Reyna's fingers fumbled with the buttons of her Prussian blue long-sleeve Fang suit, her usual confidence momentarily shaken by a rare bout of self-consciousness.

The suit was a necessary evil, designed to give her the agility she needed as a Fang, but its snug cinch had always been more suffocating than empowering. It hugged her curves like an overenthusiastic aunt at a family reunion—tight, tenacious, and entirely too close for comfort. Even though it kept her warm enough to skip the cloak, she always had one to keep herself covered.

As she adjusted the collar, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and irritation rippled through her. Why was she so concerned about her appearance? She was Reyna, Prime Commander of Frostcall, not some pretentious courtier. But there she was, tweaking and adjusting like she cared about how the suit sat on her shoulders. She gritted her teeth and silently cursed Roth Maynord for putting that seed of doubt there in her mind.

The last thing she worried about was her looks. She knew exactly where she stood in the attractiveness department. Her body had been toned by years of training, and her features proved her Wise Women lineage. But she'd never cared what others, especially men who judged a woman by the way she filled out a suit, thought of her. The opinions of others were about as valuable as a snowball in a heatwave—entertaining for a moment, then gone without a trace.

The lineage of Wise Women were blessed by Mimir, and passed down more than just the blessings of a potential Luna. Her mother passed on the beauty, strength, and abilities of the Luna. She has kept these abilities a secret since they awakened, and only used them when absolutely necessary. It was the last thing she needed, to be named a Luna and lose her place as a Fang and Prime.

As if to banish those thoughts, Reyna pulled the honeycomb pin from her hair, a treasured keepsake from her mother. In the light, the golden emblem sparkled, bringing back memories better left buried. With a heavy sigh, she placed the pin on the dressing table and reached for the leather cords she used to tie her hair into its usual no-nonsense braid. The firelight reflected off the silver strands, making them sparkle between her long black hair as they twisted together.

Reyna's fingers deftly wove the cords through her hair, fashioning it into a no-nonsense braid that fell neatly down her back. With that task done, she marched across her bedroom to where her priceless blade collection was displayed. Every one of them had a history of battles fought and victories earned.

The black falchion blades, in particular, called to her. She paused to admire their craftsmanship, the golden grips fitting into her hands with the kind of familiarity that only came from years of use. These were blades that had seen her through countless skirmishes, and they grounded her as she prepared for another confrontation. With a practised hand, she sheathed them to her thighs.

She spared a final glance in the mirror. The braid worked, the suit was comfortable, and the look in her eyes said, "I'm not here to play nice."

Her footsteps echoed through the stone halls of the west wing as she left her quarters. With each step, she thought about Bandos's latest attempt to box her into a public apology, disguised as a "welcoming gesture" to the House of Maynord. Nice try, Bandos, she thought with a smirk. She was no fool in his political games; she was Prime, a leader, and a woman who knew exactly where she stood.

The Mithril Obelisk halls stretched out before her. Polished black opal walls speckled with gem-filled runes that pulsed with life even in the faintest light. As she moved, the runes flickered like tiny stars in the dark. She cut through the ramparts that connected the western wing to the heart of the Obelisk and reached the Great Hall in no time, her pace never slowing.

When she arrived at the entrance, the heavy brass doors swung open for her, revealing the assembly within. The Great Hall was as imposing as ever, divided by an azure rug that stretched from the entrance to the throne at the far end. Frost Swallowtail banners flanked the throne, their golden sigils catching the moonlight streaming in through the tall windows.

And there, perched upon the elegant crystal throne with the spoils of countless triumphs, sat Bandos, Warmaster of Egranox. The throne was draped with the pelts of his conquests, a not-so-subtle reminder of his prowess on the battlefield. The chamber itself was steeped in the history of the North, with paintings portraying the legendary battles of their ancestors.

Before the throne, the other four Warmasters of the North stood in a solemn line, their faces set in that familiar stern scrutiny. They didn't miss a thing as they watched her approach.

On one side of the hall, the four commanders of the remaining Frostcall Fleets stood in disciplined formation, each one decked out in their distinctive Fang suits. They were the military might of the North, a force to be reckoned with, and they made sure everyone knew it.

Walking into the hall, Reyna thought the whole setup was a bit over the top for a Redfall Alpha the North barely liked.

On the opposite side of the hall, the House of Maynord stood with all the grace of a pack of wolves eyeing their next meal. Their arrogance seeped from their poised postures and smug expressions. They looked like they already knew how this little spectacle was going to end, and Reyna had no doubt they expected it to end in their favour.

Stepping onto the azure rug, Reyna moved towards her father, her right hand resting on her falchion blade as she walked. Her eyes locked onto Alpha Roth, and for a split second, there was that spark again—electric and tense, like the air before a storm. But she wasn't about to let that distract her. Whatever was brewing between them could wait. Right now, she had bigger things to worry about.

Her steps were slow, and her spine was as straight as a blade. As the only female Prime in Aupheadia, Reyna was used to the constant scrutiny, the endless challenge of proving she belonged in these hallowed halls. Mimir's teachings echoed in her mind, reminding her of the strength that flowed through her veins. Strength that carried her this far and would carry her through whatever came next.

She met Bandos's gaze. This was a test of her worth, her legacy, everything she'd fought for, and she hated him for putting her in this position again.

But beneath her confidence, a sliver of doubt surfaced. There was something about her that even she didn't understand. The thought that she might be a Luna, with all the power and trouble that would bring. That it wasn't something she should've kept to herself. Her gaze flicked back to Alpha Roth, wondering if he held the key to figuring out those uncertainties.

"Alpha, esteemed House of Maynord, it is my deepest honour to introduce you to my finest Fang and the revered Prime Commander of Frostcall," Bandos announced as she stood at the foot of the throne.

The ritual was familiar, almost monotonous, by now. Bandos always introduced her in the same way, with the same praise and pride. He took great satisfaction in presenting her victories, her spoils of battle. Yet, amid all the accolades, the title of "daughter" was always conspicuously absent, a void that stung even as it was left unspoken.

"Her magnificent presence is a privilege I've had, Bandos," Alpha Roth said, stepping forward with a smile that was more predator than politician.

Reyna's lips twitched, but she held back the retort that danced on her tongue. Of course, Roth would try to make this about him. Everything about the House of Maynord reeked of self-importance.

Once again, Roth's mismatched gaze locked onto Reyna, and she could almost feel the curiosity simmering behind those eyes. Her Azure ability—usually a controlled, precise tool—began to stir, reacting strangely to his presence. There was something about Roth that set her senses on edge, something she was missing. A smoky glow flickered around his eyes, and her ability roared within her, urging her to pay attention, to see what she was overlooking.

But Reyna wasn't about to let Roth, or her own abilities, get the best of her. She shook her head and began, "On behalf of the Northern Territory, I acknowledge the presence of Alpha Roth Maynord and his entourage within the halls of the Mithril Obelisk. I welcome you to Frostcall, and may Odin bless these winter solstice celebrations."

Roth inclined his head slightly, and his tone was respectful as he said, "I have heard admirable things about you, Prime. I must admit, I am thoroughly impressed."

She raised an eyebrow, a wry smile on her lips. "Perhaps if the Maynord House hadn't made it so difficult for females to rise up in the ranks, you wouldn't be so impressed by such a minor feat."

The Omegas behind Roth sneered, their derision almost contagious, but Reyna didn't flinch. Over Roth's shoulder, she caught her father's narrowing gaze—a silent warning, as clear as if he'd spoken it aloud.

"Welcome to Egranox, Alpha Roth Maynord, the gracious Alpha of Aupheadia," she added. The words were peppered with delicate irony. She didn't bow, of course, and her gaze swept over the Krelon Omegas. "And of course, welcome to the House of Maynord."

That's when it came—an obnoxious, crass comment from the bald Redfall idiot who clearly had no filter. "What an insolent female. Nothing a proper fuck won't fix."

The Krelon wolves burst into laughter, their crude humour spreading like a bad smell. Even some Frostcall commanders couldn't suppress their chuckles. Reyna's jaw tightened, but she refused to take the bait. Let them have their laugh. It was the only victory they'd get from her tonight.

But if there was one thing she knew, it was that such behaviour would only stoke her father's rage. Bandos might have his issues, but in those rare moments when his emotions broke through his Stoic façade, she knew he cared for her.

"Morris!" Roth growled, and his voice silenced the laughter instantly. "She is a Prime! Give her the respect she deserves in front of her Warmasters and subordinates!"

Reyna could barely suppress a scoff at Roth's attempt to play the gentleman. It wasn't lost on her that the Alpha was trying to rein in his pack's crude behaviour, while his own actions often indicated a different standard. The sudden show of concern was almost laughable.

"Speak such profanities about her again, and it will be the last thing you ever say, you foul-mouthed cock!" Bandos's voice thundered through the hall, filling the hall with the scourge of his warning.

Reyna knew her father's words weren't just aimed at Morris—the bald-headed Omega who'd shot his mouth off. It was a warning to everyone in the room, from the Warmasters to the other commanders. She appreciated the gesture, but didn't need anyone to fight her battles. She'd handled herself fine for years.

Morris, clearly aware he'd overstepped, rose from his seat, his posture stiff as he bowed low, first to Bandos and then to Alpha Roth. "My apologies, Warmaster. Alpha," he muttered.

"It's okay, Warmaster. I'm used to handling unruly pups." But Reyna wasn't about to let him off that easily. She broke eye contact with Roth and turned her gaze directly to Morris. "Last I checked, you disrespected me, Morris," she said. "The apology is owed to me."

Morris's face turned red with humiliation. But he kept his composure, eyes fixed on the floor as he mumbled, "Forgive my disrespect, Prime."

That's when she felt Roth's presence creeping closer, drawing her attention back to him. His shadow stretched over her, commanding and inescapable. Even with that scar, he was still magnificent.

"Is there something you want?" she asked, surprised at how steady her voice came out, even though her heart was threatening to leap out of her chest.

Roth's gaze didn't budge. The heat of his attention was stifling. The way he looked at her made me feel like he was trying to peer into her soul. It was suffocating, almost intrusive, and made her nervous. Why did he look at her like that?

To her irritation, she could feel her pulse quicken, and in a room full of Omegas, Warmasters, and commanders, all with their heightened senses, she knew they could hear it too. It felt like the worst kind of vulnerability, one she had no control over, and it only made her more desperate to keep her cool.

Alpha Roth's gaze felt like a blade, cutting through layers, dissecting her piece by piece, as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve. Refusing to be the one who flinched first, Reyna took a bold step forward, reclaiming her space. Her only worry was that a few more steps would bring her too close—closer than she wanted to be. She needed him to back off, to give ground. But instead of retreating, Roth leaned in, daring her to close the gap further. Her heart betrayed her, fluttering wildly, and she struggled to keep her reaction in check.

"You're treading too closely, Alpha Roth. Or have you never seen an Icehelm female before?" Reyna genuinely wondered.

Roth's eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "None quite as lovely as you, Prime."

Heat flared in her cheeks, an unwelcome warmth that spread through her at his words, sending an electric shiver down her spine. For a moment, an irrational urge to reach out and touch him possessed her, catching her off guard. She forgot to breathe, caught in the Alpha's hold. Roth's smirk widened into a grin, full of mischief and knowing, as if he could see right through her.

A dangerous thought flickered in her mind—if only she could carve out that smug heart of his!

With a sharp breath, Reyna forced her attention away from Roth, sidestepping to face Bandos directly. She needed to break whatever spell Alpha Roth was working on her.

"Is this over?" she asked impatiently.

Bandos studied her for a moment, and she could tell he was considering her request. "Not quite. There's still the matter of an apology owed to the House of Maynord."

Alpha Roth turned to Bandos now. "What about that?" he asked

Reyna's jaw tightened. Of course, they'd circle back to this. Apologies and politics—two things she had little patience for. And Roth, with that insufferable grin, was getting on her nerve.

"Alpha," the Ulan Warmaster began, bowing deeply. "It is customary that any Fang found defying the authority of the ruling House of Aupheadia must apologize publicly. Meanwhile, the Warmasters will deliberate on whether they should keep their title. Though it may seem harsh, this protocol is important to maintaining order." He took another reverent bow.

Reyna's jaw clenched as rage coiled within her. These scheming Rotbrains were always looking for ways to strip her of the Prime title. Her Ember power sparked, begging for release, but she forced it down, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose control. Roth's gaze flickered to her, as if he could feel her fire crackle. Could he? Was that what he was trying to figure out?

On his throne, Bandos leaned forward with a stern look on his face. "Uriel, you're quick to jump to conclusions. The discussion of stripping her title hinges on the Alpha's response to her apology. So tread carefully," he warned. "Alpha Roth, if it pleases you, Reyna will apologize now."

"I require no apology from the Prime," Alpha Roth replied. "All parties share the blame in this matter, and my goal is to settle this dispute, not prolong it. I propose a gesture of reconciliation—an invitation for Prime Reyna to share a drink with me and bury the hatchet."

Before Reyna could even open her mouth to respond, Bandos was on his feet, descending from his throne with the urgency of someone who knew things were about to spiral out of control.

"By Odin's virtue, Alpha," Bandos greeted, inclining his head in a bow that was a bit too respectful for Reyna's liking.

Alpha Roth approached the other Warmasters. "There will be no further talk of revoking her title. As a Prime, she defended her territory against intruders. Being gutsy enough to stand up to the House of Maynord when they were wrong takes a special kind of guts. To attempt to remove someone of such a fearlessness would be both foolish and distasteful." His gaze swept over the Warmasters, pinning them in place until they each bowed in acknowledgment.

Reyna rolled her eyes. Of course, Alpha Roth would swoop in like a saviour, pretending to play peacemaker while subtly tightening his grip on the room. The idea of sharing a drink with him felt more like a trap than a gesture of goodwill. But as she looked at the bowed heads of the Warmasters, she knew she had little choice but to play along—at least for now.

Reyna eyed Roth. What was his game? She learned long ago that politics never played out so neatly, especially not in her favour.

"I'll have the helpers prepare that drink, Alpha," Bandos said. "Reyna, accompany the Alpha to the tearoom and offer him the finest ale the North can provide."

She just about snarled at Bandos for interfering. His motives were clear as day—he was bending over backwards to appease the House of Maynord, and it grated on her. The constant need to appease Roth's people left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I doubt he meant to share drinks with me right now," Reyna protested.

Roth's response only infuriated her further. "I don't mind having that drink right now. I must admit, the prospect of sharing drinks with someone of your calibre beats everything else right now. Shall we?"

Her fists clenched at her sides, but she forced her face into a mask of detached composure. No way was she letting him see how much he got under her skin. With a sharp turn, Reyna headed for the exit, casting a withering glare at Bandos as she passed him.

Roth followed closely behind her. Everyone rose from their seats, and they paid their respects to the Alpha's departure with a bow.

"Alpha," they chorused in unison, their voices blending into a collective curtsy.