Chapter 9 Meryn
MERYN
I’m on edge. The Sovereign Alpha arrived last night with her traveling party, and I’m due to welcome them to the castle with a dinner this evening. Which means I’ve spent the last hour getting ready with my new primary attendant, Brionna, who can barely look me in the eyes.
Apparently, the Castle Matron and I have differing opinions on what a “willing servant” looks like.
Maybe she can’t recognize true consent after so many years servicing the Valtieres.
After Brionna nearly drops the gilded brush for the fourth time, I turn to face her directly, and she jumps.
“You and the other castle staff have nothing to be afraid of, whatever you might have heard,” I tell her. “Until the past few months, I spent my entire life in the Eastern Quarter. My goal is to make life better for the common people.”
Brionna dips her head. “I’d heard that, Your Highness.”
Grimacing, I say, “Highness, huh? I’m not a Highness. Please, just call me Meryn.”
Her shoulders loosen. She blinks, easing up a little. “Okay… Meryn.”
I smile in relief. “That’s less awkward, isn’t it?”
Brionna nods and blushes a bit. Finally, she’s loosening up.
We chat while she works on my hair. She tells me she’s from the Central Quarter. We discover that Brionna went to the same school as Saela, about a decade earlier, which makes me happy and also leaves me with a sharp sting of grief.
Saela will never return to that school and very likely not to any other.
The crushing weight hits me again: the life I’d imagined for us both disappearing into thin air. Nothing but daydreams in the end.
Saela’s not even talking to me. It’s been only a day—a day locked in that room, not a dungeon cell but a prison all the same. Still, the ache of it is everywhere.
And I hate that I look at her and wonder… if Killian is in her head, too.
Aldrich and I spent all morning researching Siphon reversals and found nothing to show for it. Still, I can’t give up hope.
By the time my hair is done—two elegant braids wrapping together around the base of my skull, as close as we can get to an updo with my length—Brionna has relaxed. She doesn’t flinch any longer. And she places the crown of wolves on my head with something approaching reverence.
Power floods my veins, and I try not to flinch at the unfamiliar surge.
I’ll get used to it soon, I tell myself. To all of it: the magic and everything else.
A knock at the door alerts us that my friends have arrived. I told them they had to attend the dinner, too, as interim members of my Council Palast. Their first responsibility: shielding me from whatever weird power battle I’m about to engage in with the Sovereign Alpha.
Izabel’s eyes light up at the silver-blue tunic and dark suede trousers I’m wearing, an outfit Brionna picked out for me. “Ooh, pretty. Elegant but not soft. A perfect choice.”
Tomison grins toward Brionna, exposing his line of perfectly straight teeth. “Great job, new girl.”
Her entire face turns red. I try to imagine Tomison through her perspective—the rich auburn hair, the tall and toned stature, the confident look in his eye. He seduces people without even trying.
Izabel scoffs a little too hard. “Must you flirt with every woman you see?”
“Rude,” Tomison retorts immediately. “I’m not allowed to pay people compliments?”
Izabel crosses her arms over her chest and levels him with a snippy gaze. “If only I believed your intentions were so pure.”
Nevah groans, sidling over to me. She’s in a vivid yellow satin dress. “Can these two just fuck already? The bickering is getting tiresome.”
“Izabel loves lengthy, angry foreplay,” Venna jokes. Her twin turns toward her, sputtering in outrage, but Venna continues, “It’s time to go or we’ll be late.”
“Fine,” Izabel says tersely, sweeping past Venna and linking her arm with mine. She tugs me out the door, and I wave goodbye to Brionna. “What should we expect from this highly important royal gathering, anyway?”
We move down the echoey halls of the castle, and I wonder that myself.
The first time I met Siegrid Therion, the day she told me I was chosen as Strategos Alpha, I was a sweaty, nervous mess. She made me feel so small. Like I was a clumsy child who stumbled into something I didn’t understand.
It was true, sort of, but still…
She knew. Even before I did. She knew who I really was, and it seemed like she found me lacking.
I pull my shoulders back, channeling the energy I would bring to my pit fights. Our roles have changed.
I will not let her see me as weak or uncertain.
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “Matron Alienor said this was just a welcome meal for the Sovereign Alpha and her party. But you know I didn’t exactly grow up attending fancy dinners. If I’m breaking some sort of Bonded or court protocol at any point, could you let me know?”
Venna pats me on the back as we walk. “We’re on it.”
When my friends and I enter the formal dining room, five people are already seated. Everyone stands in deference when they see me. There are only riders in here tonight; Anassa has taken the wolves of the traveling party out for a welcoming hunt.
Nothing says “glad to see you” like violently tearing apart prey together.
The Sovereign Alpha is the last to stand, of course, and she does so with a loud scrape of her chair that echoes through the room.
She wears a perfectly tailored deep green formal jacket with matching trousers. Her graying brown hair with its bloodred streak is pulled into a tight bun, and her expression is stern—although it probably always is.
Like mother, like son.
Her appearance declares to everyone: I’m powerful and in command here.
With a start, I realize that Sovereign Alpha Siegrid has seated herself at the head of the table. Maybe we riders are in for some violence tonight as well.
I swallow my immediate spark of resentment and say, “Welcome, everyone.”
Siegrid’s eyes dart to the crown I wear. At the sight of it, so long hidden, her nostrils flare and her eyes go slightly glassy. I have the sense this is a remarkable show of emotion from her.
Then Siegrid purses her lips and inclines her head.
“Queen Sturmfrost,” she says. “We came as soon as possible.” She turns, holding her palm toward those accompanying her. “Your Kryptos Alpha, Hannelore Woodward.”
On Siegrid’s left side is a flinty-eyed older woman with a blue streak in her hair. She’s shorter than Siegrid but matches her in severity.
“Your Phylax Alpha, Tormun Belrose.” He stands to Hannelore’s other side, a hulking man with round features, prominent eyebrows, and a tawny streak.
“And, of course, you know Egith.” My Strategos Beta, Egith, is to Siegrid’s right. She has deep brown skin and closely shorn dark hair with a hint of a silver streak.
Warmth fills me at the sight of the woman.
Egith was tough on me as my instructor but never unreasonably so.
In fact, given how resistant I was to becoming Bonded and accepting Anassa, she had remarkable patience.
Our pack Gammas are in charge at the front while Egith is here, but we’ll both stay in contact with them.
“I’m really glad you could come,” I tell her.
She nods, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Of course, I had to witness the incredible transformation of my misfit commoner Rawbond into our long-lost queen.”
Standing next to Egith is a woman I don’t recognize, and her presence briefly paralyzes me.
She’s probably the most stunningly beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
The woman has porcelain skin and curly, thick, vibrantly red hair. It’s a color I’ve never seen in nature, and it seems to almost shimmer in the candlelight of the room. Her nose is pert, framed by glittering emerald-green eyes, and her lips are full.
Even though she looks like she might be shorter than me, her proportions are wild. Everything about her is long. Her legs. Her lashes. Her slender neck. I’ve never seen the word elegant embodied so wholly in a person before.
My eyes catch on the tawny streak in her hair. Phylax, then. I wonder why she’s here. Is she a Beta?
Whoever she is, she’s mesmerizing.
As if reading my thoughts, Siegrid continues, “This is Noemi, the daughter of Lord Eisenfall.”
“Oh, you’re a noble?” My brow furrows in confusion. I didn’t realize nobles let their children become Bonded.
“Half noble,” Noemi corrects with a polite smile. “My mother was Bonded.”
That explains the height, then—she’s not as tall as the average Bonded woman.
“Noemi will act as your diplomatic envoy,” Siegrid continues, “and will make contact with the fiefdoms to encourage the nobles to attend.”
The threat in her voice is obvious. Noemi won’t be visiting to deliver polite invitations. Her encouragement won’t leave room for refusal.
I gesture to my friends. “Egith is familiar with these four, but I’ve retained Izabel and Venna Brooks, Tomison Thorne, and Nevah Rivenson. They will serve as interim members of my Council Palast until I have fully settled into my role here and we’ve selected suitable permanent members.”
Siegrid makes a hmm-ing noise that’s hard to parse. Disapproval, I’d guess. “And I’ve heard your other interim Council member is a commoner?”
Is that going to be a problem? “Yes, Igor. He was my neighbor in the Eastern Quarter and is like family. I trust him more than anyone else I know.”
Siegrid stares at me for a long beat, and I know she’s heard the undertones to that statement. I trust him more than you, so don’t fucking question his appointment.
“Understood, Your Highness. It’s good to have a Council whose advice you’ll follow.” It’s said in a pleasant tone, but there’s a dig there, too.
Because we all know you’re bad at following advice.
The five of us move to empty chairs, and I take the seat of power, directly across from Siegrid.
As all sit down, the door to the dining room slams open. I startle and raise my gaze.
Stark enters, his familiar, powerful stride wrapped up in formal clothing, and all the air in the room seems to evaporate.