One hundred and fifty-one

In a dimly lit chamber, Ragnar was knee-deep in werewolf matters. He was grappling with their concerns, striving to be the best leader his pack deserved. At the same time, James cautiously unrolled a parchment and placed it into Ragnar's hands, a treasure trove of news and requests.

As Ragnar's sharp gaze raced across the inked lines, his countenance underwent a dramatic transformation. His eyes widened, and his face contorted, as he encountered a message that left him utterly flabbergasted. It was a series of congratulatory notes from various quarters: an Alpha, a ruler of the underworld, and even a notable human figure, all extending their warm wishes for his upcoming nuptials to Daphne.

In a fit of frustration, Ragnar clenched his fist, and with a swift swivel of his chair, he turned to confront James. The parchment remained untouched, the pen still as an obedient pet. He had read the first, the second, and the third, but the succession of five congratulatory scrolls had ignited a