Reyna’s fingers fumbled with the last clasp of her Fang suit.

The Prussian-blue fabric hugged her body like it always did, but tonight it felt different. Tighter somehow. Like the air in her quarters had thickened since Roth Maynord’s voice carved its way into her skull.

Only a Prime.

She clicked the clasp into place and stared at her reflection. The suit was made for combat, not compliments. Sleek lines, reinforced seams, dark leather trims. She’d worn it into war, into blizzards, into battles no sane wolf would volunteer for. She’d never cared how it fit. Never cared who noticed.

So why in Odin’s name did she keep smoothing the shoulders?

Irritated, she tore her eyes from the mirror and snatched the honeycomb pin from her braid; the last relic of her mother. The gold buckle glinted in the firelight before she tossed it onto the dressing table. Braids and pretty pins were for Lunas. She was a Fang. A Prime. Not some delicate ornament meant to adorn a throne.

She tied her hair into a no-nonsense braid, binding silver and black strands tightly with leather cords.

Then she crossed the room to her weapons wall. Her fingers hovered over her favourite pair of black falchions. The golden grips, warm from the hearth’s glow. She lifted them, their familiar weight calming her, reminding her who she was before Roth Maynord stepped into her forest and disrupted her peace.

With the blades strapped to her thighs, she squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hallway.

The western wing of the Mithril Obelisk hummed with the distant noise of preparations: shifting armour, muffled orders, the echo of footfalls from Fleets gathering in formation. Reyna walked through the corridor like she owned it.

She pushed the irritation of being forced to both acknowledge and apologize to the Maynords down, and marched across the ramparts. The Great Hall came up ahead, the giant brass doors already creaking open in anticipation.

Inside, the hall was a glorious expanse of polished opal and flickering rune-light. An azure rug stretched down the centre aisle toward the crystal throne, where Warmaster Bandos sat like a carved monolith draped in pelts. Beside him, the Warmasters of the North stood in a solemn line, their faces trained into identical masks of scrutiny.

On the left, Frostcall’s other Prime Commanders stood rigid, Fang suits polished to a gleam.

On the right, the House of Maynord watched her enter with predatory. They were cleaned up, dry and dangerously relaxed. They looked like wolves who’d already won a contest she hadn’t realized she was competing in.

Roth stood at the front.

Their eyes met like flint striking stone, and she almost snarled.

Reyna forced her expression into perfect neutrality and walked to the foot of the throne.

Bandos rose. “Alpha, esteemed House of Maynord, I present Prime Commander Reyna, Frostcall’s finest Fang.”

Reyna didn’t react to the applause or murmured acknowledgment. She barely registered the absence of the word daughter. She’d grown used to that omission.

Roth stepped forward just enough to draw her gaze. “A reputation well-earned,” he said. “I saw a glimpse of it firsthand.”

A compliment wrapped in a trap. Reyna eyed him. “Let’s hope your first impression doesn’t overshadow the rest of your visit.”

A few Frostcall commanders smirked. The Maynords stiffened.

Reyna lifted her chin. “On behalf of the Northern Territory, I formally acknowledge Alpha Roth Maynord and his entourage within these halls. Frostcall welcomes you, and may Odin bless this winter solstice.”

Roth inclined his head. “Your welcome is appreciated, Prime.”

The bald Omega who’d lunged at her earlier leaned toward another Redfall wolf and muttered loudly enough for half the hall to hear, “Insolent female. Nothing a proper fuck won’t fix.”

Laughter rippled through the Redfalls. Even a few Icehelm males snorted.

Reyna kept her eyes fixed ahead, though her jaw tightened.

Roth’s head snapped toward the Omega. “Silence, Morris.”

The Omega froze.

Bandos stood so fast the throne rattled. “You foul-mouthed disgrace! Show respect to the Prime Commander of our First Fleet, or I’ll rip your tongue from your skull!”

The hall fell dead silent.

Morris bowed stiffly. “Forgive me, Warmaster. Prime.”

Reyna finally turned to him. “Apology accepted. Don’t make the mistake again.”

When she looked back, Roth was already right in front of her, watching her. His mismatched eyes held a focus that slid under her suit, stripping her down layer by layer.

Her pulse quickened. Damn her body for betraying her.

He stepped closer, enough that she could feel the warmth of him despite the cold. “You carry yourself differently than most Primes,” he murmured.

“And you overestimate your ability to appraise me.”

“Do I?” His tone dipped low, a thread of challenge in it. “Perhaps I simply appreciate what I see.”

She hated the heat that flashed across her skin.

Reyna stepped forward, forcing him to retreat half a pace. “Keep your appreciation to yourself, Alpha.”

His smirk promised he wouldn’t.

Bandos cleared his throat loudly. “There remains the matter of the apology.”

Reyna’s teeth clicked. Here we go again.

The Ulan Warmaster bowed. “Protocol dictates that any Fang who defies the ruling House must apologize publicly.”

Roth turned slowly toward the Warmasters. “I require no such apology.”

The hall shifted in surprise.

“All parties share responsibility,” Roth continued. “My intention is not to shame the Prime, but to begin these rites without conflict.” He looked directly at Reyna. “I propose a gesture of reconciliation instead, a shared drink to bury this matter.”

Reyna stiffened. A drink with him? Alone?

Bandos pounced on the proposal. “Excellent, Alpha. Reyna will escort you.”

Reyna’s head whipped toward him. “Excuse me?”

His stare was iron. A silent command she despised.

She turned slowly back to Roth. “I doubt the Alpha meant now.”

“I do,” Roth said, far too comfortable. “I find myself eager for the company.”

Infuriating man.

Reyna’s fists curled at her sides. But rejecting him publicly would shatter every fragile political thread Bandos was fighting to keep intact.

She exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

She pivoted toward the exit, spine straight, fury simmering. As she passed Bandos, her glare promised a future argument.

Roth fell into step behind her. The hall rose and bowed as the Alpha departed.

“Alpha,” they chorused.

Reyna didn’t look back.

If she did, she might set the entire Obelisk on fire.