Chapter 2 - Sinth
I’m standing outside the council hall with a blank expression on my face as I recall the incident from three days ago.
Their voices still echo at the back of my mind, a reminder of the chaotic scene they created.
Sometimes, those two forget who they are and allow their emotions to get the better of them.
As a twenty-eight-year-old Alpha leader of the Trident Pack, I’m the youngest of the three Alpha Kings that rule this region of the Star Island.
The other two are Chris Winterborne and Wayne Black. Chris is the Alpha leader of the Snowpeak Pack—thirty years old, powerful, and ruthless. The man has ice in his veins and isn’t exactly known for his warmth because he has none.
He never smiles, and his deep, husky voice always commands attention whenever he speaks. He’s mastered the art of self-control and is always calm. But never gentle.
And then there’s Wayne Black, thirty-one years old—the stark contrast to Chris Winterborne. Wayne is loud, free-spirited, and sometimes a little too down-to-earth for a powerful leader like himself. He controls the Forestguard Pack, and he’s respected as much as he is feared.
Wayne is full of life and bellowing laughter. He enjoys having fun—partying and drinking excessively. Unlike Chris, Wayne believes in allowing emotions to run freely like the wind. And because of that, the two of them don’t get along.
They’re always at each other’s necks. And whenever their banter spirals out of control, I’m one who always cleans up the mess they leave behind. Honestly, it’s exhausting sometimes.
I let out a quiet sigh and step in through the giant doors. My boots click against the polished floor, my jaw tight as I casually head toward the large table that dominates the center of the hall.
It’s been three days since the duel, and the scent hasn’t faded, not fully. I can still smell it, underneath the beeswax candles and old stone—char and blood. There’s also the particular acrid tang of two Alphas trying to kill each other in front of half the region.
Blows were exchanged on that day, and until now, I still can’t get the image of the Elders’ disappointed faces out of my head.
With my hands tucked away behind my back, I move quietly, the sound of my echoing boots filling the air.
Chris is already there. Of course he is. He seems carved, like he’s been sitting in that chair since dawn, spine straight, hands folded, white-blond hair combed back that highlights his rigid jawline. His eyes—ice cold are fixed on me, his presence effortlessly dominating the hall.
Wayne isn’t here yet—he’s never on time for anything that requires him to sit still and be lectured.
I take my seat at the table, fingers combing through my blond hair.
Chris’s eyes are still fixed on the front door, as though he’s waiting for someone in particular. I don’t need to be psychic to know who it is.
“He’s late. Again.” Chris says, his voice a low whisper.
“Pleasure to see you too.” My tone is laced with sarcasm.
He glances at me. And although he doesn’t respond with words, his gaze tells me he acknowledges my presence. We sit in silence as the minutes tick by, and I can feel Chris’s irritated pheromones like ice in the air.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be here,” I say.
“When?” His tone is dripping with a hint of displeasure. “After I’ve run out of patience?” A pause. “This is the kind of thing he does that gets under my skin. He knows how much I hate it when he’s late. Yet, he’s always late.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait for him.”
“I’ve been waiting for over an hour,” he says, shooting a stern glare at me. “You should be condemning this behavior, not condoning it.”
I lower my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, tired of being trapped in the middle of their banter. They do this all the time—put me in a tight spot, each one expecting me to take their side.
I’m sick of it—genuinely, bone-deep tired of them never getting along. Because of their stupid duel, I spent the whole of last night trying to draft an apology to the Ferrow elders on their behalf.
“If the bastard’s not here in the next ten minutes, I swear I’ll…”
That instant, the doors swing open like they’ve been kicked, which they probably have.
Wayne strolls in with his usual unbothered swagger, a fresh scrape healing along his jaw. His black hair is still damp like he came straight from bathing, his green eyes sweeping across the hall.
His gaze shifts between Chris and me, a small knowing smirk lining one corner of his mouth. “Why the long faces?”
Chris’s fingers curl into his fists, and his brows knit together.
“Look, I don’t have time to waste.” Wayne’s boots scuff against the polished floor as he makes his way toward us. “Where are the Elders? Let’s get this over and done with.” He noisily pushes his chair back and sits down.
“Your insouciance never ceases to amaze me,” Chris says. “An hour late, and still the first one complaining.”
“Insouciance?” Wayne chuckles mockingly. “That’s a pretty big word; you sure you know what it means?”
Chris’s expression darkens and his jaw locks. “It seems you’re eager to feel my fist on your face again.”
“Don’t get too cocky, you got lucky.”
I refuse to intervene and stop this little exchange from escalating into a full-blown fist fight. I probably should. But I don’t think I have the mental strength to hold them back.
Besides, I’ve learned that the fastest way through these meetings is to let the opening volley burn itself out before the elders even walk in.
Elder Corvin walks in through the doors—cane first, robes trailing, face set in the particular grimness he reserves for us. Chris and Wayne have already run out of the easy insults and settled into simmering.
“You’re all here. Good,” Corvin says, his voice laced with both irritation and patience.
“Before you say anything, just know that he started it.” Wayne nods toward Chris.
“Of course you’ll blame it all on me,” comes the reply. “What do I expect from a man who never takes accountability for his actions?”
“You’re one to talk. You struck me. Or did you forget?”
“The two of you tore apart the western square in front of forty witnesses, six of them children.” Corvin’s firm voice silences them. “I’m certain you both are proud of yourselves.”
A moment of fleeting silence.
“None of that would’ve happened if Winterborne hadn’t insulted my hunting party’s discipline in front of my own men—”
“You just can’t take accountability, can you?”
“I do when I’m wrong. And I’m never wrong.”
“Enough, both of you.” Corvin doesn’t raise his voice. He’s never needed to. Seventy-plus years of outliving Kings younger and louder than these two has given the man a stillness that cuts through noise better than shouting ever could.
Voices fall silent. Not because they’re afraid of him. But because he’s earned our respect.
“The people don’t care who was right and who was wrong,” he continues.
“They care that their Kings are supposed to stand together, and instead they watched two-thirds of that unity set fire to a market stall. Our Island’s existence depends on the stability of all five regions, and you three are meant to be the representatives of our region.
How do you expect the people to trust you to represent us to the Island when you can’t even cooperate?
Do you think the other Kings in other regions act like this? ”
Neither of them says another word. Even Wayne has the decency to look faintly abashed, though it won’t last.
Corvin sighs. “The council has discussed this at length.” He pauses, those sharp blue eyes shifting across our faces.
I feel it coming before he says it, and I know Chris and Wayne are about to lose their minds over it.
“As you all know, there is precedent, when Kings share a region and struggle to hold their peace, for a shared mate to bind them. You must be held together not by force. By nature. A bonded Omega ties three Alphas together in a way treaties and threats cannot.”
Wayne’s brows arch. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”
“If you think the council suggests that you all share a mate, then yes, you’re absolutely right.”
“You can’t be serious,” Chris says calmly, at the same moment Wayne says, “Wait, hold on—”
“I’m afraid it is not a request, my Kings.” Corvin’s voice doesn’t change at all. “It is the strong recommendation of this council, delivered with the full weight of the elders behind it, and I expect the three of you to weigh it as such.”
I say nothing for a moment, turning it over. It’s not a bad idea, in the bones of it. It’s a brutal one, and I think it’s necessary. It’s also the fastest way to assure the people that despite our differences, we have something important that binds us all.
Three Kings pulling in three directions is a region that eventually tears itself apart at the seams.
Personally, I’ve watched Chris and Wayne circle each other for years now, waiting for one of them to finally lose enough control to make the fracture permanent. I’m honestly so tired of being the rope between two men trying to walk in opposite directions.
“If it stops the two of them from burning down another market stall, or eventually helps me keep my sanity,” I say, “I’ll consider it.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Wayne reclines in his chair, staring in my direction.
Chris looks at me like I’ve personally betrayed him. “You’re actually considering this?” It sounds more like a statement than a question.
“Yes,” I reply. “I’m considering anything that gets me out of drafting apology letters at three in the morning.”
Corvin’s mouth does something that isn’t quite a smile. “Then it is settled. The decree goes out today. Omegas of appropriate standing will be brought before the three of you within the week.”
Chris’s jaw works. For a moment I think he’ll refuse outright, elders or no elders, because Chris has never in his life done a single thing he didn’t choose to do first.
But something in his face shifts, some calculation running behind those ice-pale eyes, and when he speaks his voice has gone flat and controlled again.
“Fine.” One word, cold enough to frost the air.
“Fine?” Wayne chips in. “I must say, I’m disappointed. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
Chris ignores him and adds, “Let me be clear, I choose nothing rashly. If this creature is meant to bind the three of us, she had better be worth the trouble.”
Wayne slings an arm over the back of his chair, grinning at nothing in particular. “Well…” He sighs heavily. “Could be fun. Never shared anything in my life. Might as well start with the biggest prize on the island, am I right?”
I don’t say anything. I’m already thinking three steps ahead, the way I always am. I wonder how many more meetings this is going to cost me, how many more nights drafting language soft enough to keep two Kings from killing each other over a woman none of us have even met yet.
The more I think about it, the more I realize this might not be as easy as it seems.
***
Selection day comes faster than I expected.
The elders don’t waste time once they’ve decided something. Within the week means within the week, and by midmorning the square outside the throne room is packed with Omegas gathered from every corner of the three territories.
Some came willingly, families hoping for the kind of favor that comes from a daughter mated to Kings. Some clearly didn’t. I can smell the difference before I even reach the dais—fear has its own particular note, sharp under the sweeter Omega scent, and there’s a lot of it in this crowd today.
Chris sits on his throne to my left, arms crossed, expression carved from the same ice as his eyes. Wayne’s on my right, seated with his legs crossed, already bored.
The first few Omegas are brought forward one at a time, and it’s exactly as tedious as I expected.
A merchant’s daughter who trembles so hard she can’t speak. A hunter’s girl who stares at Chris like she’s already decided she’ll win him over through sheer will. None of them smell like anything more than what they are—pleasant, submissive, forgettable.
I’m three names deep into losing interest entirely when the crowd near the edge of the entrance shifts, and something catches at the corner of my attention.
A cluster of traders. Rougher men, the kind that work the smaller trade routes and don’t bother much with manners, dragging a small group of women behind them like cargo they’re eager to be rid of.
And there, at the back of that group—barely visible past the shoulders of the man in front of her—a flash of red hair.
I don’t know why it catches me. There’s nothing about her posture that should. She’s not preening or performing the way the others have been, not angling herself to be seen.
If anything, she looks like she’d rather not be seen at all—shoulders drawn in, head down, a faded shawl pulled tight around her like it’s the only thing standing between her and the whole watching square.
Still, I find I can’t look away from her.
She’s too far off to scent properly—the wind’s wrong, and there are too many bodies and too much fear-sweat crowding the air between us.
But even at this distance there’s something about the way she holds herself. Careful but not fragile. There’s a difference, and I’ve spent enough years reading rooms full of people who’d rather not be noticed to know it when I see it.
Pale, round-cheeked. A build the elders would probably sniff at, all soft curves instead of the lean, sharp-boned look that passes for desirable among Omegas here.
Not that I care much what the elders think is desirable. She keeps her chin down, but her eyes move constantly like she’s looking for exits or counting guards, the way someone does when they’ve spent a lot of time somewhere they didn’t feel safe.
“You’re staring,” Wayne says under his breath, amused.
“I’m just looking around.”
“Sure you are.” He follows my line of sight anyway, squinting toward the traders’ group. “The redhead? Doesn’t look like much from here.”
“I didn’t say anything about her.”
“You didn’t have to.” Wayne grins, all teeth. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?” I glance at him.
“The one you get when you’re interested in something.”
I don’t answer that, mostly because he’s not wrong, and I don’t especially feel like handing him the satisfaction of knowing it.
Chris hasn’t said anything at all. When I glance over, his gaze has drifted the same direction mine has, just briefly. Just long enough that I notice—and then it’s gone again, back to that carved, unreadable stillness he wears like armor.
The traders shove their way toward the front of the line, impatient, shouting something to the guards about a girl in heat, about needing to be seen next. I can’t make out the words from here. I don’t need to.
Whatever’s happening at the edge of that crowd, I have the distinct, unshakable sense that selection day just became a great deal more interesting.