Chapter 3 – Calculated Risk

Kieran

My study feels like a cage lined with velvet and disapproval. The fire crackles too loudly in the hearth, each pop and hiss an accusation. Outside, the wind howls a mournful dirge around the keep’s towers, echoing the storm brewing inside my chest.

Alexei Basov.

His name is a burr under my skin, irritating and impossible to ignore. His deep green eyes, alight with that unholy amusement, are imprinted behind my eyelids. My purpose is you, pretty prince. The sheer audacity of it still makes my teeth ache.

I pace the length of the room, boots silent on the thick hand-knotted rug my father imported at ruinous expense.

Control. That’s what this room represents. It’s the antithesis of the wild, unapologetic energy Alexei brought into the hall.

He smelled of damp earth and uninhibited sexuality. A scent that clung to the air long after the guards dragged him away, disrupting the sterile perfection my father cultivated.

And I let him stay.

The decision sits heavy in my gut, a stone sunk in churning water.

Vorlag’s face, tight with fury, flashes in my mind. He’s Redmaw! Madness! Treason! They see weakness in my choice. As they do in my refusal to rule with an iron fist like my father used to.

None of them protested my take-over while Ronan was still around. They didn’t complain that I was too young. Too inexperienced. Too lenient.

They nodded along with all my grand plans and then started a quiet campaign of undermining my authority once the imposing leader of Blackthorn took his leave.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe inviting Alexei Basov to live under my roof is madness. A calculated risk that could easily blow up in my face, taking Silvercrest down with it.

He could be a spy, a plant, Brannagh’s most cunning weapon sent to destabilize us from within. The story he spun about deserting a tyrannical Alpha… it’s plausible. Believable, even. But Redmaw wolves are masters of deception, raised on hardship and betrayal.

Trusting one feels like willingly swallowing poison and hoping for immunity.

Yet… killing him felt wrong. Pointless. An act born of paranoia, not strength. I refuse to be ruled by the same shadows that choked the life out of Silvercrest for decades.

And then there’s the other reason. The one I refuse to name, the one that makes my skin heat and my pulse quicken every time I picture his insolent grin. The sheer physical presence of him.

The unwelcome, undeniable pull of one Alpha recognizing another, even across enemy lines. It’s a dangerous current, threatening to drag me under before I’ve even learned to swim in these treacherous waters.

Alphas don’t make ideal pairings. We’re too set on maintaining control. Too impulsive and aggressive.

I stop pacing, bracing my hands on the cool marble mantelpiece, staring into the flames. What the hell am I thinking? I’m not planning on dating him.

I need fighters. I need information. Alexei could provide both. If he’s telling the truth.

“Marcus,” I call, pitching my voice just loud enough to carry.

The door opens instantly and my Captain of the Guard steps in, solid and dependable, his expression carefully neutral.

Marcus is one of the few older wolves who seems… reserved rather than outright hostile to my rule. He served my father, but without the fawning sycophancy of men like Vorlag.

“Alpha,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

“The prisoner, Alexei Basov. Detail twenty of your best men for his guard rotation. Ten on, ten off, around the clock. He doesn’t take a breath without someone knowing it. No one enters his quarters without my explicit permission. No one speaks to him beyond necessary commands. Understood?”

Ten guards might seem excessive, but Alexei is an Alpha, powerful and clearly a skilled fighter. Ronan Vale would require more than ten of our best to be subdued. I won't underestimate another Alpha of similar build.

“Understood, Alpha.” Marcus’s gaze is steady. “And if he attempts escape?”

The image of those laughing jade eyes flashes again. “Disable him. Don’t kill him unless absolutely necessary.”

Marcus nods once, absorbing the order without question. He’s good at that. Following commands without letting his own opinions cloud the execution. It’s been a welcome change from the constant pushback I’ve been getting from my so-called council.

“One more thing,” I add, turning from the fire. “I want eyes on Vorlag and his circle. Discreetly. Note who they speak to, where they gather. Any whispers of dissent, any unusual meetings… I want to know.”

A flicker of understanding crosses Marcus’s face. He knows Vorlag as well as I do. “Consider it done, Alpha.”

He leaves, closing the door softly behind him, until I’m alone again with the fire and the weight of my decisions.

Putting a tail on my own council members feels like a necessary precaution, distasteful as it is.

Vorlag’s open hostility is a threat I can’t ignore. If he decides I’m too weak to lead, he might try to rally support for a challenge. Or worse, feed information to our enemies himself.

I rub my temples, the skin tight with tension. Ruling is exhausting. Balancing the pack’s needs, the council’s demands, the ever-present threat from outside… and now, the unpredictable element of Alexei Basov thrown into the mix.

Restless energy still thrums under my skin. I need to see him again. Not just to interrogate him further, but to… assess. To measure the threat, or the potential, up close. To prove to myself that the flicker of interest I felt was just a momentary lapse, a biological anomaly, nothing more.

The west wing barracks are stark compared to the keep’s main chambers. Stone walls, narrow corridors, the smell of old sweat and oiled leather clinging to the air. A place for warriors, not courtiers.

Two guards stand stiffly outside Alexei’s assigned room. They snap to attention when they see me.

“Has he caused any trouble?” I ask.

“No, Alpha,” the senior guard replies. “He’s been quiet.”

“Open the door please.”

The bolt scrapes back, loud in the confined space. I step inside, telling the guards to remain outside.

The room is small, containing only a narrow cot, a rough wooden table, and a single high window barred with iron.

Alexei isn’t chained anymore. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his massive chest, watching me with that same infuriating flippancy.

They’ve given him Silvercrest clothes as I commanded. They fit poorly, stretching tight across his shoulders and biceps, somehow making him look even more imposing, more out of place.

“Come to check on your new pet, pretty prince?” he asks, his voice a low drawl that does ridiculous things to my insides. “I’m house trained if you’d like to take me to your room.”

“I came to get answers,” I say, forcing my tone to remain level. I move further into the room, stopping a few feet away, deliberately keeping space between us. “Tell me about Brannagh. His strengths, his weaknesses. His plans for the future.”

Alexei pushes off the wall, moving with a grace that makes it difficult to focus on anything else.

“Plans?” He laughs, a short, harsh sound. “Brannagh doesn’t plan. He learned nothing from the previous three Alphas we had. He’s made no effort to rebuild after the war with Blackthorn. All he cares about is revenge. His strength is paranoia. He sees enemies in every shadow, even his own. His weakness?”

Alexei stops directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “He’s one-track minded. Which makes him predictable. And vulnerable.”

His proximity is overwhelming. My wolf bristles, wanting to shove him back, to reassert dominance, but I hold still, refusing to show him how much he affects me.

“And his plans? Does he intend to move against Blackthorn? Against us?”

“He intends to move against everyone eventually,” Alexei says, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second.

“He thinks Ronan Vale’s victory over Holt was luck, an anomaly. He believes Blackthorn is weakened by Ronan’s mating and ripe for the taking. And Silvercrest…” He leans in a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “He thinks you’re soft. Easily broken.”

The words mirror the doubts of my own council, echoing the fears in my own head. It makes my jaw clench. “He’s mistaken.”

“Is he?” Alexei’s eyes glitter. “You let me live. You brought me into your keep. A wolf sworn to Brannagh until yesterday. That doesn’t look like strength to your enemies, Kieran. It looks like foolishness. Or…” His gaze turns considering, almost intimate. “…curiosity.”

My breath catches. I can smell him now, that unsettling mix of cedar and temptation. My body reacts against my will. My traitorous cock swelling slowly.

“My reasons are my own,” I tell him, stepping back, needing to put some space between us.

“Give me something concrete, Basov. Troop movements. Supply routes. Anything that proves you’re not just feeding me lines to save your own skin.”

Alexei watches me retreat, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He doesn’t press closer, just leans back against the wall again, seemingly relaxed, though his eyes remain sharp.

“Brannagh’s moving his best warriors to the eastern border, near Blackthorn’s weakest point. He plans a feint there, to draw Vale’s attention, while his main force circles south, through the old mining tunnels. He thinks he can cut Silvercrest off from outside help before you even know he’s coming.”

Old mining tunnels? My father had them sealed years ago. Or claimed he did. If Redmaw found a way through…

“How do you know this?” I demand.

“I was in his war council two days ago,” Alexei says simply. “I heard the orders given myself.” He pauses, then adds, “And I saw the maps.”

It could still be a lie. A fabrication designed to send my forces chasing shadows while Brannagh strikes elsewhere.

“Why tell me?” I ask, suspicion warring with the strategic advantage this information could offer. “Why betray your Alpha?”

Alexei’s expression darkens, the amusement vanishing completely, leaving something raw and fierce in its place.

“I told you. I won’t serve a leader who starves his own. Brannagh only cares about perception. He’d sacrifice every wolf in Redmaw if it meant he could sit on a pile of bones and call himself the strongest Alpha.”

He meets my gaze again, his verdant eyes intense. “Apparently you’re different. I’d like to fight for someone worth following for a change.”

My mind whirls. If he’s telling the truth, this changes everything. We have a chance to anticipate Brannagh’s move, to set a trap. But if he’s lying…

“I need proof,” I say, my voice tight.

Alexei laughs, the sound devoid of humor this time. “Proof? Look around you, Alpha. My proof is that I’m here. Guarded, betting my life on the hope that you’re not your father’s son after all. What more proof do you need?”

I study him for another long moment, the silence stretching. The heat in the room feels different now. Not just attraction, though that’s still annoyingly present. It’s the sharp, dangerous energy of a gamble about to be placed.

“Fine,” I say finally. “You’ll stay confined. But I’ll have my scouts verify your information. If it checks out…” I hesitate, then commit. “If it checks out, we’ll talk again. About what role you might play here.”

Alexei’s grin returns, slow and predatory. “I look forward to it, Alpha.” His eyes linger on my mouth again. “Very much. I have a whole list of ideas. I’m very creative.”

I turn and leave before I do something stupid. Like agree with him. Or kiss him.

Back in my study, the fire has burned lower, casting long shadows. Maybe letting him stay, trusting him even this much, is the act of a fool.

But maybe, just maybe, it’s the act of an Alpha willing to risk everything for a chance at a future different from the past.

A strange sense of exhilaration mixes with the dread. I’ve thrown the dice. Now I just have to wait and see how they land. And whether the wolf I just let through my gates bites the hand that feeds him, or the enemies that circle us both.