She opened the back door expecting a delivery, maybe Cash with an early shipment. Instead, she found a lion she didn't recognize holding an envelope sealed with red wax.
"Maeve Cross?" His voice was formal. Careful.
"That's me."
"Letter for you. Requires signature." He held out a clipboard.
Maeve signed without looking, taking the envelope. Heavy paper. Expensive. The kind of thing that screamed old money and older pride politics. The seal bore a lion's head pressed into wax, unfamiliar but somehow setting her teeth on edge.
"Who's it from?" she asked.
But the courier was already gone, disappearing around the corner like he couldn't get away fast enough.
Maeve closed the door and carried the envelope inside, setting it on the bar while she refilled her coffee. Probably some formal Council thing. Varric being official about the investigation, maybe. Though that didn't explain the seal or the courier's nervousness.
She broke the wax and pulled out thick parchment, unfolding it to reveal neat script.
Maeve Cross,
You are hereby summoned to attend a pride reconciliation at the Cross estate on the winter solstice. Your presence is required to discuss matters of family legacy, holdings, and your management of Cross assets within Hollow Oak.
As the new alpha of the Cross Pride, I have taken it upon myself to restore order and tradition to our family line. Your absence from pride gatherings and your insistence on operating independently has caused concern among the elders.
We expect your attendance. This is not optional.
Hector CrossAlpha, Cross Pride
The coffee cup slipped from Maeve's hand, shattering on the floor.
Hector.
Her uncle. Callum's uncle. The lion who'd fought every progressive reform their pride had tried to implement. Who'd made it clear that females belonged in support roles, not leadership and had sneered at Maeve's ambitions and called her unnatural for wanting more than a mate and cubs.
The lion she and Callum had walked away from ten years ago, leaving him to his bitter traditionalism and poisonous politics.
And now he was alpha of the Cross Pride.
Her lioness rose with a fierce snarl, pacing beneath her skin. Uneasy. Agitated. Something about this felt wrong beyond the obvious. Hector hadn't contacted her in a decade. Hadn't acknowledged her existence after she'd left. Why reach out now?
Your management of Cross assets within Hollow Oak.
The Silver Fang. He was talking about her tavern.
Maeve's hands curled into hard fists. The tavern was hers. She'd built it from nothing, earned every plank of wood andevery bottle behind the bar. Hector had no claim to it. No right to summon her like some errant cub who needed discipline.
She grabbed the letter and carried it to the fireplace, still cold from last night. She struck a match and held the flame to the corner of the parchment, watching expensive paper catch and curl.
"Pride reconciliation," she muttered. "He can reconcile with my claws."
The letter burned, smoke rising toward the chimney. Ashes drifted down like snow.
Her lioness didn't settle. It paced and growled and wanted to hunt, sensing threat in ways Maeve's human mind couldn't quite grasp. Hector reaching out after all these years. Demanding attendance. Claiming authority over Cross holdings.
Maybe Dante had been right about the sabotage being deliberate. Maybe someone really was targeting the Silver Fang.
But that was ridiculous. Hector was bitter and traditional, but he was also practical. He wouldn't waste resources on something as petty as sabotaging her shipments just to prove a point.
Varric was being overprotective. The Council was meddling. Those damaged crates and poisoned barrels were accidents, bad luck, nothing more.
