Chapter 9 – Proof

Kieran

The musty scent of old parchment fills the small map room adjacent to the armory. It’s a cramped, forgotten space, rarely used since my father preferred the grand stage of the main hall for his pronouncements.

It’s perfect for a conversation I don’t want echoing through the keep. Just a few weeks into my reign, and I’m already resorting to clandestine meetings in dusty corners. I’m killing it.

Marcus lays the scout report on the heavy oak table, his usual stoicism overlaid with something grim. I flatten the parchment, my gaze snagging immediately on the sketches beside the neat script.

A boot print. Heavy lugs, worn heel, found in preserved mud just inside the western tunnel mouth. They’re Redmaw issue. Estimated 3-4 days old, is scribbled next to the illustration. My breath catches. After Alexei arrived.

A crudely carved clasp of bone, etched with Redmaw slashes, snagged on rock twenty yards in. Trace scent residue matches prisoner. My pulse hammers against my ribs.

And camphor residue masking a faint scent trail leading deeper, which points to deliberate concealment.

Alexei Basov wasn’t lying.

The confirmation hits not with relief, but with a cold, sinking dread. The threat is real. Brannagh is probing our underbelly through tunnels my father swore were sealed.

“The eastern tunnel?” My voice is strained.

“Similar findings, Alpha,” Marcus confirms. Both entrances are compromised and likely being mapped.

I trace the inked lines of the tunnels on an older survey map spread beneath the report. A hidden network like treacherous veins running beneath our feet.

My hands curl into fists. Vorlag actively plots while Redmaw prepares to strike, using the very threat Alexei warned of as leverage against me. And Alexei Basov might be the only one who gave us a warning we could trust. The irony is a bitter pill.

“Maintain surveillance on Vorlag and his circle,” I order, my voice regaining its edge. “Absolute discretion. I need proof I can bring before the entire pack, Marcus.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Bring Alexei to my study,” I order. “Alone and unchained.”

Marcus looks alarmed by the order.

“Alpha?”

“He offered information freely once,” I say, perhaps trying to convince myself as much as Marcus. “Let’s see if confirming his story loosens his tongue further. Chains only encourage people to tell you what you want to hear.”

Marcus nods slowly, accepting the logic, if not entirely the risk.

Back in my study, the familiar scent of beeswax and old books does little to soothe the tension coiling in my gut.

Alexei pushes buttons I didn’t know I possessed. He’s comfortable challenging me, comfortable in his own skin in a way I envy and resent. And yes, gods damn it, he’s attractive.

When Marcus escorts him in, Alexei looks almost offensively relaxed for a man whose life hangs by a thread.

He takes in the study with an appreciative glance, his gaze lingering on the titles lining the bookshelves. When he shifts his attention to me, his gaze is lit with delight. He knows the scouts found something. He knows the dynamic just shifted.

“Alpha Arnulf,” he greets, with a slight inclination of his head. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but this is quite an upgrade from my previous accommodations. Does this mean I get better wine?”

I gesture for Marcus to leave us, waiting until the heavy door clicks shut, sealing us in. The air immediately feels charged. I circle behind my desk, deliberately putting the heavy oak between us. A physical barrier against… proximity. And temptation.

“It means my scouts confirmed Redmaw presence near the tunnel entrances, matching your timeline and descriptions.” I keep my voice businesslike.

“Imagine that,” Alexei murmurs, sauntering further into the room, examining a silver letter opener on a side table. He picks it up and tests the point against his thumb.

“Truth-tellers are so rare these days. You should cherish me, Alpha.”

He replaces the opener, turning to face me, deliberately placing himself where the firelight catches the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the stubble along his strong jaw.

“I’ll consider it,” I say dryly, refusing to be drawn. “Now, the tunnels themselves. Your information was accurate regarding their existence and Redmaw’s interest. Give me more. Brannagh’s specific strategy. Numbers. Timing. Everything you held back before.”

Alexei leans an elbow on the mantelpiece, striking a pose of casual indolence that irritates me immensely.

He looks like he belongs here, utterly unbothered by the fact he’s technically a prisoner of war.

“Why should I? You still have me locked up tighter than…” His gaze sweeps over me, deliberately lingering, a slow heat in his eyes. “…well, let’s just say, very tightly. A wolf needs incentive to share his deepest secrets.”

“Because,” I reply frostily, matching his stare, “Proving your continued usefulness is the only thing keeping you breathing Silvercrest air instead of choking on Redmaw dirt. And because, if Brannagh strikes through those tunnels successfully, your life is worth less than nothing to either side. Cooperate, and you might live. Obstruct, and your fate is sealed.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through the room.

“Always business with you, pretty prince. Fine.” He straightens, the amusement fading slightly, replaced by a more focused intensity, the warrior emerging from behind the flirt.

“Brannagh plans to hit Blackthorn first, draw Vale’s main force east. He thinks Vale is predictable. Overly protective of his territory, and his mate.”

He pauses, letting that sink in, watching my reaction. I keep my face impassive, refusing to show how the mention of Eli still stings.

“He’ll use the eastern spurs of the tunnels for that. Smaller force, maybe fifty warriors, maximum. Enough to cause chaos, not enough to win, just enough to make Vale react decisively.”

Fifty warriors through hidden tunnels aimed at Blackthorn’s flank. Ronan would react exactly as Brannagh predicted.

“While Vale is occupied,” Alexei continues, moving closer to the desk again, “Brannagh sends his main assault, maybe two hundred strong, through the southern network. Straight towards your keep. He knows Silvercrest’s warriors are soft. It will be easy to scatter them. They need a lot more training before they’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

Alexei half-sits on my desk before continuing. “He aims to take the keep quickly, secure resources, and… secure you.” His eyes hold mine, the implication clear. “He knows Silvercrest’s new Alpha is young and untested. He thinks capturing you will break the pack’s spine and force Vale to negotiate from a position of weakness.”

Two hundred warriors. Emerging practically at my doorstep while Ronan is engaged elsewhere. It’s audacious. It’s potentially devastating. And it hinges entirely on those tunnels remaining secret. It’s adorable that Brannagh thinks Ronan would put his own pack in danger by negotiating for mine. He really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with on that side.

“The timing?” My voice is tight, urgency overriding my attempt at coolness.

“Soon. He’s waiting for the next dark moon, less than two weeks away. Gives him cover, messes with scent tracking.”

Alexei pushes off the desk, closing the distance between us before I can react. He stops directly in front of me, forcing me to meet his intense gaze over the scattered maps.

“He thinks you won’t see it coming. Thinks you’re too busy dealing with internal politics,” he lowers his voice, the sound intimate despite the guards outside, “Or perhaps… other distractions.”

His gaze drops to my lips, lingers, then rises again, challenging, probing. That unwelcome heat flares. I hate the way he can read me, the way he uses my own reactions against me.

“Your information is valuable,” I concede, forcing the words out while keeping my expression impassive. Pushing back slightly in my chair to create a sliver more space. “If true.”

“It’s true.” He doesn’t blink. He holds my gaze, radiating certainty. “And it’s yours. What do I get in return?”

“You get to stay alive,” I state flatly, regaining my footing.

“And a less confined existence. You’ll be moved to a secured room in the upper west wing. Still guarded. But closer, should I require further consultation.”

It’s a strategic move, keeping a vital asset nearer, but the word closer hangs between us, heavy with implication.

His grin returns, slow and predatory, victory flashing in his eyes. “Closer consultations? How promising. Does that mean I get unsupervised visits from you?”

I ignore the blatant innuendo, though the image it conjures makes me giddy.

“I need to know everything you know about Brannagh’s command structure and who his key officers are. Everything, Basov.”

I rise, deliberately reclaiming the status difference. “Then we discuss your future role here. If any.” I stop near the door, turning back to face him. “And Basov?”

“Alpha?” He cocks his head, waiting, still leaning against my desk like he owns it.

“You require clothing that fits. I dislike sloppiness. I’ll send a tailor to take your measurements, cooperate with him.” It’s a practical necessity, but also a subtle concession, an acknowledgment that his stay might be longer than a few days. He’s proven his potential worth. Now he needs to look the part, even if that part is ‘valuable prisoner’.

“And you should shave. I’ll have them provide you with equipment. Just don’t attempt to keep the razor.”

His eyes light up with understanding and triumph. “As you command, Alpha. I’d hate to continue offending your aesthetic sensibilities with inadequate attire.”

He glances down at himself, then back at me, his smile pure sin. “Though, perhaps you feel more comfortable when it’s not quite as obvious what lies beneath?”

I leave without dignifying that with an answer, instructing Marcus to escort him to his new room and provide for his ablutions.

Alexei Basov is a weapon. Sharp, dangerous, potentially double-edged. And I’ve just invited him further into my keep, closer to the heart of my command.

The relief that he’s likely not a spy is almost entirely eclipsed by the apprehension of what dealing with him as an ally, a deeply unsettling, attractive, infuriating ally, will entail.