my eyes, because he leans back, giving me a fraction of an inch.

"Look," he says, the strategist returning. "Brannagh is a threat. Vorlag is a threat. They're both rats. We're Alphas. Let's just kill the rats."

The words are so blunt, so simple, they cut through my confusion. He’s not just trying to get in my pants. He’s offering to be a weapon. My weapon.

"You... and me?" I ask, the words feeling foreign and strange. "You'd fight for me? For Silvercrest?"

Alexei grins, the familiar, cocky bastard returning in full force. "Yeah, ‘you and me’. You're the pretty face in the big chair. I'm the muscle. And the brain. I’m already training your fighters and giving you brilliant strategic advice, I’m not sure why you’d seem so shocked that I’m willing to fight for you."

He claps me on the shoulder, a solid, assuming, warm touch that sends a jolt straight to my toes. His hand lingers, his thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing the side of my neck.

"It's a perfect partnership. Now, are we going to talk strategy, or are you just going to keep staring at my tattoos? I can take my pants off if you want a closer look at all of them."

The shock of the offer, and the casual way he just touched me, snaps my brain back into focus. I shove his hand off, my own tongue finally coming back to life again.

"I was just wondering if you had 'I'm obnoxious' tattooed on your back. It would save everyone time."

He laughs, a full, delighted sound that echoes in the quiet library. "It's on my ass, actually," he says, completely serious. "You'll have to get a lot closer to read it. I'm happy to arrange a private viewing."

"I'll pass," I say, my voice dry, but my heart is pounding a new, unsteady rhythm.

"Your loss, prince." He turns to leave, all easy confidence and sculpted muscle. At the door, he pauses and looks back, his expression uncharacteristically serious for a moment.

"That offer stands, Kieran. I meant it. I’ll be your weapon any time you need me. Let your wolf out of its cage. It knows I'm right."

He winks, then disappears down the hall, leaving me alone in the library, my skin tingling where he touched me, my mind reeling.

I'm still terrified of this. Of him. Of the undeniable, agonizing pull I feel toward him. I don't trust him, and I certainly don't trust myself.

But as I stare at the map, at the spot his finger tapped, I realize with a jolt that the crushing weight of leadership feels different suddenly. It's still heavy, but for the first time since I took charge, I don’t feel like I’m the only one bearing the weight.

I'm trapped, yes. But for the first time, I'm not alone. And that might be the most terrifying, and exhilarating, feeling of all.