Chapter 6: The Viper's Den

KAEL

Silence is a weapon, and it's cutting sharper than any knife right now. This room's fire crackles, but loudest of all is her… the sound of her anger, the heat of her skin under my hand, the taste of her hatred and something more, something that's just… her. It's ringing in my head, tugging at me when I can least afford it. Not with Roric standing there, smelling of impatience and old leather.

He slams a red marker on the map. “The scouts are back. Silvermane’s testing our borders. They’re getting bold.”

I don’t look at the marker. I’m stuck on the memory of her jawline… the sharp angle of it, how it felt like fine steel under my thumb. “Expected. Silvermane’s just the claws. Not the brain.”

“It’s Isolde’s doing,” Roric grunts, his voice like grinding stones. “She’s using them to see if you’re distracted. If we’re weak from Ravengarde.”

Distracted. The word strikes me like a blow because it's true. She's in my mind when I close my eyes… silver eyes flashing on a face streaked with ashes, a kingdom’s worth of defiance in one single look. "Let them look," I mutter, my voice low, a growl I'm scarcely holding in.

Roric slams his fist onto the table and the room seems to shake. "We should annihilate them. Now. A killing blow. Show them our power."

He doesn't notice the depths… only the immediate threat. "And waste blood on her guard dogs? That's what she's counting on, Roric. Isolde wants us tired, injured, looking the wrong way." I turn from the map and pin him with a look. "Let them believe we're distracted. By the girl. By the… spoils of war. Let them believe I'm a king gone soft."

He scoffs, weighed down with contempt. "The girl is a distraction. She's a liability. If they see how much attention she draws… "

Something in me snaps… a possessive cord pulled tight. "She is not a liability." The words are quiet and deadly. "She is the bait. And if you call her a figure of destruction again, Commander, you'll be cleaning latrines for a year."

Roric doesn't so much as blink, stubborn as ever. "Forgive my lack of poetry, Alpha" he says. "But I do not see the sense in keeping a viper caged so close to the throne."

“Isolde required her dead for a purpose," I say, sitting forward as the plan unfolds in my head like smoke. "A purpose deeper than politics. Lyra is the rightful heir. So long as she lives in my keep, Isolde's claim is a sham. The eastern lords, the old blood… they look to Lyra. She's the key to legitimacy Isolde will never have."

He's listening now, listening intently. "So you believe Isolde will come here at risk? For her?"

“Desperation," I repeat, relishing the word like victory. "It's all tyrants understand. We look weak, we taunt her, and when she comes at us with everything she has… thinking she's killing a careless king and his troublesome prisoner… we annihilate her. Piece by piece. Lyra is the pressure point. She baits the real enemy.”

"And in the meantime?" Roric asks, folding his arms. "We give her a nice cell and hope she doesn't slit our throats in the middle of the night?"

My lips form a chilly smile. "Nice? No. That undermines the trap." The plan is whole now… cold and tactical. "We keep her close. We keep her on her guard. Always."

I lean across the map, my voice dropping so that he alone can hear. "I need her to feel the walls closing in, Roric. Gradually. Let the pack complain. Let them show their disdain. It wears on her. Makes her cling to what appears like certainty."

"Details," he says, the pragmatist always.

“Her meals arrive cold. Not rotten… just unappealing. Guards ‘accidentally’ brush past her in the halls… a shove, a reminder she doesn’t belong here. She asks for something? Deny it. Let her ask twice. On the third ask, give it like you’re doing her a favor… like she owes us.”

“Why the theatrics?” he asks, frustration biting his voice. “Why not just isolate her?”

“Isolation breeds determination," I say to him, the sour reality leaking out. "This… steady, low-level irritation? It wears someone down. I need her worn down enough that she'll go looking for someone to hang onto. And the only anchor in this entire damned keep is me."

Roric looks at me, eyes that have seen too much. He's known me too well. "You say you need her desperate to trust you. I've seen her blaze. Is all of this strategy, Kael? Or is the desperation… yours?"

My back stiffens, rigid. He's overstepped. "Do not dare to read my intent, Commander. My intent is the safety of the pack. The downfall of our enemy. Nothing more."

"With respect," he says… and for a change he actually means it, the bastard… "she's a sharp weapon. Keeping her close is dangerous. Know the difference between a pawn and a partner."

She is mine. The need hits so naked and stark I grit my teeth to keep it from roaring out. "She will be exactly what I need her to be. Her defiance is merely misplaced energy. When she finally knows the truth, it will be of worth to me. Until then, it is of worth to the plan."

"You've never been this subtle," Roric responds, the words more accusation than observation. "You prefer a cleaner weight."

"This is not an ordinary enemy. And she…" I break off, her face searing in my brain, the taste of her lips a brand… desecrating and promising simultaneously. "She's not an ordinary subject. She's too smart for simple lies. She must be convinced. With real fear from outside, and unwilling, conflicted protection from within. From me."

I stand straight, the Alpha giving the last order. "The objective is discomfort, Roric. Not harm. If a guard harms her, they face me. Personally. She should never need to fear for her life within my walls… only her comfort, her sanity, her future. If she is secure here, she'll come to… relish it in time."

“Understood," he repeats, his voice without inflection. "The subtle knife. Not the bludgeon. We make her an outcast, push her to the only one who lays claim to her."

"Precisely." I turn my attention away from him and to the screaming map. "I require her to be distracted. I require her to be questioning all of Ravengarde, questioning me. Ensure that the Silvermane reports make their way into the mouths which speak to her. I need her to know the threat of the outside world coming in, to view this keep… my keep… as the only frail sanctuary she has left."

Roric nods once, short and curt. "It's a dangerous game, Kael. Depending on an angry, unstable prisoner."

"It's the only game," I say to him, not looking at him. "Now go."

The door closes behind him, firm and final. I'm alone again with the fire and her memory. The plan is flawless, a web of pressure and manipulation so exquisite it deserves admiration. So why is my chest tight? Why does the vision of her spitting on my boots feel more substantial than all the carefully selected words I've just spoken to my best friend?

She’s under my skin, that little wolf. And the worst part… the part I’ll never admit to Roric… is that some part of me, the part that isn’t Alpha but just a man, is starting to enjoy the ache.