Max #2
I sipped and fought the urge to close my eyes. Then I thought of Nikolai, the words he’d used for my blood: nectar, midnight sun. I understood what he was saying now.
And then I caught myself. Nikolai was a thousand miles away. Aelindor and Caspian stood ten feet from me, and my mind strayed to the one who wasn’t.
I shoved the thought down and took another sip.
Caspian reached for the box. The room watched him. No one would touch the donuts until the heirs did. Caspian selected a pink-frosted ring, turned in his seat, and held it out.
“Max. This is for you.”
I froze.
The room went silent; not the usual briefing-room quiet, but the loaded silence of officers witnessing something unprecedented.
Shifters didn’t offer food casually. Offering food meant claiming someone. Pack. Inner circle. Yours. Rejecting it in front of witnesses was a slap to a shifter prince’s face, a public humiliation that could fracture alliances.
Caspian knew exactly what he was doing. The wolf prince had many layers, and the easy grin was the one that made people forget he was a predator with a body count. He’d put me on the spot, and the warm flutter in my chest didn’t change the fact that I wanted to kick him under the table.
Aelindor gave Caspian a brief, unreadable glance, then a subtle nod to me before lifting his coffee. Drakken shot Caspian a hard look. Said nothing.
I was already moving. Standing against the wall like a target wasn’t an option.
I crossed the room, skirting two tables, shoulders locked in military posture—no swagger. Drakken had once made me run twenty barefoot laps for walking with confidence. I kept my gait tight, my face blank.
I took the donut from Caspian’s hand like a live grenade, eager to end the spectacle, and saluted. “Thank you, sir.”
I turned to retreat. Drakken’s voice caught me.
“Cadet Private Max.”
I stopped.
My first thought: he’d order me to put the donut back.
A donut brawl between dragon and wolf princes in front of field officers would be the most ridiculous moment in Zodiac Covenant military history.
But I’d seen the heirs fight over a water cup, a drinking party, a seat in a jeep.
I wouldn’t put a donut incident past them.
I turned. Drakken’s gray eyes pinned me.
“Grab a chair. You’re sitting with us. Today’s topics concern you.”
My heart stuttered.
I’d known this was coming, the moment when my abilities would stop being the heirs’ private knowledge and become operational intelligence. I’d expected a closed room with four princes, not a briefing table full of commanders and colonels. And it wasn’t Aelindor who’d made the call.
It was Drakken.
The man who’d interrogated me in a cell. Who’d tested whether I’d survive his dragon fire. Who’d called me warlock, liar, threat to the brotherhood.
That man was pulling me to the command table.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I turned, coffee in one hand, donut in the other, scanning for an empty chair.
“Commander Aldara,” Caspian said to a woman seated too close on his left. “Mind moving? Max, come sit by me.”
Aldara rose without hesitation. No glare, no sidelong cut of the eyes, not a flicker of resentment. A professional. I wondered if Caspian had slept with her on a previous visit. Knowing his reputation, odds were better than even.
Aelindor kept his expression neutral. Drakken shot Caspian a look that could curdle milk.
Caspian was a bully. Drakken was worse. But Caspian was my bully.
I slid in next to Caspian, perched on the edge of the seat, spine straight, hands flat.
I didn’t show my discomfort. But I’d have to tell him—privately, firmly—to stop parading me in front of the officer corps.
The barracks already had me pegged as his new squeeze toy, and I was no one’s fucking toy.
The heirs needed to be careful if they thought I was their favorite of the month.
I set down my coffee, placed the donut on a napkin, and stared ahead, fighting the urge to jiggle my knees.
Aelindor gestured at the donuts. “Please. Help yourselves.”
The officers descended with controlled urgency, like hungry wolves respecting rank. Hands grabbed, retreated. Aelindor didn’t take one. He sipped his coffee with the unhurried grace of someone who probably hadn’t needed to eat in centuries.
“Let’s start with a status update,” Drakken said. “Debrief progress, then today’s agenda.”
Major Adrian flipped his tablet screen. The device hummed, powered by spell and Stormglass, same as everything in this world.
“The express train departed before dawn with scouts and a Spartan escort. Prince Nikolai will have our update by end of day. Deployment orders went out to five forts. We expect a full company of regular infantry to reinforce this position and the southern border within seventy-two hours.”
“Two-thirds of our Spartans will stay to shore up the eastern perimeter,” Drakken cut in. “The northern border won’t be a problem. New Columbia has never skirmished with the Covenant, and they hate the White Witch almost as much as we do. War with us isn’t in their interest.”
Colonel Karrik and his officers nodded. A low murmur circled the table. Demons had come out of the DarkVeil. Reinforcements weren’t a luxury but a matter of survival.
“Caspian or I would have stayed to reinforce you,” Drakken continued. “But the situation has changed. Intelligence received last night classifies Xander the Collector as a level-one threat to the Zodiac Covenant, equal priority with the White Witch.”
The room shifted. Chairs creaked.
This was about me. About my vision.
I was a nervous eater. I bit into the donut.
Sugar exploded on my tongue—sweet, rich, obscenely good. For one blissful second, the briefing, the staring, the dread—gone. Nothing but frosting and fried dough. Give me coffee and a donut and I’d sit through a briefing every day for the rest of my life.
“Many of you have wondered why we brought a first-year cadet on this deployment.” Drakken gestured at me. “Cadet Private Max hasn’t been with us long, but she’s proved herself an asset.”
I nearly choked.
Asset. From Drakken’s mouth.
What had changed? Last night—the tears, the panic, the raw mess I’d never meant to show. Had watching me fall apart cracked his armor?
“Attention, Cadet Max!”
Drakken’s bark caught me mid-bite. No choice—the donut was already in my mouth. Spitting it out would be worse. I crammed the rest in, shot to my feet, and snapped to attention, my cheeks packing like a squirrel’s.
The room watched. I couldn’t chew. Jaw locked in parade position, face frozen, frosting on my lip. Breathing required careful nasal management.
Asshole. He’d seen the pleasure on my face. One good thing in a morning full of dread, and he couldn’t stand it. Caspian was right—the man was allergic to other people’s happiness.
“Some of you may have heard Cadet Max came to us disguised as a boy,” Drakken continued, addressing the room while I stood at attention with a mouthful of pastry.
“The deception was necessary for survival. The matter is resolved. During the train engagement, Cadet Max demonstrated advanced capability. She is a gifted alchemist.”
Murmurs rose around the table.
“Alchemists of high caliber are exceedingly rare,” Colonel Karrik said.
“Never met one,” someone else said.
“We won’t detail the full scope of her abilities,” Drakken said. “What I will say: they have strategic implications for our war against the Pallid Court. Any information pertaining to Cadet Max Morning is classified. We cannot afford the White Witch learning what we’ve discovered about Coldiron.”
Drakken’s cold eyes held mine.
“Show them, cadet.”