To say Finric did not want to be here would be an understatement. The only thing worse than this proposal was every single person involved in it, and the gods clearly hated him enough to gather them all in one place.
But taking the Ashbane Princess as his chosen mate would smooth the tension at their borders and cement an alliance with one of the larger packs in Varos. Smaller than Shadowclaw, yes, but large enough to matter when war came knocking.
He walked with his Gamma, Jax Thorne and Mage, Aeron Lancaster. Some high officers in the Shadowclaw Armed Forces flanked them in silence.
Finric had met Riven Ashbane a handful of times. Both inherited their thrones young, though the paths to power could not have been more different. He had heard deplorable things about this family, though he tried, for diplomacy's sake, to reserve judgement.
It took exactly eight steps into Ashbane territory for him to abandon that attempt.
Slaves, collared and some even in chains shuffled through the streets. A common practice in Ashbane. Omegas stood among them. They kept their eyes down, as if eye contact itself was a punishable offense.
Finric's jaw tightened once. Aeron's voice slid into a mindlink.
Aeron: The powerful have always preyed on the powerless. That is how they became powerful in the first place.
The scent of the keep was heavy. Damp stone. Sweat. Smoke. Desperation. No joy. No hearth warmth. No laughter tucked into corners. Just a kingdom held together by fear and bad decisions.
Shadowclaw did not collar wolves. Most packs in Varos hadn't practiced that in hundreds of years. Yet Ashbane had built its entire aesthetic out of it.
The doors opened with a metallic groan, ancient hinges echoing across the vast reception hall.
All in black, marked with the red insignia of the Shadowclaw Pack. The chill of Ashbane Keep clung to the stones, but it was the tension in the air that truly cut.
Then it hit him.
A scent so sweet it nearly stole the breath from his lungs.
Faint.
Soft.
Vanilla and moonlight.
He inhaled again, sharper this time, but it vanished. Gone as though it had never existed at all. His wolf lifted its head, alert. And then the hall swallowed the scent.
At the far end of the room sat Alpha Riven Ashbane, his jaw sharp, his posture sharper. He looked young, his eyes were ancient. Cruelty did that. It aged the soul faster than the body.
Beside him, Queen Velora Ashbane sat wrapped in deep blue velvet. Her smile was brittle, cracked at the edges like frozen glass. She watched Finric the way spiders watch trapped flies. Patient. Calculating. Hungry.
And then—her. Princess Meredith Ashbane stood between them like a carefully arranged painting. Gold-threaded gown. Dark curls tumbling to her shoulders.
She curtsied, slow enough to be dramatic, fast enough to show she practiced it in the mirror thirteen times before stepping into the room.
"Alpha Shadowclaw. We are honored."
Finric gave a nod that said he was already bored. "Princess."
Riven rose from his seat, the weight of leadership hanging on him like armor he had not earned.
He spread his hands in a gesture meant to look welcoming but landed somewhere closer to arrogant.
"Shadowclaw," he said, voice slick with self-importance, "you honor us with your presence."
"You'll find her acceptable," he continued. "Beautiful. Educated. Raised to rule."
Their mother, Velora, tilted her head. "She has court experience, speaks three tongues, and has been trained by the best in Varosian etiquette."
Finric's gaze flicked to Meredith. Her eyes did not waver. She was composed.
A vessel with average beauty.
A vessel one of his scouts saw kicking an Omega across the courtyard like she was practicing for a tournament.
Finric inclined his head. "Noted."
He stepped closer. Her perfume hit him first. Roses. And beneath it… something sour, like old ambition left in the sun. His face remained neutral.
"Finric Shadowclaw."
He offered nothing more.
Meredith stepped closer anyway, mistaking indifference for foreplay.
"I was so pleased you came in person, Alpha," she said brightly. "Truly, it shows humility. Many kings might hesitate to enter Ashbane's court, given the refinement here. But do not worry—" her smile sparkled like a poisoned goblet "—I can help you adjust."
Behind him, Jax blinked slowly. His version of a prayer for strength.
Meredith continued, delighted with herself.
"And your guards did wonderfully. I worried they might feel out of place in a formal hall, but they managed quite well. They did not stare too long at anything." Her smile brightened, pleased with what she thought was praise. "Discomfort in such settings is common for wolves not raised in royal courts."
Finric did not blink. Was it possible her personality was deplorable too? Of course it was. The gods had not merely abandoned him; they were laughing.
Aeron mindlinked Jax, unable to help himself.
Aeron: This is either madness or brilliance.
Jax: It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide.
Meredith, encouraged by his restraint, softened her voice.
"Do not fear the political world, Alpha. Once our bond is formed, I will ensure Shadowclaw finally rises to a level of influence it has never quite reached. Ashbane's alliances are extensive. You will thank me."
Finric did not react.
But the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Finric finally spoke, voice smooth and merciless.
"Princess, proximity to power deludes some into believing they wield it."
Meredith's smile tightened.
Fin continued, tone calm as still water.
"And if you intend to guide me through politics, I must warn you… people often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste."
Aerons' voice came through the mindlink, dry as the desert.
Aeron: He's warming up. This is going well.
Jax kept his face neutral, but gods he wanted to laugh.
Across the dais, Riven's eyes snapped to his sister, a sharp, warning flicker beneath his otherwise calm expression. He gave the faintest, tight-lipped smile — the kind used to stop a disaster while pretending nothing was wrong.
"Yes, well," Riven cut in smoothly, clapping a hand once against the stone armrest, "we can leave the lessons in court superiority for a later time." His tone attempted humor, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. "Meredith does so love to… overprepare."
Meredith's smile froze, just a hair too stiff. Riven continued, forcing lightness into his voice.
"She forgets that not every conversation must become a lecture. Our tutors used to hide from her, if you can imagine." He offered a quick, brittle chuckle. "Tragic men. None survived the syllabus."
A faint sound escaped Jax — something between a cough and a smothered laugh.
Riven lifted his chin toward Finric.
"Let us focus on the matter at hand before my sister begins teaching etiquette to the furniture."
Meredith's eyes flashed, but she said nothing.
Finric remained unreadable. He looked back at Meredith. She smiled again, practiced and cold. His wolf was silent.
Something in his chest twisted. This wasn't right.
"Come, you must be exhausted after your journey. Please take your rest and join us for dinner. We shall meet further on this matter tomorrow." Queen Velora said.
Finric inclined his head once, taking in the brittle court pretending to be a kingdom.
Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less.
And behind the parade of collared slaves and gaudy ornaments meant to mimic authority, Ashbane's weakness bled through. Their soldiers were boys. Their trade lines brittle. Their stability an illusion crafted for those foolish enough to be dazzled.
They were never in control.
Ashbane placed faith in shadows, not strength.