Chapter 131: Your Men Ride With Mine
The great hall smelled of roasted venison and fresh herbs, the long tables already half full with pack members grabbing their morning meal before the day’s work pulled them in different directions.
Lila stepped inside with Magnus at her side, the noise washing over her like a familiar tide.
A group of hunters argued good-naturedly over the best tracking spots near the western ridges. Two apprentices from the training yard sat near the hearth, one with his arm freshly wrapped, laughing despite the pain as his friends ribbed him about the fall.
At the far end, an elder storyteller held court with a cluster of wide-eyed children, gesturing wildly as he described an old raid that probably grew taller with every telling.
She felt the knot in her chest loosen a fraction. This was Frostfang at its core — not the walls or the banners, but the stubborn rhythm of people refusing to let the wild outside break them.
Magnus scanned the room the same way she did, taking in faces and conversations. "You feed them well," he noted, low enough that only she heard. "Stormborn could learn from that. Half my warriors complain the stew tastes like boiled boots."
Lila allowed a dry smile. "We tell them the secret ingredient is spite. Keeps the flavor strong."
She led him toward the head table, nodding at those who caught her eye. Garrick was already there, speaking quietly with one of the market overseers about incoming traders. The beta gave her a small nod of acknowledgment, his gaze flicking briefly to Magnus with open assessment.
They sat. Bowls of stew and thick slices of bread appeared quickly, carried by a young woman named Sigrid who had lost her father to a winter hunt two seasons back. The girl moved with quiet efficiency, but her eyes lingered on Magnus a second longer than necessary. Lila made a mental note to check in with her later. Small things mattered when you carried the pack on your back.
Magnus took a bite and gave an appreciative grunt. "Better than boots. Much better." He leaned back slightly, watching her. "You look like a woman who already read every report before dawn. Am I right?"
"Guilty," she admitted, tearing a piece of bread. The words came easier than she expected. "The eastern silence isn’t just farms going quiet anymore. It’s spreading. Families are scared, and scared wolves make mistakes. I can’t afford mistakes right now."
He studied her over the rim of his cup. "Stormborn stands ready to lend blades if you ask. My alpha doesn’t like shadows creeping toward his borders either. But I get the sense you don’t ask easily."
Lila met his gaze straight on. "Asking means owing. Owing means strings. I’ve spent too many nights untangling other people’s strings to add more."
There it was — the truth of it, laid bare over stew and bread. She carried the decisions alone because letting go felt like handing someone else the knife. The flaw sat heavy in her chest, but she didn’t soften it. He could take it or leave it.
Magnus didn’t push. Instead he nodded once, respectful. "Fair enough. Then let me offer something with no strings today. My men can ride the eastern ridges with yours for a week. Eyes and steel, nothing more. Call it neighborly caution."
She considered it, weighing the politics. The elder who loved to challenge her age would see it as weakness. Others would see strength in alliance.
The hall’s noise continued around them — a child’s laugh cutting through, the clatter of bowls, a hunter boasting about last week’s kill. Real life, pressing in.
"Two days," she said finally. "Your men ride with mine, but my captains lead. We share what we find, no secrets. If that works for you, we have a starting point."
Magnus’s mouth curved. "You drive a hard bargain for breakfast conversation."
"Everything’s a bargain here," she replied, but there was no bite in it. For the first time in weeks the tension in her shoulders eased a notch. Not trust, not yet. But a step.
They finished the meal with lighter talk — stories of Stormborn’s mountain passes, a ridiculous hunting accident Magnus described with perfect deadpan timing that pulled a genuine laugh from her.
Around them the hall emptied gradually as people headed to their tasks. Sigrid cleared their bowls with a shy smile at Magnus. The girl had her own quiet hopes, Lila knew. Everyone did.
Outside, the market square buzzed. Traders had set up proper stalls now, bolts of cloth and bundles of cured hides on display. A craftsman argued with a buyer over the price of a new axe head, voices rising then falling into laughter when a joke broke the standoff.
Children darted past, one girl clutching a carved wooden wolf that looked suspiciously like her father’s old battle axe. Near the far side, workers repaired a section of storm-damaged roofing, hammers ringing steady and sure. The pack moved, worked, lived.
Lila walked the square with Magnus, pointing out details when he asked. She introduced him to the market overseer, a sharp-eyed woman named Hedda who had buried two mates and still ran her stall with iron will.
Hedda sized Magnus up and gave Lila a knowing look that needed no words. The world turned on these small connections.
A shout from the training yard pulled her attention. The same apprentice from earlier had ignored the healer’s advice and returned to spar. He swung wildly, arm clearly hurting, determination written across his young face. His partner hesitated, not wanting to press the advantage.
Lila strode over, Magnus following. "Stop."
The boys froze. The injured one straightened, jaw set.
"You think pushing through pain makes you strong?" she asked, voice carrying across the yard. Several warriors paused their own drills to listen. "It makes you stupid. I’ve buried good wolves who thought the same. Sit down. Watch. Learn how to fight smart instead of reckless."
The boy’s shoulders slumped, but he obeyed. Relief flickered in his partner’s eyes. Lila turned to the gathered warriors.
"Pain is a teacher, not a challenge to ignore. Next time one of you decides to be a hero with a bad arm, I’ll make you run the ridges until you puke. Understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, my queen" rolled back. She caught Magnus watching her again, that unreadable expression back in place.
"You don’t pull punches," he said as they walked on.
"I can’t afford to." The words tasted honest. She had spent the night before going over every vulnerable outpost on the map because delegating the full picture felt risky. The flaw sat there, plain as the snow under their boots. She saw it. She just didn’t know how to loosen her grip without dropping something important.
They reached the council chamber doors as the sun climbed higher. Garrick waited with two elders and a scout fresh from the eastern ridges. The older of the elders, a gray-haired man named Viktor who had questioned her since the day she took the crown, straightened at the sight of Magnus.
"Stormborn walks our halls now?" Viktor asked, tone edged. "Careful, my queen. Alliances have teeth."
Lila stepped inside, taking her seat at the head of the long table. Sunlight slanted through narrow windows, catching dust motes in the air. "Teeth can protect as well as bite, Viktor. Or have you forgotten the winter we lost three patrols because we stood alone?"
The meeting began in earnest. Reports flowed — grain stores solid but not overflowing, training numbers up, a minor dispute between two hunting parties settled with split territory.
Then the eastern silence. The scout described empty farms, tracks that simply stopped, a feeling in the air like the land itself held its breath.
Lila listened, asked sharp questions, pushed for details others missed. Magnus offered observations from Stormborn’s own borders without overstepping.
Viktor challenged nearly every suggestion she made, circling back to tradition and caution. She met each challenge with steady logic, never raising her voice, letting the weight of her decisions speak.
By the time they broke, her head ached and her shoulders carried fresh knots. She had approved the joint patrols with Magnus’s men. Viktor left displeased but outvoted. The scout carried new orders east. Small victories, but each one cost her something in trust and energy.
Magnus lingered as the others filed out. "You handled that well. Most leaders would have shut the old man down harder."
"Shutting him down makes him louder next time," she said, rubbing her temple. "Letting him speak and still winning keeps the pack steady. Politics is half theater, half knife work."
He chuckled. "You make it look easy."
"It’s not." The admission slipped out. She had stayed up late again last night, reading reports alone by candlelight because sharing the full burden felt like opening a door she might not close. The flaw, always there.
Outside the chamber the keep continued its rhythm. A naming ceremony for two new pups was starting near the central fire, the parents beaming as elders spoke blessings.
Laughter rose from the market. A pair of craftsmen bickered over timber quality while apprentices listened and learned. Life pushed forward, stubborn and warm.
Lila walked the corridors with Magnus, showing him the armory and the healer’s halls where Elara’s influence showed in neatly organized shelves.
She introduced him to a few more faces — the weaver who supplied the hall’s banners, a hunter recovering from a bear encounter last season.
Each person had their own story, their own small battles. She carried them all, because that was what the crown demanded.