The Silver Crown's dining hall lingered in Haven's memory, its air thick with the cloying scent of overcooked quail and too-sweet honeyed wine, the brunch with Aria, Marina, and Flow a discordant note that still grated. The long oak table, polished to a mirror's sheen, had been laden with silver platters of charred meats and wilting fruits, the crystal chandeliers overhead casting fractured light across the scene, as if mocking the chaos below. Aria's sapphire tunic shimmered as she summoned a gust of wind to emphasize her Aero Claw lineage, nearly toppling a goblet, her voice sharp with boasts. Marina's blue silks swayed as she prattled endlessly about her sister's betrothal, her words drowning out the clink of cutlery. Flow, in her muted gray gown, sat silent, her eyes wide with what seemed more fear than affection, offering nothing but a nervous fidget.
Haven, seated at the table's head, had gripped his fork, his black tunic rumpled, his golden eyes dulled by the ordeal. The tapestries of snarling wolves on the walls, their emerald and amber eyes glinting, seemed to judge the farce of it all. He'd hoped for harmony, a glimpse of the connection the Old Spirits promised in a prince's choice, but found only discord, a feast of egos and silence that left his heart heavier than the crown he was destined to wear.
In the royal solar, sunlight poured through tall, arched windows, casting golden flecks across tapestries of snarling wolves, their threads vibrant against the stone walls. Haven leaned against a stone pillar, running a hand through his dark hair, the thorned crown on its oak stand a silent reminder of his looming choice. Cedric stood nearby, spectacles catching the light, his notebook tucked under one arm, his usual scholarly calm frayed by a rare grimace.
"That brunch was a catastrophe," Haven said, his voice edged with exasperation. "Aria's winds nearly upended the table, Marina's chatter about her sister's betrothal drowned out all reason, and Flow—did she think staring mutely would win my heart?"
Cedric adjusted his spectacles, lips twitching with dry amusement. "Aria's Aero Claw boasts were relentless, Your Highness. Marina's tales made the quail seem lively by comparison, and Flow's silence felt like fear, not devotion. The ancient texts speak of harmony in a prince's choice, but that was discord's feast." He scribbled a note, his pen scratching softly, his Terra Fang steadiness grounding the moment.
The door to the solar creaked open, admitting Thorne and Evelyn, the king and queen moving with the easy grace of long-shared rule. Thorne's thorned crown glinted atop his dark hair, his amber eyes sharp yet warm as they landed on Haven and Cedric. Evelyn, her silver robe flowing like moonlight, smiled softly, her expression a blend of maternal concern and queenly poise. "We heard the brunch was… lively," Thorne rumbled, his voice deep as he clapped a hand on Cedric's shoulder, treating him like a second son. "Cedric, my boy, you look as if you've survived a battlefield."
Cedric bowed his head, a fond smile breaking through. "Your Majesty, it was more skirmish than battle, but I stand ready as always." Evelyn stepped forward, brushing a stray lock from Cedric's forehead with maternal affection, her touch lingering. "You've been our rock since your father's sacrifice, Cedric. We're grateful you stayed." Thorne nodded, his gaze turning to Haven. "And you, son? What say you of these ladies?"
Haven straightened, his golden eyes meeting his father's. "I'm ready to dismiss more, Father. Flow's silence hides nothing but unease—she's not for this court. Marina's words flow like a river, but there's no depth. And Aria… her ambition outshines her heart. I'll relieve them gently, but the selection must narrow."
Evelyn's brow furrowed, her silver robe shimmering as she raised a hand. "Haven, wait—not Aria, not yet. Her father, Lord Vael of Aero Claw, is a needed ally. His winds guard our northern borders, and a match, if possible, would strengthen the realm against the Shadow Claw's raids. She's bold, yes, but her heart may yet align with yours. Give her time." Her voice was gentle but firm, a queen's plea woven with a mother's hope.
Haven's jaw tightened, the weight of politics clashing with his instincts, but he nodded. "I'll consider it, Mother, but her winds feel more like storms than loyalty." Thorne's amber eyes gleamed with approval, though his voice held caution. "Balance the heart and the realm, son. The Spirits guide, but allies matter."
Evelyn's gaze softened, turning to the fated mate bond that stirred the court. "Speaking of the Spirits, Riven and Fin's bond it's a rare gift. But whispers of more couples stirring… just this morning, I heard from the village below the castle: a young baker and a blacksmith's daughter, both from humble packs, discovered they're fated mates. If this is happening even there, could more bonds be coming?
Cedric paused his scribbling, his spectacles glinting as he recalled ancient texts. "The Spirits stir amid unrest, Your Majesty. In times of division, bonds unite the packs—like the fated pair in my grandmother's tales that ended a feud. If more emerge, it's a sign: the realm needs healing. But why now, and how many? The texts speak of cycles, but this feels… accelerated, as if the Spirits weave a larger tapestry."
Thorne leaned against the carved oak chair, his thorned crown casting shadows. "It strengthens alliances, but complicates your selection, Haven. A fated bond, like Riven's, outweighs choice, yet your heart must still find harmony." He squeezed Cedric's shoulder again, fatherly pride evident. "And you, Cedric—keep your eyes open. The Spirits may have plans for us all."
Haven's chuckle was half-hearted, his thoughts drifting to Ember her fire, her bold question during their garden walk, "What weaves your loyalty, Haven?"—and to Sara's shy warmth, untainted by courtly ambition. "Enough brunches, Cedric. I need clarity. A walk-picnic by the Springs' Edge, just Ember and Sara. They don't perform for the court. Let's see who they are under open sky."
Cedric's gaze softened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Sara's kindness is a pack's heart, steady and true. Ember, though there's a spark the Spirits favor. Her fire… something stirs, doesn't it?" Haven's eyes flickered, a curiosity he didn't voice, his mind already on the Springs' Edge, where the Old Spirits might whisper truths the court obscured. He clasped Cedric's shoulder. "Arrange it for noon, my right hand. Your notes might catch what I miss."
As Cedric nodded, his pen poised to plan, Haven glanced at the thorned crown, its silver glinting in the sunlight. Three weeks until the full moon, his eighteenth birthday, when the packs would gather and his choice would shape the realm. The weight of Aria's potential alliance pressed against the promise of Ember and Sara's authenticity, a flicker of hope under the open sky, where clarity might finally break through the court's tangled games.