Page 32 of Iron Beneath the Snow

The Frostvein daughter had arrived.

She had been claimed.

Not as a hostage. Not as a trophy. Under covenant.

Soren stood on the upper balcony overlooking the central fire.

Below, his wolves continued their routines with measured focus. Some repaired weapons along the long stone tables. Others exchanged brief reports or reassigned patrol routes along the Frostvein border. No voices rose above the steady hum of the hall, and no one indulged the kind of reckless curiosity that might have followed such an arrival in a lesser pack.

He had trained them better than that.

His second approached without announcement, the quiet tread of his boots nearly lost beneath the crackle of the fire below.

“She’s in the east wing,” the wolf said.

Soren did not turn immediately.

“I’m aware.”

“No resistance?”

“None,” Soren replied. “She accepted the claim and walked into Ironfang on her own feet. She seems intent on standing by that decision.”

That earned him a brief glance.

“She surprised them,” his second said after a moment. “Accepting the claim that quickly.”

Soren’s gaze remained on the hall below, watching the deliberate movements of the wolves around the fire.

“She made a calculation,” he said. “The same way anyone raised in Frostvein would.”

His second studied him.

“As you did.”

Soren allowed himself a small nod.

“Of course.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before the other wolf leaned his shoulder against the cold stone railing.

“You’ve brought Frostvein into our walls,” he said quietly. “Some of them won’t welcome that.”

“They don’t have to welcome it,” Soren replied. “They only need to understand why it was done.”

“And you?” his second asked. “Do you welcome it?”

Soren turned his head slightly.

“What exactly are you asking?”

“You’ve just tied Ironfang’s future to Vargan’s daughter.”

“She’s no longer his to position,” Soren corrected calmly.

His second gave a faint, skeptical huff.

“Still Vargan’s blood.”