Teaside Talks

Winter's POV

I pause as a sudden realization chills me. "Did he—"

She nods, her expression turning somber. "Keon told me about your second attack. He knew I needed to understand the full scope of the danger we're dealing with if I'm going to help get it out."

She takes another bite from the dish tray, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "As I was saying. The first thing Derrick asked when we arrived was about you. Not the treaty, not the perimeter security, not the casualty report. You. Wonder why?"

I tilt my head in confusion, my brows furrowing. I think about what she'd just said earlier, trying to piece the puzzle together, but the logic feels just out of reach. "I don't get it. Why would a scent marker make him drop his guard?"

She sighs. "Sometimes I forget you're not a werewolf. In our world Winter, you don't live in a world governed by instincts you can't see, smell or feel. Wolves rule, live by, and establish dominance by their senses, one of which is the sense of smell. It's an unspoken language, visceral and absolute. It's what keeps, or at least has kept many enemies away from the kingdom borders for generations."

She leans forward slightly, her eyes locking onto mine.

"The entirety of our pack's borders smell so strongly of Keon it can be detected from hundreds of miles away by any wolf with half a nose. High-ranking wolves can deliberately leave their scents on someone as a means to scare away enemies, a literal, physical claim of protection. So I guess, it could be an angle Derrick sees this from. Miraculously, he's rationalized the scent of his Alpha on you as a tactical safety measure rather than a betrayal."

My throat tightened, a sudden lump making it difficult to swallow. The sheer weight of what both men were doing behind the scenes began to press down on me.

"They're approaching this from opposite directions," I whispered, the realization washing over me like a cold wave, "but they're both doing the exact same thing."

"What do you mean?" Sabrina asked, tilting her head.

"They're protecting you," she stated plainly, answering her own question before I could even formulate the words.

The words settled heavily in my chest, expanding until it felt genuinely difficult to breathe.

"Keon is protecting your heart," she said, her voice dropping to a gentle, almost reverent murmur. She smiled sadly, recognizing the profound weight of that kind of devotion. "Derrick is protecting your body."

I hadn't thought about it like that. The dichotomy of their actions suddenly made perfect, agonizing sense.

Keon had hidden the brutal details of the attack because he wanted to spare me another psychological burden, wanting to keep my spirit from breaking under the pressure. Derrick had accepted incomplete answers and flimsy excuses because the moment he learned I was alive and breathing, everything else-his pride, his suspicion, his duty to his pack all became entirely secondary.

Neither of them had begun with themselves. Neither of them had paused to ask, What about me? What about my pride, or my future?

Somehow... that realization hurt more than any outright hostility could have. It stripped away any ability I had to feel angry or defensive.

"I don't deserve either of them," I admitted, my voice cracking as I looked down at my lap, feeling entirely unworthy of the fierce, quiet loyalty surrounding me.

Sabrina let out a long, slow sigh, leaning back into her pillows. "I was wondering when you were going to say that."

I looked away, staring at the flickering shadows the fire cast on the far wall. "It's true. I'm tearing them apart, and they're just... standing there shielding me."

"No."

Her answer came so quickly, so fiercely, that I looked back at her in genuine surprise.

"It isn't true," she repeated, her voice remaining calm, steady, and entirely unyielding.

"How can you possibly know that?" I asked, a desperate edge creeping into my tone. "Look at the mess I've caused."

"Because I've known enough people in my life who genuinely didn't deserve love, they usually spend their time asking why everyone else isn't enough for them. They take, and they demand, and they never look inward." A faint, fond smile touched her lips as she studied my face. "You, on the other hand, are convinced you aren't enough for everyone else. You're carrying the guilt of the whole world on your shoulders, Winter."

The room fell completely quiet.

I had never considered the difference. I had always viewed my self-doubt as a logical response to my failures, but Sabrina saw it as proof of a heart that cared too much.

Sabrina let me sit with the thought for a while, letting it sink in before she continued to dismantle my perspective. "You keep talking about choosing between Keon and Derrick."

"I am," I insisted. "That's what this entire crisis boils down to."

"No." She shook her head, her expression turning deadly serious. "You're choosing between futures."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If you choose Derrick, the alliance remains stable. The kingdoms breathe easier. The Council sleeps well at night because the status quo is maintained," she explained, counting the points on her fingers. She paused, her gaze dropping for a fraction of a second. "If you choose Keon..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence. The unspoken consequences loomed over us like a physical specter.

"I know," I whispered.

"Do you?" Her question wasn't cruel; it was entirely honest, forcing me to look at the macrocosm of the political landscape. "You wouldn't just be choosing the Alpha of the Stonefield Pack, Winter." She folded her hands together in her lap. "You'd be fundamentally changing the balance of power across two entire kingdoms."

I swallowed hard, the magnitude of my position hitting me all over again.

"The witches would demand answers," I murmured, staring into the flames.

"The royals would demand explanations," Sabrina added.

"The wolves would demand certainty."

"And every neighboring kingdom would look at us and wonder whether the Stonefield Pack had become divided from within," Sabrina finished, her voice heavy with the grim reality of pack politics.

I hadn't realized until this exact moment... I had completely ceased to be an individual. Somewhere between ancient relics, blood treaties, and a destiny mapped out by the stars... I'd stopped being just Winter. I was a political pivot point.

"I never wanted that," I said, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over me. "I never asked to be a symbol."

"I know." Sabrina's voice softened to a whisper, her eyes full of genuine empathy. "That's the cruel part of history. It rarely picks volunteers."

Neither of us spoke for a long while. The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, filling the room with a comforting warmth that felt strangely at odds with the gravity of our conversation. The cool night breeze stirred the curtains, a reminder that the world outside was still moving, entirely unaware of the storm brewing in this single bedroom.

Finally, I asked the question I'd been carrying like a lead weight since the moment I walked through her door. "What would you do?"

Sabrina blinked, startled by the sudden question. "What would I do?"

"If you were me," I clarified, looking at her with absolute sincerity. "If you were holding the threads of two kingdoms in your hands."

She stared at the ceiling for several long seconds, her sharp mind clearly running through a thousand impossible scenarios. Then, to my absolute amazement, she laughed.

"I'd resign."

The sheer absurdity of the answer broke the tension, and I couldn't help laughing along with her, the sound bubbles rising past my anxiety. "I'm serious, Sabrina!"

"So am I," she retorted, rubbing a hand tiredly over her forehead. "I'd hand someone else the entire problem, pack a bag, and disappear deep into the northern mountains where nobody could find me."

"That's not an option for me."

"I know," her smile faded into something infinitely gentler, her eyes warming up. "And I'm very, very grateful it isn't my choice to make."

For some reason... that answer comfort ised me more than any grand advice ever could have. Because she hadn't pretended there was an easy solution. She'd simply admitted the terrifying truth: some choices were entirely impossible, and yet, impossible choices still had to be made.

Driven by a sudden surge of gratitude and affection, I reached across the bed and carefully wrapped my arms around her, being hyper-mindful of her healing shoulder.

For a split second, she stiffened in surprise—physical affection wasn't exactly a standard Gamma trait. Then, the tension melted out of her, and she hugged me back firmly with her good arm.

"I'm glad you came tonight," she murmured against my hair.

"So am I."

She squeezed me once, a tight press of reassurance, before immediately hissing sharply through her teeth. "...Ow."

I pulled away so quickly I nearly lost my balance and fell off the wooden chair. "Oh my gods, I'm so sorry! Did I hit your shoulder?"

She stared at me for half a heartbeat, her face a mask of agony, before she completely burst into breathless laughter.

"Oh, gods... your face..."

I narrowed my eyes as the panic left me, replaced by exasperation. "You did that on purpose!"

"I absolutely did," she wheezed, holding her side.

"Sabrina!"

"It was worth it just to see how fast you panicked," she grinned, the mischief bright in her eyes.

I shook my head, laughing despite myself at her ridiculous sense of humor. "You are completely impossible."

"I've been told," she murmured softly.

"Now," she said, pointing her fork at me like a commander ordering troops, "tell me everything."

I blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift. "Everything?"

She nodded firmly. "Everything. A thoroughly mischievous, teasing grin spread across her face. "And don't you dare skip the embarrassing parts. As your temporary therapist, I require full disclosure."

A small smile graced my face and I had the feeling that for the first time since I got here talking would do less harm than good.