Chapter 3: The Gathering Storm

*Alpha Tyler*

The smell of wet ash was ruining the roasted meats.

I stood on the second-floor balcony of the Great Hall, leaning heavily against the carved oak railing. Down in the courtyard, twenty of my best pack warriors were scrambling like headless chickens, shoveling fresh snow over the soot-blackened slush. The fire that little wretch had started in the east wing had not brought the roof down, thank the heavens, but the black streaks running down the stone facade were plain as day.

"Move those wagons!" I barked down at the courtyard, letting my Alpha aura ripple through the cold air. "Stack the seasoned pine by the outer wall! If Lord Cassian smells burned straw before he tastes my mead, I will have the hide off every lazy sentry on duty!"

The men jumped, doubling their pace.

Behind me, the heavy wooden door swung open. Beatrice hurried out onto the balcony, pulling a thick beaver-fur stole tight around her throat. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but her lips were pressed into a hard, triumphant line.

"Is it done?" I asked, turning to face her. "Did you secure the dose?"

"Two full phials," Beatrice said, lowering her voice so the guards below would not catch the words. "Direct from the deep vein. Camilla drank the first one warm, and the second has been blended into her tonic for this evening."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. A cloud of white steam puffed from my lips into the winter air.

"And Camilla's face?" I asked. "The gray spots?"

"Fading already," Beatrice said with a soft sigh of relief. "Her cheeks have that sweet peach glow again. Her eyes are bright. By the time the Northern guard clears the lower valley, she will look like the jewel she was born to be."

"Good," I muttered, rubbing my temples. The tension of the last three days had left a throbbing ache right between my eyes. "Because if this meeting goes wrong, Riverfang is finished, Beatrice."

She stepped closer, placing a hand on my velvet sleeve. "Tyler, you worry too much. The Duke is a warrior. He spent ten years putting down rebellions in the Northern Wyld. A man like that does not care about an old scorch mark on an attic shingle. He wants two things: an unyielding border treaty and a beautiful, high-born Luna to warm his bed and secure his alliance with the southern packs."

"He is not a man," I growled, looking north toward the jagged, white-capped peaks that sliced the horizon. "Cassian is a Lycan pureblood. The King’s own brother. You haven't seen him in battle, Beatrice. Ten years ago at the Iron Gorge, I watched him tear an entire rebel vanguard apart with his bare claws without even taking his full shift. The creature is half-beast, half-devil."

"All the more reason he will be charmed by our Camilla," Beatrice countered smoothly. Her chin lifted with that stubborn pride she always wore when speaking of her daughter. "Camilla is gentle. She has the soft manners of the southern courts. When she curtsies and hands him the welcoming cup, he will not see a backwater pack. He will see an asset. A prize."

I looked back down at the courtyard.

She was right, of course. For twenty years, we had poured everything into Camilla. We had clothed her in the finest imported silks from the coast, hired dance masters from the capital, and—most importantly—we had kept her skin radiant and her core alive with the purest celestial blood on this continent.

If Cassian accepted Camilla as his prospective bride, the Northern throne would back Riverfang. Our trade debts would be wiped clean. The neighboring packs who had been eyeing our timberlands would crawl on their bellies.

"Where is the wretch now?" I asked, my voice dropping lower.

"Strapped to the cot in the low cellar," Beatrice replied, not a shred of pity in her tone. "Kael and two enforcers are watching the door. She won't be setting any more fires."

"Keep her breathing," I warned. "If Camilla’s core falters after the wedding, we will need to pack the wretch into a crate and ship her north under guard. Without that blood, Camilla won't survive three months in the northern frost."

"I know how to manage my own household, Tyler," Beatrice said sharply.

Before I could answer, a long, low horn blast cut through the freezing mountain air.

It came from the high watchtower at the northern pass.

*Hoooonnnn.*

One blast. Then another. Deep, iron-heavy, and vibrating with an ancient pitch that made the stone beneath our boots hum.

A collective freeze struck the courtyard. The servants dropped their shovels. The warriors stopped their work, their heads snapping toward the main gate.

"They're here," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Down the valley road, past the snow-draped pine woods, the vanguard of the Northern Wyld came into view.

Fifty mounted cataphracts rode in tight, terrifying formation. They rode massive, black-coated warhorses shod in steel, their riders encased in dark iron plate that showed no skin, no color, and no mercy. Long black lances bristled toward the sky like a moving forest of death. In the center of the column rode a single, enormous black carriage, its iron-reinforced wheels crushing the frozen gravel with the sound of grinding teeth.

And at the very head of the column rode Lord Cassian.

Even from half a league away, you could feel the oppressive, suffocating weight of his presence. He sat upon a monstrous stallion, draped in a heavy mantle of black bear fur that billowed in the icy wind. He did not look like an emissary coming to talk trade.

He looked like an executioner coming to claim a debt.

"Beatrice," I snapped, my voice tightening with panic. "Go downstairs now. Make sure Camilla is in the reception hall. Tell her to keep her head high, her smile soft, and her scent sweet. Not a single word about the attic. Not a whisper about the blood."

"I'm going," Beatrice said, her own composure cracking as she turned and hurried down the stairs.

I took a deep breath, puffed out my chest, and forced the trembling out of my hands.

"Open the outer gates!" I bellowed down to the bailey. "Present arms! Riverfang welcomes the Regent of the North!"