Chapter 18

The Dance Floor War

Blackfang’s winter political gala felt less like a celebration and more like several kingdoms agreeing to smile at each other while quietly calculating future betrayals.

The ballroom alone could have swallowed the entire Vale pack house whole.

Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted black ceilings high enough to disappear into shadow while musicians played near the western balcony beneath silver wolf banners draped across stone walls. Nobles moved through candlelight and slow music wrapped in velvet, jewels, military medals, and carefully hidden knives.

Every conversation sounded polite.

None of them were harmless.

Lyra stood near the edge of the ballroom beside Mirelle pretending to care deeply about her wine.

Mostly she was trying not to think about how many powerful people kept staring at her tonight.

Again.

“This is your fault,” she muttered under her breath.

Mirelle nearly laughed into her drink.

“My fault?”

“You told me not to panic, which implied survival was possible.”

“Oh, survival is absolutely possible.” Mirelle glanced around the ballroom calmly. “Emotional stability, however, is already dead.”

Fair.

Across the ballroom, Kael stood near the northern council circle in formal black attire that looked unfairly good on him.

Not ornamental.

Kael never looked ornamental.

Just sharp enough that half the room unconsciously tracked his movements whenever he shifted position.

Several allied Alphas surrounded him discussing trade routes and eastern border conflicts, but even from across the ballroom Lyra could tell his attention wasn’t fully there.

Every few minutes, his gaze drifted back toward her automatically.

Like checking whether she still existed somewhere in the room.

Unfortunately, Seraphine noticed that too.

Which meant Lyra would never know peace again.

“You’re being watched,” Seraphine murmured while appearing suddenly beside her like an elegant blonde curse.

“I hate when you sneak up on people.”

“You hate when I’m correct.”

Also true.

Seraphine glanced casually toward Kael.

“He looks at you strangely.”

Lyra took another drink of wine.

“You’re imagining things.”

“No, darling. I’ve spent my entire life watching men fall apart around women. Your husband is simply trying harder not to.”

That answer felt deeply unhelpful to her nervous system.

Before Lyra could respond, movement near the ballroom entrance shifted the atmosphere subtly.

Not fear.

Attention.

A new Alpha had arrived.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark auburn hair brushed neatly back from a sharply handsome face carrying the kind of confidence wealth and military success tended to build into people early.

Several northern nobles greeted him immediately.

Lord Cassian Moreau.

Eastern territory ruler.

Recently widowed, if rumors were accurate.

And judging by the way women nearby straightened slightly when he entered—

dangerously charming.

Fenrir spotted him first from across the ballroom and muttered something toward Kael that visibly worsened his mood instantly.

Interesting.

Cassian’s attention drifted lazily across the ballroom while greeting nobles.

Then stopped directly on Lyra.

And stayed there.

Lyra felt it immediately.

Not attraction exactly.

Recognition.

The kind powerful people developed when noticing someone politically valuable.

“Well,” Seraphine murmured softly beside her, “this should become catastrophic soon.”

Cassian approached several minutes later carrying two glasses of wine with effortless confidence.

The musicians had shifted into slower music by then while couples moved gradually toward the dance floor beneath warm golden light.

“Lady Lyra.”

His voice carried smooth southern undertones unlike the harsher northern accents surrounding Blackfang.

Cassian offered one wine glass toward her politely.

“I was beginning to suspect the rumors about you were exaggerated.”

Lyra accepted the glass carefully.

“Which rumors?”

“All of them.”

That earned an actual laugh from her before she could stop it.

A mistake.

Because Cassian looked immediately pleased afterward.

From across the ballroom, Kael noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Cassian settled beside her near the balcony archway with easy charm sharpened by years of court politics.

Unlike Vaelen, he didn’t underestimate her.

That made him significantly more dangerous.

“I’ve heard fascinating things lately,” he continued conversationally. “The wolves bowing. The greenhouse incident. Half the northern court seems terrified of you already.”

“I’m starting to think Blackfang nobles desperately need hobbies.”

Cassian smiled.

“You say that like fear isn’t useful.”

His eyes lingered briefly on the faint silver markings visible beneath the sheer sleeve near her wrist.

Not subtle.

Lyra instinctively lowered her arm slightly.

Cassian noticed that too.

“You don’t need to hide them from me,” he said quietly. “Old blood stories exist in eastern territories as well.”

Something cold moved through her stomach.

Because unlike most nobles, Cassian sounded informed.

Across the ballroom, Kael had stopped listening to whatever political discussion trapped him near the council circle.

His attention remained fixed entirely on Cassian now.

On Cassian standing too close to Lyra.

On Cassian looking at her too carefully.

Fenrir glanced once between them and sighed into his whiskey.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“You seem nervous,” Cassian observed softly.

“I’m deciding whether this conversation counts as threatening.”

“That depends.” His smile sharpened slightly. “Are the rumors true?”

Lyra held his gaze carefully.

“Which ones?”

“The ones saying Blackfang wolves kneel for you.”

The ballroom suddenly felt warmer.

Too warm.

Before Lyra could answer, another presence stepped beside her.

Not subtle.

Not quiet.

Kael.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Cassian noticed it.

So did everyone else nearby.

Kael stopped close enough that the heat from him brushed against Lyra’s bare shoulder.

His expression remained calm.

Dangerously calm.

“Lord Moreau.”

Cassian smiled easily.

“Alpha Draven.”

Neither man looked away.

The kind of silence that existed between predators sizing each other up settled quietly across the balcony corner.

“We were having a conversation,” Cassian said eventually.

Kael’s gaze shifted briefly toward Lyra before returning to him.

“I’m aware.”

Simple sentence.

Still somehow territorial.

Cassian leaned casually against the stone railing.

“You hide your wife too carefully, Kael. People become curious.”

Kael’s jaw tightened slightly.

Barely visible.

Lyra noticed anyway.

“Curiosity,” Kael said evenly, “has a poor survival rate in Blackfang.”

That definitely sounded like a threat.

A polite threat.

Still a threat.

Cassian looked amused rather than intimidated.

“Relax. I was admiring her.”

Wrong answer.

Very wrong answer.

Kael stepped slightly closer then.

Not aggressively.

Instinctively.

Like his body had already decided positioning mattered before his mind caught up.

Lyra felt it immediately—

the subtle shift in him whenever possessiveness surfaced.

The air around Kael always seemed heavier during those moments.

More wolf than ruler.

“Admire something else,” Kael said quietly.

And this time—

there was absolutely nothing polite left in his voice.