The wind hissed between the trees, carrying the scent of snow, metal, and foreign wolves. Reyna held her ground, blades at her sides, eyes locked on the male who had just stepped forward.

Roth Maynord.

House Maynord. Greenpeak’s Crowned line. Redfall wolves had no business creeping through Frostcall like smugglers.

He watched her with a presence that pressed like a challenge.

“You’re a long way from the solstice gates,” Reyna said. “Most visitors prefer entering Egranox through the front door.”

Roth didn’t move. “Our path was altered.”

“Convenient.” She shifted her stance. “You’re trespassing.”

One of the males behind him stepped forward. A bald Redfall built like a battering ram. “Mind your tone, female. You stand before the Alpha of—”

“Spare me,” Reyna cut in. “If he wants to speak, he has a mouth.”

The Omega’s nostrils flared. Roth simply folded his gloves into his belt. The delight in his eyes irritated her on principle.

“You’re as courteous as the rumours say,” he said.

“And you’re as annoying as I expected,” Reyna shot back.

Ator shifted behind her, a quiet ripple movement that made the three Omegas tense. Roth’s gaze darted toward her Shadowbeast.

“You threaten the House of Maynord with your Howler?” he asked.

“She is here because you have entered my land without permission.”

The bald Omega’s voice rose in a snarl. “Bow when addressing the Alpha—”

Reyna laughed, the sound booming enough to irritate them. “Bow, in Silver Oak? You’re lucky I didn’t bind you to my Howler and drag you to the citadel.”

“You insolent—!”

Roth raised a hand. The Omega snapped his jaw shut and stepped back. His restraint came only from obedience to rank, not reason.

Reyna crossed her arms. “The Warmaster and Northern council are waiting for you at the Mithril Obelisk. You were expected hours ago. There really was no need to sneak in.”

Roth watched her in a way that made her uneasy. “We were intercepted.”

“By whom?” she asked.

No one answered.

His Omegas shifted, their faces open books of withheld information. Reyna’s fingers twitched. Intercepted meant attacked. Attacked meant someone wanted Frostcall to believe the Maynords were sneaking in, or wanted the Maynords weakened before they arrived.

Either way, the scent of it was rotten.

“Let me guess,” Reyna said. “You walked into a trap and forgot you’re supposed to follow protocol no matter what.”

The bald Omega stepped forward again. “Watch your mouth—”

“The same goes for you,” Reyna warned, wrath in her voice. “You’re in Frostcall now. We don’t kneel for anyone here.”

He lunged.

Reyna moved before thought kicked in. She ducked under his arm, the rush of air brushing past her cheek. He was fast, but she was raised in snowstorms that killed slower wolves without hesitation.

He swung again.

She dodged left, but his hand clamped around the back of her throat, fingers curling like a wrench. The force drove her backward, boots sliding over ice.

Reyna gritted her teeth. He’s trying to make me kneel. Over my dead body.

Her lungs tightened. Snow crunched under her heels. Ator snarled behind her, her growl rolled through the trees like thunder.

“Stay,” Reyna ordered, voice strained.

Ator obeyed and melted into the shadows again.

The Omega tried to force her down into a bow. She braced her hand against the ground, refusing to buckle and give him the satisfaction. She reached for her Frostcall ability, and felt the frost respond. A pulse of cold rippled through the earth.

The ice thickened around the Omega’s boots.

He hesitated. “What—?”

Reyna used the opening. She twisted out of his grip, slamming her elbow into his ribs and landing on her feet in one quick motion. Her blade was out a second later, its tip pressing firmly against his throat.

“Try that again,” she breathed, “and I’ll show you how Frostcall handles tantrums.”

The Omega bared his teeth. “You’re dead.”

“You first.”

A crackle of heat warmed the air, and Reyna’s heart lurched. Ember rippled under her skin, responding to her adrenaline. She forced it back into hiding, clenching her jaw tight.

Roth watched her too closely. Like he felt the temperature change even though no flame revealed itself.

“That's enough,” Roth finally weighed in.

Reyna stepped back, lowering her blade. The Omega stumbled free of the ice and glared daggers at her, but he didn’t move again.

"Apologize," Roth ordered her.

Reyna blinked at him. “Your Omega attacked me, and I’m expected to apologize?”

Roth approached her slowly. “You disrespected my rank, he was doing his duty.”

“You disrespected my border, and I was doing mine.”

“You’re only a Prime,” he said softly.

Reyna’s smile stayed thin, but heat flared under her sternum. Only a Prime. As if she hadn’t bled for the rank, or clawed her way through every obstacle the Wild Lands stacked against females. As if she had been handed the title instead of earning it with every broken bone and every Fang she’d outrun, out-fought, and out-led.

She remembered the early years of standing alone among thirty males during Fang trials, the only female candidate in half a century. She remembered the sneers, the jeers, the whispered bets about how long she’d last. How they laughed when she stepped forward. How the Warmasters told her to turn around and try again “when the gods chose to sculpt her into a man.”

And she remembered beating every single one of those males until none could meet her eyes without remembering the day she forced them to acknowledge her strength.

She wasn’t “only” anything.

Reyna tilted her head, eyes narrowing into slits. “And even so,” she said, “you still haven’t crossed these ten feet without wondering if I’ll gut your Omegas.”

The bald Omega’s jaw flexed, but Roth stayed perfectly calm.

Reyna continued. “Be careful with your words, Alpha. Frostcall measures worth in deeds. If I’m ‘only a Prime,’ it’s because I earned the right to command the First Fleet while half your Omegas were still learning how to shift.”

A small ripple went through the three Redfalls. She could smell the disbelief, then offence, then grudging, irritated respect. They’d heard stories, clearly. Stories about the Icehelm who rose through the ranks without a surname to shield her, even though she had one. The only female to become a Prime in generations. The only one to survive trials that killed full-grown males.

Roth’s gaze skimmed her again, slower this time, like he was testing a suspicion he didn’t speak aloud.

“You may be Alpha of a Crowned House,” Reyna said, “but here, in Egranox, on my patrol route, with my Howler at my back, your rank doesn’t shield you from consequence.”

Roth’s eyes tracked every word. “You’re arrogant,” he said. “And reckless.”

“If I were reckless,” she countered, “your Omega would still be frozen at the ankles.”

“You speak boldly for someone who stands alone,” he said.

“I never stand alone.”

Ator rose behind her, her form pulling out of shadow as if drawn by her name. White fur glowing like frostlight, glare cutting through the dark.

She took a step closer, closing the gap Roth refused to cross. “Whether you intended to insult me or not,” she said quietly, “remember that Frostcall Warmasters didn’t make me Prime because I’m likeable. They made me Prime because no one holds the line like I do.”

Reyna stepped back and swung onto Ator’s back. “Your path to the citadel is straight north. Follow the Mithril Obelisk. And try not to die in the storm. Frostcall doesn’t bury Redfalls for free.”

Roth’s eyes followed her, their intensity cutting through the gale.

“This isn’t finished, Icehelm.”

She met his gaze one last time. “It never started.”

Ator leapt forward, snow parting under her paws as the forest swallowed them again. Reyna didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.

She could feel Roth’s stare following her through the storm like a brand on the back of her neck.