Chapter 8

The Wolves at the Table

The first formal dinner Lyra attended in Blackfang territory felt less like a meal and more like entering a battlefield where everyone had agreed to use silverware instead of knives.

Not that knives were entirely absent.

Several nobles wore them openly at the table.

The great hall glowed gold beneath enormous iron chandeliers suspended high above rows of long blackwood tables. Firelight flickered against stone walls lined with ancient northern banners while servants moved quietly between guests carrying wine and roasted venison.

The room smelled like smoke, spice, leather, and winter air still clinging to heavy coats.

Everything about Blackfang dinners felt larger than life.

Louder too.

Northern nobles didn’t whisper the way southern courts did. They laughed openly. Argued openly. Drank heavily. Even their silences carried weight.

Lyra stood near the entrance beside Mirelle while servants finished announcing arriving guests.

“You can still pretend to faint,” Mirelle murmured under her breath.

Lyra almost smiled.

“Would that actually get me out of this?”

“Probably not. But it would make the evening memorable.”

At the center of the hall, Kael sat at the elevated head table speaking with two military advisors while Fenrir leaned lazily back in his chair beside him looking deeply unimpressed by whatever political argument had trapped him there.

Kael hadn’t looked toward the entrance once since Lyra arrived.

Which somehow irritated her more than it should have.

“You’re staring,” Mirelle warned softly.

“I’m observing.”

“That’s a very southern way of lying.”

Before Lyra could answer, one of the servants approached.

“Lady Lyra.”

He gestured carefully toward the head table.

“Alpha Draven requests your presence.”

Every nearby conversation seemed to soften slightly after that sentence.

Not stop.

Just shift.

Like the room itself had noticed.

The walk toward the elevated table felt longer than it should have.

Several nobles watched openly as she passed.

Some curious.

Some dismissive.

One older woman near the western side practically looked offended by her existence.

Lyra was beginning to realize northern society possessed its own version of cruelty.

Less subtle than the Vale territory.

But no less sharp.

Kael finally looked up once she reached the table.

His gaze moved over her briefly before settling back into that same unreadable concentration she was slowly learning meant he was thinking too much.

“You’re late.”

Lyra blinked.

“I was standing by the door waiting to be told where to sit.”

“You sit here.”

Fenrir snorted quietly into his wine.

The chair beside Kael had clearly been left intentionally empty.

Several nearby nobles noticed that too.

Interesting.

Lyra sat carefully while servants immediately stepped forward to fill silver goblets with dark northern wine.

The atmosphere around the head table remained tense in a way she couldn’t fully define.

Not hostile exactly.

Measured.

Like everyone here understood conversations could turn dangerous very quickly if handled poorly.

“Lady Lyra.”

A smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

The man seated across from her offered a polite smile that never reached his pale blue eyes.

Lord Vaelen, if she remembered correctly.

One of Blackfang’s allied nobles.

Young enough to still possess ambition.

Old enough to hide it badly.

“We were beginning to wonder whether southern women were simply too delicate for northern winters.”

Fenrir immediately sighed into his drink.

Apparently this sort of behavior exhausted him too.

Lyra folded her hands lightly in her lap.

“Southern women survive southern men every day,” she replied pleasantly. “The weather feels manageable by comparison.”

A few nearby soldiers choked on laughter.

Vaelen’s smile tightened.

Across the table, Kael’s attention lifted slowly toward her.

Interesting.

That expression again.

Not amusement exactly.

But close.

Dinner continued after that, though the atmosphere never fully relaxed again.

Courses arrived steadily while nobles discussed border disputes, trade routes, winter shortages, and rumors of unrest among eastern territories.

Lyra mostly listened.

Which turned out to be a mistake.

Because quiet people often made others careless.

“She’s prettier than I expected,” one noblewoman remarked casually halfway through dinner while slicing roasted pheasant. “I heard the Vale pack kept her hidden because of the curse.”

Another woman hummed thoughtfully.

“Apparently she still hasn’t shifted.”

“That true?”

The question came directly toward Lyra now.

The surrounding conversations quieted slightly.

Waiting.

Lyra set down her wine carefully.

“Yes.”

A small silence followed.

Then Lord Vaelen leaned back in his chair with visible curiosity.

“And yet Alpha Draven married you anyway.”

There it was.

Not even disguised.

One older noble gave a dry laugh.

“Well, Kael always did enjoy collecting dangerous things.”

Several people smiled at that.

Not kindly.

Lyra felt heat crawl slowly up the back of her neck.

The familiar kind.

The kind she’d spent most of her life surviving.

Not open cruelty.

Public humiliation disguised as conversation.

“What exactly does a wolfless Luna contribute to Blackfang?” another noble asked lightly.

“Decoration, perhaps.”

“Political leverage.”

“Maybe the southern packs finally ran out of useful daughters.”

Soft laughter spread around the table.

Fenrir’s expression had gone noticeably flat now.

Mirelle looked furious from further down the table.

But no one interrupted.

Because this was politics.

And politics preferred humiliation slow enough to remain technically polite.

Lyra reached for her wine mostly to keep her hands occupied.

She could survive this.

She’d survived worse.

The Vale territory had practically raised her for moments exactly like this.

Then Lord Vaelen smiled again.

The kind of smile people wore before deliberately testing boundaries.

“I suppose the real question,” he said conversationally, “is whether the Black Wolf King intends to keep her long enough for any of this to matter.”

The table went still.

Not completely.

But enough.

Kael set down his glass.

Quietly.

That was the frightening part.

No slammed movement.

No visible anger.

Just the soft sound of crystal touching wood.

For the first time all evening, the entire hall seemed fully aware of him.

Conversations dimmed naturally around the room.

Not because anyone ordered silence.

Because instinct noticed danger before logic caught up.

Kael looked toward Vaelen with the same calm expression he’d worn all night.

Which somehow made the atmosphere worse.

“You seem unusually interested,” he said evenly, “in the status of my wife.”

The word landed heavily.

My wife.

Not the southern girl.

Not the treaty bride.

His wife.

Vaelen straightened slightly.

“No offense was intended.”

“And yet you offered several.”

Still calm.

Still controlled.

That restraint frightened people more than shouting probably would have.

Kael leaned back slowly in his chair.

“If anyone here is confused,” he continued, voice carrying easily across the table, “let me clarify something now.”

His gaze moved briefly toward Lyra.

Then back toward the nobles.

“Lyra belongs to Blackfang.”

The room stayed perfectly silent.

“And Blackfang protects what belongs to it.”

No threat in his tone.

None at all.

Which somehow made the meaning impossible to misunderstand.

Vaelen lowered his eyes first.

“Understood, Alpha.”

Only then did the tension ease slightly around the hall.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like wolves backing away from the edge of a trap they almost stepped into.

Lyra stared down at the untouched wine in her glass for a second longer than necessary.

Because no one had ever defended her publicly before.

Not once.

Not her father.

Not the Vale elders.

No one.

And the realization unsettled her almost as much as Kael himself did.

Beside her, Kael picked up his glass again.

But when their hands briefly brushed near the edge of the table—

his fingers paused against hers for the smallest fraction of a second.

As though some part of him had reacted before the rest caught up.