The throne roomdoors open with a resonant boom that echoes through my chest. I step inside beside Kieran and feel the weight of dozens of eyes turning toward us.
The Umbra Council is already assembled: powerful nobles in their finest clothes, faces ranging from carefully neutral to openly hostile. King Lucian sits on his throne with Queen Astra beside him, Seth standing at attention nearby. My former position, guarding my friend. The thought sends a pang through me, but I push it aside.
We’re halfway to the dais when a voice cuts through the murmurs.
“Why is the Queen’s guard accompanying the Snow Mountain Pack delegation?” Lord Castor, one of the more outspoken Council members, steps forward. His tone drips with barely concealed disdain.
Lucian’s expression remains calm. “Daciana is no longer solely the Queen’s guard. She has been appointed as liaison to Alpha Kieran’s delegation.”
The reaction is swift. Several nobles exchange glances. Others glare at us, their expressions darkening.
“That position was meant to be discussed with the Council,” another nobleman protests. “We had several candidates—”
“The decision has been made,” Lucian says, his voice brooking no argument.
I keep my face impassive, but anxiety thrums through me. I can feel the hostility radiating from certain members of the Council. This isn’t just about me. It’s about control. Access.
Artisem leans in slightly, his voice low so only I can hear. “They wanted a spy inside the delegation. That’s why Alpha Kieran refused every candidate until now.”
My eyes snap to Kieran. His face is a perfect mask: calm, unreadable, looking almost bored. Is that why he chose me? Because I’m loyal only to the crown? Because I can’t be bought or manipulated by these noble houses?
As if sensing my gaze, Kieran looks down at me. Our eyes meet, and there’s that half-smile again—the one that makes my breath catch in my throat and my wolf surge forward eagerly.
I look away, my cheeks warming. The more time I spend around this man, the harder it becomes to control these reactions. Every glance feels charged. Every inadvertent touch sends fire through my veins. And after yesterday—gods, after seeing him naked and feeling his skin—it’s taking everyounce of willpower I possess to maintain any semblance of professionalism.
“There is another matter we wish to discuss,” Lord Castor says, drawing my attention back to the Council. His smile is sharp, predatory. “Alpha Kieran’s pack is the only one with no formal affiliations to any other pack in the Wolf Kingdom. We believe it’s time to establish such ties.”
Kieran’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel him tense beside me. “What kind of ties are you proposing, Lord Castor?”
“A mating bond,” Castor says smoothly. “You have no mate, Alpha. Taking one from within the Kingdom would demonstrate your loyalty to the crown and create beneficial alliances.”
These words make me press my lips together. Pain lances through my chest—sharp, unexpected, stealing my breath. I jerk slightly, and Kieran’s hand finds my wrist, hidden between our bodies where no one can see. His touch is steady, but it does nothing to stop the ache spreading through my ribs.
Why does this hurt? Why does the thought of him with someone else make me want to…
“How would taking a mate prove loyalty?” Kieran asks, his tone mild. His thumb brushes against my pulse point, and I wonder if he can feel how fast it’s racing.
“Because then you would have ties to the other packs and to the Kingdom itself,” another council member chimes in. “Your interests would align with ours.”
This was planned. I can see it in their positioning, in the carefully rehearsed arguments. This isn’t a spontaneous suggestion. It’s an ambush.
Lord Castor takes another step forward, and suddenly, several other nobles join him. “We are willing to put forward candidates. My daughter…”
“My niece…”
“Lady Helena from House Mordane…”
Their voices overlap, each trying to offer up their female relatives like prizes at auction. My stomach twists, and a dark, possessive feeling rises in my chest. My wolf snarls, hackles raised, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep her contained.
“This is a trap,” Artisem hisses beside me.
“I know,” Kieran says quietly from my other side.
And I understand. If he refuses to take a mate, he’s essentially declaring he won’t swear loyalty to the King. But if he accepts, he could be bringing an enemy—a spy—directly into his pack. Into his bed.
The thought makes me see red.
“We await your response, Alpha Kieran,” Lord Castor says, his smile triumphant.
