Chapter 19 Harkan
Harkan
The banners grew clearer as we approached the gate.
Deep crimson and iron gray—the colors of Ironhold—a pack from the far reaches of the Divide, nestled so deep in my father's territory they might as well have been an extension of his court.
Above their own colors flew the High Alpha's sigil, a declaration that made my blood run cold, even as rage simmered beneath my skin.
They weren't just allies. They were loyalists.
Of course he'd send them first, the wolf snarled. A reminder of who holds the real power.
Sable walked beside me, her steps steady despite the exhaustion bleeding through the bond. She'd refused to stay behind, and part of me was grateful for her stubbornness, even as I wanted to wrap her in blankets and force her to rest.
She's too drained for this.
But she was here. And when she slipped her hand into mine, squeezing once, some of the tension eased from my shoulders.
Not alone. Never again.
"How many?" I asked Cara, who'd fallen into step on my other side.
"Fifteen riders. Small delegation." Her eyes narrowed as she studied the approaching party. "They're making a show of it, though. Full regalia. Banners high."
"They want us to know who they belong to," Sable murmured. Through the bond, I felt her gift stir—a subtle reaching, tasting the air despite my silent protest. "The one in front... he's pleased with himself. Smug. He thinks he has the upper hand."
"Sable—"
"I know." She cut me off before I could tell her to stop. "But you need to know what you're walking into. I'll be fine."
She was lying. I could feel the headache hammering behind her eyes, the drain tugging at her edges. But I also knew that look on her face—the one that said she'd fight me on this until she was blue in the face.
So I let it go. For now.
The gates swung open, and the Ironhold delegation rode through.
Their Alpha was exactly what I expected.
Silver-haired, cold-eyed, with the kind of posture that spoke of decades spent with his nose so far up my father’s ass he could taste the bullshit.
He wore his years like armor, and his gaze swept over me with the dismissive assessment of a man evaluating livestock.
Ulric of Ironhold, the wolf growled. Father's lapdog.
He dismounted with practiced grace, his retinue falling into formation behind him. Fifteen wolves, all of them watching me with barely concealed disdain.
"Alpha Harkan." Ulric's voice was smooth as polished steel. "How gracious of you to greet us personally. I do hope we haven't arrived at an inconvenient time."
The emphasis on “inconvenient” was deliberate. He wanted me to know he'd heard about the fire. About the explosion. About the cracks in my territory that my father's spies had no doubt reported.
"Alpha Ulric." I kept my tone neutral; my expression carved from stone. "Ironhold is always welcome in my territory. Though, I confess surprise at your early arrival. The Mating Moon isn't for three more days."
"The roads were favorable." He smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes. "And I find it's always best to arrive early for significant events. One never knows what one might miss otherwise."
Through the bond, I felt Sable's gift stir—and with it, the sour taste of rot coating my own tongue. Lie. Whatever story Ulric was spinning about favorable roads, it was bullshit. He'd been sent here deliberately.
I didn't react, but my hand tightened on hers.
Ulric's gaze dropped to our interlaced fingers, then traveled up to Sable's throat. To the mark I'd left there, still pink and healing against her skin.
His eyebrows rose. "Well, well." Something like amusement sparked in his cold eyes. "It seems congratulations are in order. You've taken a mate."
"I have."
"How... charming." He prowled around us slowly, the way a predator circles prey, his gaze raking over Sable with an assessment that made my hackles rise. "A witch, if I'm not mistaken. Truth-taster, yes? Varro's former property?"
Sable stiffened beside me. Through the bond, her rage spiked—hot and immediate—but her voice was cool when she spoke.
"I belong to no one but myself."
"Of course, of course." Ulric waved a dismissive hand. "I meant no offense. It's simply... unusual, that's all. The High Alpha's own son, mating with a witch instead of a wolf of proper breeding." His smile sharpened. "One might almost call it sentimental."
Kill him, the wolf snarled. Rip out his throat and show them all what happens to those who insult our mate.
I forced the rage down, locking it behind walls of ice and iron. This was a test. My father's test. Ulric was here to provoke me, to find weaknesses, to report back on exactly how compromised I'd become.
I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"One might call it many things," I said evenly. "But I find that sentiment tends to outlast double-dealing politics. Wouldn't you agree?"
Something flashed in Ulric's gaze—surprise, maybe, or a grudging reassessment. He hadn't expected the backtalk. I wondered what else he wouldn’t expect.
"Indeed." He inclined his head slightly. "The High Alpha will be most interested to hear of this development. He's been quite curious about the truth-taster's potential."
The bond pulsed again—no rot this time, but something incomplete. A half-truth, maybe. Ulric wasn't lying outright, but he was holding something back.
"I'm sure he has," I replied. "My mate's gifts are considerable. As he'll see for himself at the ceremony."
"Mate." Ulric tested the word like it tasted sour. "How very... permanent. Tell me: does she know what she's gotten herself into? The politics of our world can be quite unforgiving to outsiders."
Sable stepped forward before I could respond. Her exhaustion was hidden behind a mask of cold fury, and despite everything, pride surged at the steel in her spine.
"I've survived thirteen years of Varro's hospitality," she said, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "I think I can handle a few gossiping overfed wolves with delusions of grandeur."
Silence.
One of Ulric's wolves shifted, his hand moving toward his blade. I had him by the throat before he'd gotten halfway there, lifting him off his feet with one hand, my claws pressing into the soft flesh beneath his jaw.
"Ah-ah." I kept my voice pleasant, conversational. "My mate, my queen speaks as she pleases. Anyone who takes issue with that can choose to politely leave… or stop breathing."
The wolf gurgled, his feet kicking uselessly.
"Harkan." Ulric's voice was careful now, stripped of its earlier smugness. "There's no need for violence. My man was simply... startled."
"Startle is a reflex. Reaching for steel near my mate is a death wish. Teach your men the difference before one loses a head." I released the wolf, letting him crumple to the ground, gasping. "Consider this a friendly reminder of how we treat guests who forget their manners in my territory."
The tension stretched taut as a bowstring. Ulric's wolves had gone rigid, hands hovering near weapons, eyes tracking me with newfound wariness.
Good. Let them report that to my father.
"My apologies," Ulric said smoothly, though his jaw was tight. "It's been a long journey. Tempers are... frayed."
"Of course." I smiled, showing too many teeth.
Ulric's attention drifted past my shoulder, toward the northern end of the stronghold. I kept my expression neutral, even as my gut clenched.
"Your watchtower looks well," he said, too casually. "I'd heard rumors of... structural difficulties."
"Rumors are often exaggerated," Sable said before I could respond. Her voice was light, almost bored. "You know how gossip travels. Someone stubs a toe and suddenly the whole fortress is crumbling."
Ulric's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. Though smoke does tend to indicate fire, doesn't it?"
"And yet there it stands." Sable gestured toward the tower with her free hand, the picture of casual confidence. "Solid as ever. Perhaps your sources need better spectacles. Or fewer cups of wine before sending reports."
Through the bond, I felt her magic pulse—the glamour holding steady, anchored to her heartbeat. It was costing her, but she didn't so much as flinch.
Ulric studied the tower for a long moment. Whatever he saw—or didn't see—must have satisfied him, because he turned back with a thin smile.
"So it does. My apologies for giving credence to idle chatter."
"Apology accepted," Sable said sweetly. "We all make mistakes. Some more than others."
The dismissal was so pointed that one of Ulric's wolves actually coughed to cover a laugh. Ulric's jaw tightened, but he let it pass.
"Cara will escort you to the tent city near the ceremony grounds. Your delegation should find everything in order—the pack's been preparing accommodations for all arriving guests."
Displeasure flared in Ulric's expression but was quickly masked. He'd expected to be housed in the stronghold itself. To have access to our halls, our conversations, our vulnerabilities.
Too bad for him I’m not a fucking idiot.
"The tent city," he repeated flatly.
"It's quite comfortable. We've spared no effort for our honored guests." I kept my smile pleasant. "I'm sure you understand—with so many packs arriving, space within the stronghold is limited. We must prioritize appropriately."
The implication landed exactly as I intended. He wasn't important enough for the stronghold. He was a guest like any other, housed with the masses, kept far from anything useful.
Ulric's jaw tightened further, but he inclined his head. "Other packs?"
"Didn't you know?" I kept my tone light, innocent. "Several delegations are expected over the coming days. The Mating Moon draws quite a crowd."
I didn't mention that I'd sent word to a dozen packs over the past weeks—quiet overtures, old debts called in, alliances my father thought he'd severed long ago.
Some would come. Others wouldn't. But Ulric didn't need to know which was which.
Let him wonder. Let him report uncertainty back to my father.