The wolf who growled now sets the feast,Acorn said from my shoulder.The enemy becomes the beast who breaks the bread and shares the flame, the same mouth curses and proclaims.
“You’ve been saving that one for me, haven’t you?” I said.
His tail flicked, and he sent me a look full of satisfaction.
Feral strode over to join me, dressed in a formal fur tunic and pants, his hand settling at the small of my back with the samepressure I’d come to expect. To crave, if I was being honest with myself.
“They’ve set a place for us at the high table,” he said.
“I’ll sit between you and Bastian, I assume.”
“Where else would a queen sit?”
The casual way he said it sent warmth through my chest.
I followed him to the elevated table, noting the strategic positioning. Bastian at the center, Feral to his right, with me between them. This would make a solid statement about our alliance.
Bastian rose when we approached and gestured to the chairs beside him. He’d also dressed in a formal fur tunic and pants, though Feral wore them better.
He wore everything better.
I settled into my seat, Acorn hopping from my shoulder to claim a space beside my plate. Feral sat on my other side, his thigh pressing against mine under the table.
Bastian poured wine, filling my cup before his own. The gesture was small, but I noted it. Alphas didn’t usually serve. Others served them.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” he said, setting down the pitcher. “About the magical pressure needing distribution points. Is that similar to how spell matrices work in formal witchcraft?”
I picked up my cup, wondering whether the question came from diplomatic courtesy or actual interest. “The principle is related but the application differs. Spell matrices distribute magical energy through predetermined channels. The seal structure appears to function more like a resonance pattern, where each point holds a frequency that harmonizes with the others.”
I paused, giving him time to change the subject if he’d only been making conversation.
He leaned forward. “And the duskburst acts as the medium for that resonance?”
Genuine interest, then. I revised my assessment of him upward.
“Possibly,” I said. “Though I suspect it’s less a medium and more a catalyst. The plant doesn’t carry the magic so much as trigger the land’s existing capacity to hold it.”
“Which would explain why it fails when planted incorrectly.” He gestured with his cup. “The catalyst requires specific conditions to function.”
“That’s my assumption.”
Feral’s hand found my knee under the table. When I glanced at him, his face showed quiet pleasure at my interaction with the other alpha.
Acorn gave me a squirrely smile.
Bastian had been exhausted and overwhelmed, trying to hold together something too large for one person while everyone else interpreted his isolation as arrogance. I understood that particular mistake. I’d made versions of it myself.
Platters arrived, passed down the tables. Roasted meats still steaming, bread torn into chunks, and root vegetables glazed with something that smelled like honey and herbs. Starving, I served myself a generous portion of them all and ate, Acorn stealing bites off my plate.
The food was good.
As the meal progressed, Bastian’s pack members began filtering toward the high table. Someone needed to borrow salt. Another wanted to refill wine that appeared barely touched. I suspected they wanted a closer look at the witch who’d dismantled thirteen years of their alpha’s efforts in one afternoon.
I continued eating and talking with Bastian about seal theory and duskburst cultivation. His pack seemed to respect this more than if I’d tried to charm them.
One of the younger wolves lingered near Feral’s shoulder, clearly working up to something.
“Yes?” Feral said without looking up from his plate.
