The wind shifted as they reached the outer edge of Blackthorn’s high ridged path. Birds scattered from the tall ash trees as the heavy thudding of hooves settled into a tense silence. One by one, the riders slowed, forming a rough circle before a flattened clearing paved with old moss-stained stones. Everyone gathered in a small circle and then one could see the little divide between those from Ironshade and those from Dawnbreak.
Darius dismounted first. He handed his reins to a nearby stablehand and surveyed the surroundings with sharp, practiced eyes. The wind tugged at the ends of his red hair, but his focus remained ahead. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on his chest, but it was not the delegation that bothered him.
His thoughts veered again, unruly as the tides. Blonde hair, always slightly undone no matter how tightly they pinned it. Eyes like the forest floor just before spring, bright, but edged with something unreadable.
He clenched his jaw. He had been forbidden from seeing her until this nonsense settled. He was supposed to maintain appearances, let the others talk, let the customs guide the interaction. But it was difficult to breathe knowing she was just within reach, thinking who knows what, and yet... Still not his.
And now, with these outsiders prowling around, with their strange silences and that blank-stared Delegate, the idea of her wandering unwatched made something coil tight and hot in his stomach.
The soft crunch of boots drew his attention back. At the edge of the clearing, the Dawnbreak delegation had begun to dismount.
The figure at the head swung off his tall, coal-black steed with a precision that came not from noble upbringing, but the battlefield. The man’s build was formidable, taller than most, his shoulders broad and posture rigid, as if his very bones had been trained into martial readiness.
His silver hair, cropped short, gleamed like steel beneath the sun. His jaw was squared, expression unreadable, save for the light narrowing of his golden eyes as they landed briefly on Darius.
This was no diplomat. This was a wolf bred for war.
Darius straightened, resisting the urge to reach for his blade, not out of threat, but instinct. His beast bristled inside, pacing in circles. So, this was the Dawnbreak Delegate that Thalia had sent.
Two more followed behind: a tall, wiry man with a scar through his lip and a woman with dark braids and sharp eyes that missed nothing. They were dressed in muted tones, tailored leather and bone accents, nothing ceremonial.
Darius gave them a curt nod. "Welcome to Blackthorn Keep."
The Delegate stared at him for a beat too long. "We appreciate the ride’s end," he replied, voice deep and level, each word spoken like a weight being set down. There was no smile offered.
Livia approached from behind with practiced ease, her voice crisp as she gestured to a table set near the manor’s entrance. "A small welcome table has been prepared. Refreshments, if you’re inclined, of course."
The Delegate’s eyes moved over her, then past her, toward the land. He nodded once. "Of course."
The gathering moved like a slow, uneasy tide toward the table. Just enough fruit, meat, and bread to appease even the hardest of hearts.
Serena hung toward the back, her hands clutched together in front of her. She scanned the crowd, her green eyes darting, searching for a particular red-headed wolf.
She spotted him near the head of the crowd, Darius’s shoulders tense, but proud, his presence loud even in silence. She took a step forward. She wanted, no, needed, to speak to him. Even just to meet his eyes. It was probably lovesickness. Original content can be found at novel✶fire.net
But before she could take another step, a firm hand gripped her forearm.
"Do not take a step further."
She turned, startled, to see General Silas standing beside her. His dark eyes were half-shadowed, his tone flat and brooking no argument.
"I know," he said quickly. "But now’s not the time, girl. Lie low. Talk as little as possible. Stick to Livia’s side and smile if anyone asks you anything. Don’t speak unless you must."
Serena blinked, stunned. "Why? What’s going on?"
Silas looked out at the Delegate, jaw working. "That man isn’t here for pleasantries. Darius will handle what needs handling. You? You’ll keep your head down."
Serena felt the words like stones in her stomach. "And Charlotte?"
Silas’s eyes darkened, unreadable. "Not now."
He turned and left her with a single nod, disappearing into the shadows of the gathered people.
She drew in a breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. So that was that, then. She would obey, for now. Her gaze found Livia and she walked briskly to her side, standing just behind and slightly to the right, mimicking the quiet guards of the other party.
Meanwhile, Darius pulled Cedar aside.
The young wolf was shorter than most, quick-eyed and clever, always scribbling in one of her folded books. She looked up at him now, expectant.
"You saw them," he muttered under his breath.
Cedar nodded, lips pursed. "Too much silence for guests. That’s a war pack."
"I need eyes on the Delegate. Keep note of what he says, how he says it. What he eats. What he touches."
Cedar didn’t flinch. "You expect them to go looking for what they should not?"
"I expect the unexpected."
Cedar nodded again and disappeared back into the crowd, shadowing the Dawnbreak wolves as the refreshments wound to an end.
One by one, the delegates murmured thanks, or the barest version of it and began following Livia and her handpicked attendants toward the manor. The sun was beginning to dip, bleeding gold across the treetops.
Serena lingered near the back, her heart still thudding. Darius hadn’t even looked her way.
She didn’t know if that was better... or worse.
But something about that Delegate’s expression, it made her skin crawl.
And her thoughts whispered back again, like a thread that refused to snap: Would she survive the night?