C5

"You are trembling, Tahlia," I declare, my voice cutting through the heavy silence of the grand hall as my silver-rimmed Uoman Lanka combat boots strike the final obsidian step.

The low-burning fire-orbs catch the light reflecting off my ankles, highlighting the lean, razor-sharp musculature of my legs beneath the tailored split of the Black Snake Vrig tunic. The surrounding Vinqlo lords inhale sharply, their inner wolves reacting to the pure, unblemished lineage radiating from my skin.

"How is he standing like that?" Tahlia whispers under her breath, her fingers clawing at the edges of the speaker's dais as she watches me advance across the stone floor with absolute, fluid balance. "The country omega should be crawling on his knees."

"I have tracked rogue packs across jagged peaks that would shatter your fragile ankles, little sister," I say, stopping less than three paces from her. "A pair of ceremonial uniform boots is a playground."

Tahlia's jaw tightens, her golden eyes darting toward the western pillars where the lesser pack leaders stand completely transfixed. I see the panic rising in her scent a bitter, sour musk of failing dominance. She looks toward David Duskbane, desperate to find an expression of disgust on the High Alpha's face, but David remains utterly motionless, his piercing amber gaze locked onto my collarbones, a dark, dangerous fascination widening his pupils.

"You look as though you've sighted an executioner," I murmur, tilting my chin to let the full glare of the fire-orbs illuminate my face.

The whispers among the socialites erupt like a startled pack of scavengers. The dirt and soot from Skullmoon Isle are entirely gone, revealing the pristine, high-born bone structure of the true Sterling heirs. My eyes, dark and sharp as midnight flint, carry the exact lethal intensity of my birth mother, Mcqueen.

"That cannot be the wildling," a Vinqlo elder mutters from the high tables, his goblet shaking. "The boy looks like a high-tier commander from the ancient bloodlines."

"What did you do to my garment?" Tahlia roars, her voice cracking over the horn amplifier as she realizes her trap has completely backfired. "You altered the weave! You planned this insult!"

"I simply made it fit a true alpha-born heir," I reply, my voice dripping with icy amusement. "Did you truly think your broad, clumsy frame could ever do justice to elite silver-weave, Tahl?"

"You arrogant stray!" Her fist clenches, her claws fully extending until blood beads against her palms.

"Calm your wolf, Tahlia," Mirelle Voss snaps, stepping between us, though her own scent is thick with absolute terror. She stares at my face, her mind clearly racing back to the sister she betrayed to take this manor. "You have your mother's eyes, Franklin. But a pretty face does not grant you pack rights in the Condex districts."

"It grants me the eyes of the High Alpha, apparently," I say, casting a sidelong glance toward David, whose dominant aura is currently keeping the entire room pinned to the floor.

Cedron Sterling steps forward next, his expression a chaotic vortex of political greed and deep, instinctual fear. He doesn't look at me as a son; he looks at me as a priceless bargaining chip that just landed in his lap. If the Duskbane Lineage wants this boy, I can see the old wolf calculating, I can command the entire northern border.

"You underestimatod the bloodline, Mirelle," Cedron whispers sharply to his mate, his eyes sparkling with a twisted new light. "The boy is a masterpiece. We can use this."

"He is a threat to our daughter's ascension, Cedron!" Mirelle hisses back, her voice dropping to a low, feral vibration. "We must eliminate him before the council recognizes his claim."

I step closer to Tahlia, ignoring the parental plotting entirely, a mocking smile touching my lips. "Why the pale face, sister? It is your ascension night. Why do you look as though someone just slaughtered your entire hunting party?"

"Get out of my sight," Tahlia gasps, the friction in her throat sounding like iron scraping against stone. "You don't belong in this den!"

"But I do," I whisper, leaning in until she can smell the fresh winter mint on my breath. "And the silver tunic you graciously lent me? It truly is a perfect fit."

"You..."

Tahlia’s eyes roll back into her skull, her breath catching in her throat as the sheer, suffocating weight of her rage and humiliation forces her inner wolf to shut down.

"Tahlia!" I reach out, my hand catching the edge of her silver collar as her knees buckle, but her heavy frame is already dead weight.

With a brutal, heavy thud, the illegitimate heir of the Sterling pack collapses flat against the stone floor of the grand hall.