Chapter 2 – Wolf at the Gates

Kieran

Pretty prince.

The words land in the strained silence of the hall like stones thrown at glass. They echo off the high ceilings, bounce off the polished marble, and lodge somewhere sharp under my ribs.

My reflection in the table’s surface flickers, the ghost image momentarily overlaid with forest-green eyes glittering with insolent amusement.

My wolf, usually a quiet, well-mannered creature I keep leashed tight, stirs. It lifts its head, sniffing the air, hackles rising not just in territorial warning, but in something else. Something unwillingly intrigued by the raw, unapologetic maleness pouring off the chained wolf standing defiantly on my floor.

It’s infuriating. It’s... distracting.

Around me, the council isn't distracted. They’re combusting.

Vorlag surges forward, face suffused with rage, his hand hovering near the hilt of his ceremonial sword. I doubt he has the first clue how to use it. “You dare–”

“Enough.” My voice cuts across his, sharper than I intend, amplified by the hall's acoustics. Vorlag freezes, hand falling away from his weapon, his expression caught between fury and the ingrained habit of obedience.

The other elders, who had started to rise or snarl, settle back like hounds called to heel. Their resentment prickles the air, thick and sour, but they obey. For now.

I force myself to look away from the prisoner, Alexei Basov, and address the room.

“Is this how Silvercrest greets those who request an audience? With threats and snarling?”

I let my gaze linger on Vorlag until he reluctantly steps back, though his nostrils are still flared. “We will hear him out. Then we’ll decide his fate.”

Turning back to Alexei feels like stepping deliberately into a strong current.

He hasn’t moved, still standing easily between his guards despite the chains.

The amusement in his eyes hasn't dimmed. If anything, it’s intensified, as if he’s enjoying the chaos he’s caused.

“You have a remarkably poor sense of self-preservation, Alexei Basov,” I say, my tone clipped and cool, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me. “Most wolves don’t announce their desire to bed the Alpha whose lands they’ve trespassed on.”

He throws his head back and laughs. It’s a rich, unrestrained sound, utterly out of place in this hall of stifled whispers and calculated courtesies. It sends another unwelcome shiver down my spine.

“Ah, but I’m not most wolves, pretty prince,” he says when the laughter subsides, his voice still rumbling with amusement.

His gaze sweeps over me again, lingering for a beat on my mouth before returning to my eyes. “And I find honesty saves time. Though,” he adds, his grin turning wicked, “I wouldn’t object to spending a great deal of time getting to your point.”

Heat rushes up my neck. Damn him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, playing with me in front of my own council. The retorts that came to me so easily when I was flirting with Eli, all seem to be hiding in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind right now.

My fingers curl on the armrests. I want to wipe that smirk off his face. Preferably with my fist. Or my mouth. No. I slam a mental door on that thought.

“Your purpose,” I repeat, injecting frost into the word. “The real one. Unless you truly expect me to believe you risked your life crossing Redmaw territory just to flirt.”

Alexei stretches, the movement surprisingly fluid despite the chains. Muscles shift under the rough leather of his tunic. “The flirting is a bonus,” he admits easily. “The truth? I’m here to offer my services.”

That startles a murmur from the council. Vorlag actually scoffs.

“Your services?” I echo, skepticism heavy in my voice. “A Redmaw Alpha wants to fight for Silvercrest?”

“Not just any Redmaw Alpha,” he corrects, the amusement replaced by something stony. “One who’s had enough of Brannagh’s madness. And who happens to be their best warrior.”

The name hangs in the air. Brannagh. The Redmaw Alpha who claimed leadership after Holt fell. Less known than his predecessors, which makes him potentially more dangerous.

“Brannagh’s consolidating power,” Alexei continues, his voice flat now. “Killing dissenters, demanding oaths of loyalty and driving the pack toward a war he can’t possibly win but is too proud to avoid. He learned nothing from the previous skirmishes with Blackthorn.”

He sounds sincere enough, but warmongering is basically Redmaw’s only discernible specialty.

“Redmaw territory is starving, Kieran Arnulf. We bleed warriors in pointless border skirmishes while the pups go hungry. I won’t serve an Alpha who feasts on his own pack’s future.”

His words have the ring of truth, raw and unpolished. And they sound just as naive as I’m sure my own did when I refused to keep walking the path my father lay out for us.

Redmaw’s desperation has been whispered about for months. But it could also be a performance. A lie crafted to gain entry, to sow discord, to serve as a spy.

“So you deserted,” I state coolly.

“I chose a side,” he counters sharply. “There’s a difference. I offer my strength, my loyalty, to an Alpha who values survival over ego. I hear Silvercrest is under new management. Management that might appreciate a wolf who knows how to fight.”

He meets my gaze directly again, the challenge back in his green eyes. “Do you?”

The hall is silent, waiting for my answer.

My mind races. I do need warriors. Blackthorn is helping me train the soldiers I have, but it’s a slow process.

Silvercrest’s own guard is more ceremonial than effective, a holdover from my father’s belief that appearances were more important than actual strength. An experienced Alpha warrior, especially one who knows Redmaw’s tactics from the inside… he could be invaluable.

Or he could be a viper I’m inviting into my own den.

My attraction to him is a liability. A weakness he could exploit. The council already thinks I’m soft. Taking in a Redmaw deserter, especially one who looks like him, would only fuel their doubts.

But refusing him outright? Kicking him back out into the wilderness, or executing him as Vorlag wants? That feels like my father’s move. Like fear dictating policy.

“You expect me to trust the word of a Redmaw wolf?” I ask, keeping my voice level.

Alexei shrugs, the chains clinking softly. “Trust has to start somewhere. Or perhaps you prefer your enemies where you can see them? I’m okay with either.” His grin flashes again, quick and dangerous. “I assure you, Alpha, I’m much more entertaining up close.”

“I’m sure you are.” The sarcasm is thick enough to spread on bread. “But entertainment isn’t high on my list of priorities.”

“Pity,” he sighs dramatically. “It should be. A little pleasure makes even the heaviest crown sit lighter.”

I ignore that, focusing on the tactical implications. “If I allow you to stay, you’ll be under constant watch. Every move, every word. One wrong step, one hint of betrayal, and you’ll be eliminated. Are those terms acceptable?”

He leans forward slightly, the movement pulling the chains taut. His eyes glitter with something that looks dangerously like delight. “Constant observation? By you, personally?” He practically purrs the question.

My teeth clench. “By my guards.”

“Ah.” He feigns disappointment, though the amusement dances in his eyes. “Not nearly as tempting. Still. I accept your terms, Alpha Kieran. Put me where you want me. I promise I’ll be… very effective.”

The double entendre hangs in the air, ripe and deliberate. I feel the council’s disapproval pressing in again. Vorlag looks ready to explode. He’s vibrating with contained fury.

I make the decision before I can second-guess it. Before fear or attraction can sway me further.

“Guards,” I call, my voice ringing with an authority I hope sounds convincing. “Take him to the west wing barracks. See that he’s fed and given clean clothes.” I doubt we’ll have anything that fits him, but maybe that’s not such a terrible thing… Dammit. No, Kieran. Bad.

“Confine him there until I decide otherwise. He’s not to be harmed, but he’s not to be trusted. Ten men watching him at all times. Is that clear?”

The guards flanking Alexei take his arms. He doesn’t resist, but as they lead him away, he glances back over his shoulder, his ridiculously arresting eyes locking with mine one last time. The look holds a promise, a challenge, and a heat that lingers long after he’s gone.

The hall erupts the moment the doors close.

“Alpha, you can’t possibly–”

“He’s Redmaw!”

“This is madness!”

I raise a hand, silencing them with a gesture sharper than any word. “My decision is made.”

I meet Vorlag’s furious gaze. “He stays. Under watch. We need fighters, and perhaps he offers more than just muscle. Information on Brannagh could be invaluable.”

“Or he could feed us lies!” Vorlag shouts, spittle flying.

“Then we will discern the lies from the truth.” I gather the tattered edges of my composure, wrapping them around me like a shield.

“Now, if there are no legitimate concerns regarding the pack’s immediate welfare, this council is adjourned.”

I don’t wait for their response. I turn and stride from the hall, leaving them to their mutinous whispers. My own heart is pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I let a Redmaw Alpha, a distractingly attractive and infuriatingly cocky one, into my keep. On his word alone.

This is either the smartest gamble I’ve ever made, or the mistake that will cost me everything. And recalling the look in Alexei’s eyes, I have a sinking feeling I already know which one it is.