Chapter 4: The First Challenge

The packhouse was not what Thalia expected.

It felt less like a home and more like a fortress—stone-walled, heavy beams overhead draped in drying herbs and animal bones, lantern light flickering in shadows like a warning. Every detail spoke of history and power: the tapestry of a silver-furred wolf, the scent of pine tar and old blood, the polished antlers above the doors. A place that eats outsiders alive.

Rowan led her into the dining hall, where the heart of Silverpine’s authority pulsed beneath the trappings of hospitality. The room was built to impress, to unsettle: long tables lined with battered silver, ancestral blades on the walls, candlelight shining off dark wine and meat, but never quite reaching the corners.

Six councilors sat at the head table, every one a different kind of predator. Thalia felt the weight of their attention, cold and calculated, sizing her up not just as an intruder but as a threat to their delicate balance.

A thin man at the table’s end—his nose sharp as a hawk’s beak, eyes glacial—rapped a silver spoon with a kind of bored cruelty. “Alpha Rowan. Your new… guest has arrived. Sit. Eat. Let us see what we are dealing with.”

He didn’t bother to look at Thalia as he spoke; he didn’t have to. Marek’s reputation preceded him.

This is the one who never forgets a slight.

Bryndis, hair in a thick gray braid, leaned forward, voice low. “Nobody’s here to disrespect you, Rowan, but don’t mistake silence for acceptance.” Her words were meant for him, but her gaze raked Thalia from head to toe, as if searching for rot in the fruit. “You know outsiders bring trouble. Or have you forgotten last winter?”

Thalia didn’t flinch, but she felt Rowan bristle beside her.

He met the room’s challenge with his own. “Council. You sit at my table, on my territory. You’ll remember whose roof you share. Show the respect due my house and my role, or take your leave.”

His tone was silk over steel, and the air seemed to tighten.

Osric, burly and silent so far, watched Thalia as if he was measuring her for a grave. “Alpha, she looks barely strong enough to hunt, let alone lead. How did you come to bring her here?”

Every word was an accusation, daring Rowan to justify his choice.

Rowan placed his hand over Thalia’s—unexpectedly warm, solid. She nearly pulled away. Was this for the council’s benefit or hers?

He spoke with a calm that threatened violence. “Our meeting was fate. She’s proven herself resilient. I trust her judgment and her loyalty.”

A young woman near the middle—her fingers tapping a steady, anxious rhythm—finally spoke, her tone casual but her eyes sharp as broken glass. “Trust is a rare currency here, Alpha. Especially for those who haven’t earned it. Does she know how quickly it runs out?”

Linden. Thalia could feel the gears turning behind every word.

Thalia smiled, careful and brittle. “Trust runs both ways. I’m learning the value—fast.”

Tamsin, all foxlike cunning and lazy menace, swirled wine in her glass, her gaze flicking between Thalia and Rowan. “What is your lineage, girl? Or do you hide your roots as well as you hide your scars?”

Careful, Thalia. Careful.

“My family traveled the borderlands. Traders. I survived by wit, not name.” She made her voice low, just a hint of an edge. “And Rowan… found me when I had nothing left.”

As servants brought platters, most kept their eyes down. Only one—a girl with a tangle of dark curls and quick, clever hands—paused at Thalia’s side. “Try the honey-butter,” she whispered. “You’ll need the strength.”

Thalia’s surprise must have shown, because the girl’s mouth quirked in a secret smile. Don’t forget her. Someone here sees you.

Jessa, youngest and eerily composed, watched the exchange, her gaze unreadable but lingering. Thalia’s skin prickled. That same sense of half-memory—the night fire, the song, a watcher in the dark—stirred again, more urgent.

Councilor Marek cut into his meal, never glancing up. “And your intentions? Are you another mouth to feed, or something more dangerous?”

His tone implied the answer he wanted.

Thalia shrugged, pretending more confidence than she felt. “I intend to survive. The rest depends on how I’m treated.”

Bryndis snorted. “A clever answer, but cleverness didn’t save the last outsider.”

Linden’s tapping fingers stilled. “Alpha, the pack is uneasy. They sense a new moon rising—change, or something worse. Is she really worth the risk?”

Rowan’s gaze was unblinking. “She is under my protection. There will be no further challenge tonight.”

Beneath the table, Thalia felt his hand tense, as if ready to shift or strike.

Tamsin’s voice cut the air. “If she betrays you, Rowan, will you have the courage to do what’s needed?”

Rowan didn’t hesitate. “If I’m wrong, I’ll pay the price myself.”

It was a blood vow, and Thalia felt the council accept it like a dare. The conversation shifted—border disputes, missing game, strange scents near the southern woods. But the undercurrent was constant: Who is she? What does she want? What is Rowan risking for her?

Throughout, the council’s eyes slid to Thalia, searching for any tell, any sign she was lying. She sat with her shoulders square, mask in place, playing the game for her life.

Every so often, she caught the servant girl watching her, a flicker of silent encouragement. It was the only warmth she felt all night.

Halfway through the meal, Osric pushed his empty plate aside. “So, Thalia—how did you and Rowan know it was fate?”

Rowan’s glance was so fleeting most missed it, but Thalia saw it—trust me.

He began, “I heard her singing in the storm—her voice carried all the way to the border. Some things you just know.”

Thalia picked it up, letting herself sound unguarded. “I thought he was a wild dog at first. He kept me safe that night, even when he could have let me go. Sometimes you just… decide to trust, because the alternative is dying alone.”

A slow, knowing chuckle from Jessa. “Sometimes fate chooses the bold.”

But there was a catch in her voice, as if she, too, was testing for weakness.

Dessert arrived—berry tart, sticky and sweet. Elder Tamsin watched Thalia over the rim of her glass. “And if the council decides against your match, Alpha?”

Rowan’s voice was velvet and iron. “You may advise, but you do not rule me. This is my house, my pack. Silverpine bows to no council’s fear.”

A dangerous silence. Thalia felt a prickle at the back of her neck—a surge of energy, fear or magic or both. She gripped her mug as a flicker of light leapt from the nearest candle, dancing just a shade too bright.

A few eyes turned her way. Thalia forced a cough, feigned a shiver, hid trembling hands in her lap.

Not now. Not here. Survive.

Jessa’s stare lingered, as if she’d seen the spark. Thalia gave her a brittle, empty smile.

The council’s final words were a warning wrapped in courtesy. Marek’s cold voice: “We will watch. We will judge. If Silverpine falls for your pride, Rowan, it will be remembered.”

Rowan stood, claiming the final word. “Judge as you wish. But remember—you sit at my table. Welcome to Silverpine, Thalia.”

A reluctant chorus. The meal was over, the threat lingered, and Thalia’s mask did not falter.

As the council filed out, the servant girl slipped her a wink—solidarity or warning, she couldn’t tell. Rowan’s hand stayed at the small of her back, a shield and a claim, and maybe, just maybe, a promise that neither of them would bow quietly.

Survive tonight. Survive tomorrow. Survive long enough to decide who to trust—and who to destroy.