Chapter 4

The Great Dining Hall buzzed with the clamor of dishes and voices until Rowan Thalric raised a hand and the conversation softened, a ripple of respect for the Alpha.

He sat at the head of the table, black hair streaked with grey at the temples, the years only sharpening his edges instead of dulling them. A strong man of about six foot one.

Picking at his hot cinnamon buns.

Beside him, Zoran studied the platter of roasted meat set before him. Grapes and a jug of wine were also arranged neatly at his place. He picked up the goblet, swirled it lightly, and then looked up at his brother.

“This...” he tapped the rim, “is it alcoholic?”

Rowan chuckled. “No, brother. It is not.”

Zoran took a brief sip and then inclined his head.

It packed a fruity punch.

The Alpha leaned back in his chair. “So. Tell me. Have you rethought your decision about the Beta seat? The Pack still waits. You would serve well, you know.”

Zoran set the goblet down carefully.

“Unfortunately not. The Beta’s role demands mateship, perhaps children down the line. But a primordial cannot take that path. If I ever found a mate..." He left that part hanging. "It’s better to remain in council.”

The silence that followed was brief, but not uncomfortable.

Rowan's attention then shifted to the boy on his left.

“Silas.”

His son froze mid-bite. “Yes, father?”

Rowan chewed, swallowed, then said casually, “That reminds me. Zoran mentioned last night that he saw Naelis. Out in the storm, alone. Trying to leave?”

Silas’s fork clattered against his plate.

“Uh—yes. Well. We are not… together anymore, stuff happened.”

Rowan’s hand stilled. The fork in his grip paused mid-air. His head turned to his son, brows knitting in confusion.

“Not together?”

Silas cleared his throat, fidgeting under his father’s stare. “Naelis thought it was better if we ... .stayed best friends. Platonic, that’s her word for it.”

Rowan leaned back, the faintest sigh escaping him. “Huh. She’s wild, that girl. Spirited too. I thought the two of you made a fine match.”

“Apparently, we're better off platonic.” Silas muttered, stabbing his venison.

Rowan shook his head, then raised a brow.

“And where is she, then? Why isn’t she at breakfast?”

Silas hesitated. Turning off his ringing mobile.

“She, uh… went to the woods.”

“To….?”

“To hunt.”

Rowan frowned. “To hunt? At this hour?”

The answer came before Silas could form one. The great iron doors at the end of the hall banged open. Heads turned to the figure coming in and gasps rose.

Naelis strode in, her dress torn at the hem and hands slick with blood. She dragged a full-grown boar across the stone floor until she heaved it forward and dropped it with a meaty thunk.

The carcass sprawled in the middle of the dining hall, blood coating the polished tiles, the scent of fresh kill cutting through the aroma of roasted delicacies.

Naelis straightened, her dark eyes bright with feral triumph.

"I hoped someone saved me a seat."

The hall fell silent, even the cooks froze in the archways.

Rowan’s fork slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. The chunks of bread in his mouth, spilling over his parted lips and falling onto his plate.

Zoran alone did not flinch, his gaze met Naelis’s and deterred the dead boar. Others may have assumed it was just a simple hunt. But he saw the thin pendant around the boar’s hoof. And he understood the gesture.

"A little birdie told me that this would be a good gift for your brother, Alpha Rowan."

She plopped into the seat and grabbed a chicken thigh. She wanted to put it in her mouth when Silas pulled out a water gun from his pocket and squeezed jets onto her face.

"You look like a bloody Mary."

"Silas!" Rowan tried to hold back his chuckle.

Naelis narrowed her eyes when the stream of water stopped hitting her. She wiped her face.

"I might gut your son in his sleep, and I’ll do it with one hand."

Zoran dropped his grapes, plopping the last one into his mouth and washing his hands in the porcelain basin beside him.

"Good morning, Naelis... Haldrith." He said simply, a soft smile on his face.

All traces of irritation melted from Naelis’s face as she turned to Zoran.

The turquoise shirt. The laces at his cuffs. The navy joggers that seemed almost careless, and yet the man carried them with an elegance that made the hall itself lean in to listen.

Her lips curved.

“Zoran,” she said, greeting him by name, “would you… like to taste it? The chef could immediately prepare the boar for you, served however you please.”

He shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“I don’t eat boar.”

Naelis blinked, her eyes darting to the carcass she had dragged in triumph. The hunt that had left her bruised, scraped, blood-soaked.

“You… don’t eat boar?” she repeated, voice thin.

Zoran’s gaze dropped to the beast’s snout, streaked with a purplish line. He did not say more than that.

Her eyes followed his, finally remembering the tales.

Boars with purple-streaked snouts were one of the things regarded as sacred by the citadel men.

Fuck.

She pressed her palm hard against her brow and let out a frustrated groan. “Crap.”

She pushed back her chair, muttering, “Fine. I’ll go hunt you a deer instead. Something…. proper. The cooks can—”

But Rowan cut her off,

“Naelis. I’ve never seen you hunt for anyone.”

Naelis exhaled, her eyes fixed stubbornly on Zoran.

“I just… wanted to align myself with him. I know the rest of this family. Even your dead relatives. But your brother is the only one I don’t know. And I thought…. a gift would bridge that.”

Rowan leaned forward as though he had something more to say, only to be cut off by his own delighted groan.

The chef had returned, bearing a tray of fig, sour lemon, and curd. Rowan’s favorite. His eyes lit up like a boy's, the Alpha’s composure dissolving into simple, greedy joy.

Silas stared in disbelief, lips twitching. How easily his father could be conquered by food.

“Honestly,” Silas muttered, pushing back his chair, “you reek of blood, Nae. Go wash before the stench kills my appetite any further.”

Naelis screwed up her face and jutted her tongue at him.

"Uh...fine."

But just before she grabbed the chicken thigh, she reached into her pocket, drew a small, folded paper and slid it across to Zoran just as he lifted his goblet.

His brows arched but she motioned for him to open it.

Alpha Rowan was too busy devouring curd to notice.

Silas was too busy glancing at his screen.

The moment Zoran’s fingers flipped open the paper, he spat out his wine.