Riven sat by the hearth, flanked by warriors and advisors, posture crisp despite having been dragged from bed. He looked every inch the young tyrant trying desperately to project an old one.
Finric stood across the room like an answer to a question Riven hadn't meant to ask — arms crossed, expression unreadable, owning the place without lifting a finger. Colonel Sterling, one of his officers, was present. Standing on the wall behind him, quiet, lethal shadows.
Riven cleared his throat, pretending irritation wasn't crawling beneath his skin.
Fin pretended he hadn't just found a woman chained in this man's tower.
"Drink?" Riven said, forcing civility as he reached for the whiskey.
"Please," Fin replied smoothly. His tone held the exact warmth of a steel blade at room temperature.
Riven poured two glasses with deliberate calm, but his jaw ticked once. Fin noticed. Of course he noticed.
He took the glass Riven offered, nodding as though they were two old friends sharing a late-night conversation instead of predators circling the same territory.
Both Alphas held on to the illusion:
This was diplomacy. A negotiation. Two leaders discussing terms.
No tension.
No suspicion.
No violence waiting politely behind their ribs.
Fin took a measured sip, eyes never leaving Riven's.
Riven lifted his glass in return, gaze heavy with the weight of a man accustomed to being the most feared presence in any room.
Finric remained unimpressed.
Completely unshaken.
Fin didn't move, didn't blink, just let the silence sharpen around him.
"We'll speak plainly, Riven."
Riven's fingers froze on the rim of his glass.
A tiny pause — but Fin saw it.
First blood drawn.
No raised voice. No theatrics.
Just truth sharpened to an edge.
Riven smiled, thin and twitching, a breath away from something wrong. "Plainly works for me, Shadowclaw. Subtlety bores me. Say what you've come to say."
Fin leaned back, whiskey in hand, perfectly at ease in a room that hated him.
"Here are the facts," he said. "You're bled thin. Your borders leak like a gutted boar. Your enemies are circling, and they've learned patience. They don't need to break you — they just need you to keep bleeding. And you believe a wedding will stop that bleeding."
His gaze sharpened. "An alliance would."
The twitch in Riven's jaw wasn't subtle. The smile he wore strained, edges going serrated.
Velora's eyes flicked toward Fin like a serpent coiling, but she said nothing. Not yet.
"And you need this alliance just as much," Riven replied, voice low, almost pleasant — which made it worse. "Do not pretend Shadowclaw stands untouched. You fight on every front — north raiders, southern rogues, border disputes with Starfang."
He tilted his head, amusement gleaming like something rotten.
"Even a king as… competent as you can only stretch his forces so far before something snaps. You need our territory to stabilize the west. You need our supply routes. And you need our soldiers more than you care to admit."
A pause. His eyes gleamed with that dangerous, wrong amusement.
"You need our territory to stabilize your west. You need our supply routes. And you need our soldiers more than you care to admit."
Fin took a slow sip of whiskey, unbothered.
"You're right," he said.
The room stilled. A quiet that wasn't silence — it was shock.
Riven blinked. Even Velora's smile faltered. Fin set the glass down, eyes fixed on Riven with cold, elegant precision.
"I do need an alliance," he said, each word smooth as carved steel. "I don't need you. That's the difference."
Riven's smile cracked.
Velora's fingers curled around her goblet, the metal warping under her grip.
Colonel Sterling's jaw tightened once, a silent good, as if Fin had said exactly what needed saying.
Fin only watched Riven, calm as a winter storm.
The kind that buries kingdoms.
Fin dropped his voice to that lethal low that carried farther than any shout.
"I'm giving you a chance to save what's left of your kingdom," he said. "Don't mistake it for desperation."
Riven's fingers tightened around his glass, the only sign he'd been rattled. "You need our territory," he repeated, trying to regain footing. "And our soldiers."
Fin shrugged faintly, elegant and dismissive. "I need many things." A small tilt of his head. "But only one of us has an expiration date."
Riven's nostrils flared. Velora's smile sharpened.
Sterling didn't move behind Fin — but Fin felt the man's quiet approval like a wall at his back.
Fin went on, slow and surgical:
"You're running out of time. My presence here tonight confirms it."
Silence hit the room like a dropped blade.
Fin let it stretch.
Mastery through absolute, immovable certainty.
Then he leaned in slightly — just enough for every Ashbane warrior to stiffen.
"You want this alliance to save your kingdom," Fin said softly. "I want it to stabilize the west."
A beat.
"Our motives differ. But our needs? Mutual."
Riven exhaled, the smallest loss of control. "Then we have agreement."
Fin's lips twitched. Not a smile. Something colder.
"Not yet."
Riven blinked. "What else could you possibly—?"
Fin set the whiskey down with deliberate calm, eyes never leaving him.
"There's one additional term," he said. "Nonnegotiable."
The room shifted.
Chairs creaked.
Metal whispered.
Someone inhaled too sharply.
Riven's voice chilled. "And that is?"
Fin didn't blink.
"I'll take your sister."
Hope flickered in Riven's expression — sharp, greedy, pathetic.
Fin let it bloom.
Let it grow.
Let him taste it.
"But I'll be taking someone else as well."
The hope snapped.
Riven's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Finric turned slowly — a movement with weight, intention, and the cold precision of a man who already owned the outcome.
His gaze locked onto Riven's.
"That girl you keep in the east tower."
The words left his mouth — and the reaction was instant.
Chairs scraped.
Hands moved to weapons.
Advisors stiffened like struck wolves.
Velora's smile vanished as if it had never existed.
Riven's face drained of blood.
Colonel Sterling, behind Fin, shifted just enough to be deadly.
He'd already set the kingdom on fire just by speaking.
Riven didn't flinch — not outwardly. He went very still, eyes studying Fin with new, sharpened attention. Assessing. Calculating. Threatened.
"How," Riven said quietly, "do you know about her?"
Her. Not the girl. Not the omega. Her.
The word dripped with something ugly, possessive, and territorial. And beneath it — the smallest fracture of fear.
Velora's brittle smile wavered once. Barely.
Sterling shifted behind Fin, a stone acknowledging storm.
Fin's face remained carved granite.
"I make it my business," he said smoothly, "to know what's inside the walls of any kingdom I negotiate with."
Riven's fingers twitched.
A crack in his armor.
The first of many.
"Nova is not a matter for negotiation," he said, too fast.
Velora stiffened and one of his advisors swallowed.
Fin waited, letting the silence crush the room one second at a time
"You speak her name like it belongs in this conversation," Riven said, trying for control but landing on brittle. "It doesn't."
He straightened abruptly, shoulders rigid—posture attempting authority his voice no longer had.
Fin took a calm sip of whiskey.
"On the contrary," he murmured. "It belongs exactly here."
Fin lowered the glass.
Riven's eyes darkened, anger finally slipping past the mask he'd been trying to hold.
Saying her name—dragging her into this room—was an offense he was clearly not built to tolerate. His eyes flashed with the wrong kind of fury: hot, childish, desperate to claw back dominance.
He stepped forward, chin lifting as though height could substitute for control.
"You misunderstand," Riven said, his voice tightening into something meant to sound regal but already splitting at the seams. "I reacted because you presume too much. You walk into my keep and think you can dictate the terms of my alliance?"
He laughed—sharp, brittle, far too loud for the size of the room.
"Shadowclaw is strong, yes, but do not fool yourself. You're far from untouchable. You overreach, Finric. And I do not reward insolence with negotiations."
Behind him, his advisors stiffened.
Velora's hand twitched—a tiny, precise warning.
Riven didn't see it.
He surged on, voice rising, grasping for control like a blade slipping in his grip.
"You will take the alliance on the terms offered," he snapped. "You will take my sister, as arranged. And you will leave the tower girl out of this entirely. She is insignificant. A diversion. A—"
He cut himself off—too late.
Fin's expression didn't shift.
Not a raised brow, not a flicker of interest.
Just cool patience, watching Riven unravel like a child mid-tantrum.
Riven exhaled sharply, trying to gather himself, trying to rebuild the dignity he'd just stomped into the floor.
He failed.
"Shadowclaw does not command Ashbane," he finished, forcing a calm that convinced no one. "Remember your place."
The last word rang too loud, too thin— a boy shouting in a room that expected a king.
Fin didn't give Riven the dignity of reacting to his tantrum. He spoke, quiet enough that everyone had to lean in to hear it.
"If she were nothing," Fin said, "you wouldn't keep her locked in a tower."
Silence detonated through the room.
Fin let it sit—let the truth choke Riven harder than any threat could.
Then he added, just as calm, "And you wouldn't care this much that I've seen her."
Riven stiffened. Velora inhaled sharply. Two advisors looked at the floor.
Fin picked up his glass with unhurried grace.
He didn't have to raise his voice.
He already owned the room.
"So," he finished, "let's not insult each other with lies.
Riven's composure snapped, the veneer cracking clean through.
"So that's it then," he spat. "This is why you wake me in the middle of the night for a negotiation. You found her."
His eyes gleamed—ugly, territorial, fevered.
"You found the girl in the tower and now you want to take her."
A few advisors flinched. Velora's gaze sharpened like a blade. Riven didn't seem to notice the panic rising behind him; he was too wrapped in his own fury.
"She is nothing," he snapped. "A burden. A disgrace. And you want her? You break into my tower and decide you can claim what is mine?"
His voice cracked—pure loss of control.
A wise man knows when he is beaten.
A wise man also knows how to defeat those who beat him.
Riven was neither.
For a single heartbeat awareness flickered across his face.
The realization he'd gone too far.
Too emotional.
Too revealing.
A crack he hadn't meant to show.
He straightened abruptly, clearing his throat, trying to claw his way back to dignity.
"You misunderstand," Riven said, forcing his voice back into something smooth. Too smooth.
Fin's brow didn't lift. Didn't shift. He simply watched.
Riven hurried on. "She's—" He stopped, recalibrated. "She's my bastard half sister."
A murmur rippled through his advisors. Velora's eyes went icy.
Riven pressed forward anyway.
"A product of one of my father's… lapses. My mother Velora raised her out of pity. The girl's never been right in the head." He leaned back, trying for regal indifference. "Her mother is a whore. She's an illiterate, disobedient bitch. She's not worth your breath."
He scoffed, building momentum.
"She has fits. Sees visions. Screams for no reason. Hurts herself. We keep her in the tower for her own good." His jaw tightened. "For the safety of others as well. She's dangerous."
A beat.
"She is broken, Shadowclaw. A burden. And I will not have my kingdom mocked because you find amusement in damaged things."
Riven exhaled, certain he had regained the upper hand.
He hadn't.
The silence that followed was louder than a roar..
Fin let the silence stretch a moment longer, long enough that Riven's confidence began to curdle.
Then Fin spoke—softly.
"If she were broken," he said, "you wouldn't hide her."
Riven's jaw twitched.
Fin's gaze stayed locked on him, calm as a blade laid flat on a table.
"You'd use her."
Another pause. Sharper.
More dangerous.
Riven stiffened, breath catching.
Fin set his glass down without looking away.
"But you don't."
A beat of deadly quiet. "You lock her in a tower."
His voice dropped, lower, precise as a knife tip. "Which means she isn't broken, Riven."
Fin stepped forward—not physically, but in presence, in power, in certainty.
"She's valuable."
Riven's eyes widened for a fraction of a second—too fast, too revealing.
Fin stepped into that reaction like stepping into a win he already owned.
"And that," he finished, "is why she's part of the deal."
Velora spoke before Riven could worsen the damage, her velvet rustling softly as she rose.
"Alpha Shadowclaw," she said with a brittle, practiced smile, "permit me to offer clarity where my son… lacks restraint."
Riven shot her a glare. She ignored him entirely.
"The girl you refer to," Velora continued, tone airy and dismissive, "is an unfortunate remnant of a shameful chapter in Ashbane's history. A child born of the former king's weaknesses. A byproduct. A lapse."
One advisor flinched.
Velora went on, voice smooth as polished ice.
"She is not fit for service or ceremony. She contributes nothing. She cannot be presented at court. She cannot be trusted with tasks. She is—"
A pause, chosen for effect.
"—a mouth to feed. Nothing more."
Riven nodded sharply, grateful for his mother's composure.
Velora took another step, every inch the queen shielding her kingdom from embarrassment.
"She is kept in the tower because Ashbane manages its liabilities discreetly," she said. "Every kingdom has them. Ours simply chooses not to parade them about for sympathy."
Her smile sharpened.
"Surely you would not complicate a valuable political alliance with a girl who offers no worth to you, to us, or to anyone."
The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared speak.
Velora finished her speech with a brittle, triumphant smile, certain she had erased the girl's importance with a few elegant sentences.
Fin said nothing.
The stillness dragged.
And in that silence, something inside Riven cracked.
Riven's fingers tapped once against his armrest, then curled into a fist. His jaw worked as if chewing down something bitter. He slammed his glass down harder than he meant to. The sound ricocheted off the stone walls, sharp enough to make one advisor flinch.
The flames from the hearth flickered in his narrowed eyes.
He leaned forward, voice pitching too fast, too high, revealing the panic Velora had failed to smooth over.
He snapped. "You want her as your mistress."
The room went dead still.
Riven's face flushed—anger, shame, something twisted beneath both.
"I won't have it," he hissed. "I won't see Meredith treated that way. You can't drag Nova into bed like some common pleasure toy while you take Meredith as your Luna. I will not have my family insulted that way."
Velora's breath hitched. An advisor muttered something under it. Another man actually backed up a step.
Fin turned his head just slightly, studying Riven like a puzzle he had already solved.
Then he delivered the line—quiet, lethal.
Fin's gaze didn't flicker. "A mistress? No. That's not how I operate."
Riven froze, trembling with rage he no longer had the skill to hide. Fin's last line hung between them like a guillotine blade the young Alpha had walked under on his own.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then Velora moved—swift, elegant, a viper rearranging the board before her son destroyed it entirely.
"Enough," she said.
Riven turned to her, startled. "Mother—"
She cut him off with a single glance. The kind that had silenced kings.
Turning back to Fin, she offered a thin, diplomatic smile that failed to hide the tightness around her eyes.
"Very well, Alpha Shadowclaw," Velora said. "If you insist on taking her"—she refused to repeat Nova's name, as though doing so conceded too much—"then we will not obstruct it."
Riven stiffened. "Mother—!"
She lifted her hand. "Silence."
He obeyed.
Velora continued, tone smooth as lacquer over cracks:
"She may leave Ashbane… temporarily."
A pointed pause.
"And she will return whenever summoned. Immediately and without question."
Fin didn't blink.
Velora pressed on, each word a silken coil of barbed wire:
"She is to hold the lowest rank of omega in your pack. The very lowest. No privileges. No authority. No… elevation."
A thin smile. "And certainly no special treatment."
Riven jumped in eagerly—pathetically—grabbing the path his mother had laid and pretending it was his own idea.
"No one," he said sharply. "No one is to consider her kin. She is not to be presented. She is not to be acknowledged at all."
And then, emboldened by his mother's poise, the gleam returned to his eyes—ugly, triumphant, cruel.
"She will serve Meredith," Riven added. "Attend her. Obey her. That is the condition."
Fin remained utterly still.
Riven mistook that stillness for acquiescence.
Velora did not.
Her gaze flicked to Fin's hand resting on the armchair—calm, controlled, immovable. A predator who didn't need to roar to kill.
She cleared her throat, forcing steadiness.
"These terms," she said, "are nonnegotiable."
Silence again.
Fin did not answer immediately. He let them sit in the echo of their own desperation, in the reality that they had just offered him everything they never meant to give.
Fin let Velora's "nonnegotiable" settle in the air.
He regarded the queen and her son with that same unreadable calm, then inclined his head once in a gesture that somehow felt more like a verdict than an agreement.
"Done," Fin said.
Riven blinked, thrown by how easily the word landed. "Done?"
Fin met his eyes, tone smooth and precise. "You wanted your alliance. You'll have it. You want your conditions. You can keep them."
Riven's throat bobbed.
Fin continued, "She returns when summoned. Lowest omega rank. No title. No recognition."
His gaze sharpened, cutting through the room.
"I agree to all of it."
Riven exhaled, relieved for the first time. "Good. Then we—"
Fin interrupted softly.
"But she leaves with me before dawn."
Riven shut his mouth. Velora's jaw tensed.
Fin held their stare, unflinching, unmovable. A storm wrapped in composure.
"You asked for terms," Fin said. "Those are mine."
Silence pulsed. No one argued. No one dared.
Riven finally nodded, stiff and resentful. "Fine."
Velora echoed the nod, thinner and sharper. "For the alliance," she murmured.
Fin reached for his glass, finished the last sip without hurry, and set it down with quiet finality.
"In that case," he said, "we're finished here."
But inside, his wolf was howling.
She would come to Shadowclaw and she would never set foot in Ashbane again.