The Quiet of Wolf Hunter

Morning comes. Elira wakes from her dream and looks around. She is no longer in Malven's estate, but in a cold room built for her as the wife of Rennar's heir. She inhales deeply. Her father's words had been echoing in her dreams all night. Kael had insisted that their engagement proceed without delay. But why? She doesn't understand.

A knock soon pulled her back to reality. A young servant girl greeted her politely.

"My lady, Lord Kael invites you to join him for breakfast in the west garden."

The west garden? That was very unusual of him. They had rarely shared a meal together since their wedding — and when they did, it was always at the same dining table. It had never been special, just something formal. But today, he invited her to breakfast in the garden? What had gotten into him?

"I'll get ready," Elira said — not declining his invitation.

The servant nodded and soon helped the Lady of Rennar prepare for breakfast.

The morning sun spilled like gold across the garden, too gentle for the tension that settled over the table between them. The garden's roses should've smelled cloying. Instead, their scent was muted for her—like flowers pressed between pages of a forgotten book.

Elira stood in the archway for a breath longer than she should have. The garden was rarely used for anything but official receptions, and never for breakfast. The sight of Kael already seated, back straight, fingers resting on a delicate porcelain teacup, felt like a disruption in the natural order. The right side of his face caught the sunlight, highlighting his handsome features and sharp jawline.

He didn't rise when she approached. Just glanced up with unreadable eyes and said, "You came."

"You told me to," she replied coolly, taking the seat opposite him. Her movements were crisp. Controlled.

He poured her tea like a warden serving a last meal—steady hands, dead eyes. The silence between them bristled like a wound left to fester. Kael's thumb traced his teacup's rim—a hunter's tell. He hadn't invited her to eat. He'd invited her to be observed.

A crow cawed from the wrought iron trellis above, its call jagged and ill-timed.

"It seems your friends have followed us," Kael said mildly, eyes flicking to the bird.

Elira didn't smile. "Better them than courtiers." His remarks doesn't offend her.

They sat in brittle silence as servants brought light fare—fruit, bread, cheese. It felt like a performance they were both unwilling to direct.

"You offered two years to gain the full Malven inheritance," Kael said suddenly, not looking at her. "But will your father and brother really allow it?"

She didn't flinch. "I don't need their permission—only enough leverage to drag them down."

"You make it sound as though you'd dismantle your own family just to claim your title." He turned to her now, eyes unreadable. "Are you really planning to destroy them?"

A long pause.

"That's the only way I can stop being their pawn."

"You hate them."

It wasn't a question. Just a conclusion, drawn from the ice in her voice, the careful detachment in every word she spoke of her family.

Elira didn't respond. She merely sipped her tea, eyes fixed on the rim of her cup.

Kael didn't look away. His gaze lingered, tracing every small movement—the precise lift of her hand, the way her fingers curved around porcelain like they were trained not to tremble.

"Hatred alone doesn't drive someone to destroy their own blood," he said quietly.

"I don't owe you an explanation," she murmured, slicing the bread on her plate with cold precision. "If it helps you sleep at night, picture me as the power-hungry villainess they all whisper about."

Still, she avoided his eyes.

"No villainess," Kael said, voice low and steady, "would offer the full Malven inheritance to another—just to buy her freedom."

The understanding in his tone made her want to recoil.

It was too much. Too near.

As if he could read the parts of her she buried deepest.

As if he could see her.

She hated that.

Elira drew in a breath. Her gaze drifted briefly to the crow, now preening atop the archway.

Then came the question, quiet but sharp:

"Why did you let the engagement proceed as planned? Even though you didn't appear."

Kael set his teacup down with too much care. For a moment, his expression faltered—a flicker of something ancient, unreadable.

Then he said nothing.

And the silence that followed wasn't empty. It pulsed.

"So," she said, slicing into her bread with slow care, "you decided that forming a tie with House Malven was too valuable to delay? Or was it your father who pushed you—offering something you couldn't ignore?"

Her voice was calm, but every word was aimed like a blade.

Kael didn't answer immediately.

Instead, a smirk ghosted across his lips, and he tilted his head slightly. But whatever amusement it suggested didn't reach his eyes. There, something darker flickered—sharp, unreadable.

She tried to pin it down—anger? Sadness? Pity?—but it slipped away before she could catch it.

Then he spoke, echoing her earlier words without looking at her.

"Well... if it helps you sleep at night."

The words landed with quiet finality, like a door closing softly between them.

Elira didn't push. But her fingers curled slightly over her lap, knuckles pale beneath the silk.

It was then that the crow screamed again—sharp, echoing. She closed her eyes against the sound, and it triggered a memory.

---

[FLASHBACK]

The scent of ink and dust welcomed her like an old friend.

Elira stepped into the library, fingers brushing the edge of her veil—then dropping. No need to wear masks here. Not in this quiet sanctuary where names held no weight, and titles didn't scrape the air like drawn blades.

She told herself it was for the records. A borderland tax dispute. A scroll on the drought two summers ago. Just politics.

But she knew the truth.

It was him, the reason that drive her to comeback again.

Thane.

The man who never bowed. Who didn't wait for her to speak first. Who never asked for her surname—and somehow made that feel like reverence, not disregard.

There was something in his presence that tugged at her—not with urgency, but with recognition. As if her body remembered him before her mind allowed it. A faint pressure behind her ribs. A sense of being seen too clearly. Too closely.

He wasn't at his usual desk.

The hollow in her chest surprised her. She kept her stride measured as she moved past rows of parchment and sunlit shelves, headed for the alcove beneath the high-arched windows.

She found him one aisle over, arms full of parchment and visible frustration.

"They reorganized the records again," he muttered, voice edged with disbelief. "It's as if the council wants reform drowned in chaos."

"Perhaps they do," Elira said smoothly. "Misfiled injustice is easier to ignore."

He turned, a grin curling at the corners of his mouth. "You speak like someone who's played this game."

She slid into the seat across from him. "It's not a game when the pieces bleed."

That caught him. Not startled—impressed. He looked at her like she'd just turned a page he didn't know existed.

"I like that," he said. "A bit grim."

"We live in grim times."

He leaned in, eyes sharp. "Even crows laugh, you know. Just to scare the silence."

She blinked. "Are you calling me a crow?"

"In the most elegant, terrifying sense."

She should have been insulted. Instead, a laugh slipped out—brief, bright, utterly unguarded. She caught it too late, pressing a hand to her mouth as if she could shove it back in.

Something shifted in the air.

Not magic. Not spellcraft.

Something older.

Recognition.

Thane tilted his head. "Was that... you laughing?"

"Apparently."

"Well," he said, grinning. "My work here is done."

She shook her head, amused despite herself. "I didn't expect that."

"Neither did I." His voice dipped low. "But I liked it."

Their eyes met—and held. Not too long. Just long enough for something dangerous to begin. Something primal. Something threaded in instinct and fate.

She looked away first. Barely.

They shifted back to safer ground: scrolls and figures and grain. She challenged his numbers; he challenged her logic. He scribbled in the margins. She crossed him out. They volleyed barbed arrows of ink and wit until the day bled amber.

But something remained.

A tether neither of them named. One that pulsed just beneath the silence.

---

[BACK TO PRESENT]

Elira blinked back into the garden. The crow had vanished. The tension had not.

Kael was watching her. Something unreadable lingered in his expression.

Then he said, almost idly, "Do you know what they say about crows and wolves?"

Elira frowned. "That crows lead wolves to carrion?"

Kael smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "No. That wolves tolerate them. Until they don't."

His gaze met hers across the delicate porcelain and the space of five unspoken years.

"You never asked what I hunt, Elira." His voice dropped. "Though perhaps you already know."

A beat. Her spine straightened. "Should I?"

Kael's voice was soft. Lethal.

"Wolves, Elira. I hunt wolves."

---