Chapter Thirty: The Fragile Treaty

SIGRUN

If I thought the dinner toast fiasco was as bad as it could get, the formal council session that followed proved me hilariously, dangerously wrong.

The plates had been cleared by a small army of neutral-faced stewards, but the heavy scent of spilled wine and raw, apex-predator adrenaline still hung thick in the air.

Lord Halvar sat rigidly across from me, his expression carved from stone. He hadn’t looked at me once since Varul threatened to feed him and his entire pack to the crows. I hadn’t looked at him either. The memory of his face morphing into a bloodthirsty beast would probably haunt me for the rest of my natural life. For the rest of this frightening dinner, it was best to pretend he didn’t exist.

“The eastern watchtowers require additional supplies,” Lord Eirik was saying, tapping a blunt finger against a map on the table. “The roads will be snowed over within six weeks.”

“Five,” Elder Nola corrected.

Eirik frowned. “Five if winter arrives early.”

“It always arrives early.”

A few people grunted in agreement. The discussion rolled onward, a steady, low-frequency hum of logistics. Roads. Grain. Soldiers. River crossings. Supply routes.

Yep, this was the part where I began to zone out. Political lingo had never been my strong suit—sue me. I focused instead on the rhythmic ticking of my own pulse, desperately waiting for the moment I could politely exit this giant stone freezer.

"The fifty riders sent to Linewatch are a temporary shield, Alpha, especially if there’s a threat to the throne," a smooth, melodic voice cut through the low, anxious murmurs of the table.

I blinked into focus, shifting my gaze down the line. It was Lord Krev of Riverhold. He seemed more like a seasoned diplomat stepping gracefully over a puddle of fresh blood.

Varul didn't move a muscle. His posture was rigid, his dark eyes fixed on Krev with an unreadable, heavy intensity. "The throne is secure, and the borders are being reinforced. Speak plainly, Krev."

Krev offered a slow, deeply sympathetic nod. He didn't look at Varul. Instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze drifting smoothly, purposefully, over to me.

"I only speak of the rumors whispering through the outer villages, Alpha," Krev said, his tone dripping with honeyed regret. "Our people are questioning the stability of our southern alliance. They look at our new Luna, and they see a stranger. A beautiful stranger, certainly, but an unknown variable in a time of impending war."

Okay…what was happening? Was there something else I’d messed up? I flitted a glance at Varul, but his eyes were focused on Krev.

"A treaty is a fragile thing in the face of monsters at the frost-line," Krev continued, his voice echoing clearly across the silent hall. The quiet cadence of his speech forced everyone to hang on every word.

“Without a confirmed mating bond... without an—ahem—true consummation, the pack houses see this marriage as a temporary paper truce. They fear the South will abandon us the moment the snow turns red. If the union hasn't been sealed in the old ways, how can we assure our warriors that the blood of the South is truly bound to the North?"

Wait—was…was he asking about my sex life? Are you kidding me right now?

A hot, furious blush rushed up my neck, scorching my cheeks. I felt entirely exposed, stripped bare in front of thirty hyper-perceptive werewolves who were now openly staring at me.

My ears were ringing. My sex life—or total lack of one—was being parsed out as a point of geopolitical instability. They were practically trying to sniff the air to see if I was still a virgin.

I wanted to scream, to tell them to mind their own damn business, but the terrifying weight of the room pressed down on my chest, locking the air in my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic, panicked rhythm.

If this was how unpredictable their council sessions usually were, I sure hope I had nothing to do with them in the future.

"My bed is not a subject for council debate, Krev," Varul drawled. If anything, he looked bored.

Then, his voice dropped to a terrifying, quiet baritone. The dominant aura radiating off him was suffocating, a physical pressure that seemed to expand from his seat, forcing several lords near the foot of the table to look down at their hands.

"The alliance is absolute," Varul continued, his words slow and laced with frost. "The South stands with the North, and the Luna stands with me. The next man to question my claim, or the legitimacy of my house, will answer to my wolf on the killing floors."

Lord Krev immediately raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, bowing his head just enough to show submission.

“Of course, Alpha. Forgive me. I merely highlight the vulnerabilities the throne’s enemies might exploit. Especially now that we have unknown enemies at the borderlines. The pack houses look for certainty when the winter grows dark.”

"I am their certainty," Varul growled.

The council didn't last long after that. The atmosphere had turned toxic, a volatile mix of boundary disputes, fear of blue monsters, and a highly uncomfortable focus on my marital status.

By the time Varul officially dismissed them, my head was pounding, and the suffocating awkwardness of the room followed me all the way back to the residential wing.

Varul hadn't even looked back at me as the council broke. He had swept out of the hall alongside his top beta and commanders, his jaw tight, disappearing towards wherever to handle whatever fires his council’s provocations had stoked.

He had completely shut down, retreating back behind the impenetrable walls of the Alpha King.