“Morning,” I said carefully.
“Morning,” Finneas said. His voice was off. Controlled in the way it got when he was holding something behind his teeth.
I looked at Luca. Luca looked at his keys.
“What’s going on?”
Finneas set his mug down. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“I was issued a formal challenge by Lorraine’s older brother George this morning.”
I waited for the rest of the sentence. The context, the explanation, the part where he told me what that meant in practical terms because I was still learning this world and formal challenge could mean anything from a legal dispute to a vote of no confidence.
“What does that mean?”
Luca answered. “George challenged Finneas for the crown. By pack law, it’s a fight. Both wolves shift. In front of the pack.”
“A fight,” I repeated. “Like... a physical fight.”
“Yes.”
“Between wolves.”
“Yes.”
“In front of everyone.”
“The whole pack.”
I stood in the kitchen doorway processing this. A fight. Not a debate, not a vote, not a legal proceeding. A fight. Two wolves, teeth and claws, in front of hundreds of people, over who gets to be King. This was how they decided leadership disputes. Not with ballots. With blood.
“That’s barbaric,” I said.
Nobody argued with me.
“That’s actually, genuinely barbaric. You’re telling me that in this century, in this country, the way you settle a political disagreement is two men turning into wolves and trying to kill each other?”
“It’s pack law,” Luca said carefully. “It’s been the tradition for...”
“I don’t care how long it’s been the tradition. It’s barbaric.” My voice was rising and I couldn’t stop it. “He’s going to be a father in five weeks. I’m thirty-four weeks pregnant. And some asshole who’s been sulking because his sister didn’t get to marry the King gets to walk into a hall and demand a fight to the death?”
“Andrea...” Finneas started.
“Don’t ‘Andrea’ me right now.” I pulled out a chair and sat down because my legs were shaking, the baby pressing against my ribs, the kitchen tilting at the edges. I put both hands flat on the table. Breathed. “Okay. Okay. Tell me everything.”
Luca glanced at Finneas. Finneas nodded.
“Seventy-two hours,” Luca said. “Finneas has to accept or forfeit the crown.”
“Forfeit is not happening.”
“No,” Finneas said. His jaw was locked. “It’s not.”
“So in three days you’re going to shift into a wolf and fight George Ashtor.”
“Yes.”
“And what happens when it’s over? What happens to the loser?”
