Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Four mates. One was restructuring a continent. One was fresh off saving a Beta, a woman, and their unborn child. One was mobilizing a team so he could get his wolf princess. And one was thirty seconds from a balcony that would turn the entire fucking board upside down.

Guinevere was safe in bed, door guarded, eight guards plus three of her men were making sure of that. She’d still be there when he finished. He was sure of that. He was wrong. And the universe had already moved on without him.

A rookie mistake so basic Kael Ashenvale and Maddox Drakencrest would’ve facepalmed themselves into next week over it.

But council first. War first. Continent first.

"Here’s the ugly truth: when one pack gets hammered, the rest of us feel it in the supply chain. Every new breach in Nyros makes the next one cheaper and bloodier. We’re all sitting here, so we already agree. I’m proposing one table runs the show. A war council. Every pack feeds the machine. Intel gets shared. No pack fights alone and dies stupid."

Nicholas delivered it from his chair like the chair was a throne. He hadn’t noticed that yet, but the room had.

"Beautiful pitch. Who’s the king at the top of this pyramid?" Darwin Blackmoor asked, voice dry.

"Whoever the vote picks. I’m not crowning myself, Blackmoor. This table is for that."

"How generous of you to leave that open."

Benjamin Blackmoor didn’t even look up. "You’ve been shitting on ideas all night. Produce one or sit the fuck down before I help you."

"I have concerns about handing continental military authority to one Alpha. Any Alpha. It’s also conveniently located in Shadowfell territory," Darwin replied.

"Conveniently surrounded by three-foot stone walls, a kill-box perimeter, and the only defensible position on this continent that doesn’t fold when something bigger than a border dispute shows up. Name a better one, Darwin. I’ll carry the fucking table there personally," Nicholas answered.

No tighter location existed, and if anyone opened their mouth to argue they were a special kind of stupid.

Reed: Annnd cue every Alpha mindlinking their Beta just to be sure.

2

Damon: Watch this.

Like clockwork, every pair of Beta eyes looked at Damon. Damon gave a single nod. The majority gave a nod back. The Beta communication network at its finest.

Reed: The chain of command is a circle tonight and the circle is stupid.

Damon: If you can get the Gammas to do that, I’ll tell Nicholas he seems like a fantastic Alpha to this council.

Reed: If the Gammas did that with me I would ask Nicholas to put me down like a horse with a broken leg

"The council of five," Grimscar said. "Elected?"

"Yes. By this table."

Grimscar nodded slowly. The man had been running numbers since the tar briefing and every calculation was pointing in the same direction. "I’ll back it."

"Seconded," Ashfang said.

"Seconded again," Redmoon added.

"Hold your hands. Nobody’s voting on a goddamn thing yet," Ironmaw growled.

Nicholas Shadowfell spent the next hour getting forty-seven Alphas to take turns talking. Continental relay network with Shadowfell wolves holding the spine. Hand over intelligence within twelve hours or lose access to the whole system.

Reed: Is it wrong that I’m aroused by this?

Damon: Yes.

Every proposal caught heat. But resource pooling was the kill shot. When the large packs refused to bankroll the smaller ones, Nicholas offered to supply every small pack on the continent himself at zero cost.

Thirty smaller-territory Alphas snapped to attention like someone had just handed them free ammo, a loaded seat at the big table, and the name of every Alpha who’d ever sneered at them.

Reed: Betas are already running the math. Sixty-five percent of the continent just became Shadowfell real estate in everything but name.

Damon: Correct.

Every Beta of a large pack glanced at Damon with the same silent question: is he serious, can he actually do that? Damon’s expression said yes, and stop asking stupid questions.

The Betas all looked at him like: Fuck, now I have to tell my Alpha that.

The large-pack Alphas scowled in unison.

Nicholas: That was faster than expected.

Damon: The Betas were ready for that one.

Nicholas took a sip of his water.

Reed: The puppies are watching this like it’s a masterclass.

Damon: It is a masterclass.

Reed: Door kid’s mouth has been hanging open and Beta boy hasn’t blinked in three minutes.

As Nicholas Shadowfell wrapped up the most productive hour in the continent’s history, Landon Solveil was landing on a balcony. The coordination between these two men was about to reach its spectacular, inevitable conclusion: a total disaster.

✦✦✦

DOMINO 52: THE BLANKET IS ALSO MISSING

GREYHALL CROSSING - 10:06 PM

Every thirty minutes since Lunaris, Landon Solveil had been trying to call for her light. He got through once, but hadn’t since.

At 10:06 PM it answered for a second time, right as he got to Greyhall Crossing. He could sense her but she was not conscious. He knew that much.

He followed her signal like it was a beacon. Sixth floor. East wing. A balcony with arched doors that overlooked the northern forest.

His boots hit the stone railing and he stepped down onto the balcony floor. The balcony doors were latched from the inside. He pressed one palm against the glass and pushed light into the mechanism.

The latch clicked. The doors swung inward on silent hinges, letting cold mountain air flood the room.

She was on the bed.

Alone. Face down with a blanket covering her. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside the bed.

There were footsteps outside her door. He didn’t want to scare her, but he also didn’t know who was guarding her door or what her situation was.

"Guinevere."

Nothing.

He put his hand on her shoulder. Light pushed through his palm into her skin on instinct, the automatic response of his light trying to heal her. It didn’t.

Instead, her excess light flowed into him, refilling his reserves immediately. His jaw tightened. She needed him to help her with her light and instead she had been alone.

There was also dark magic inside her that he and his best healer had both completely fucking missed.

He needed his Master Mage yesterday, and that memory-loss bullshit fixed yesterday.

Where the hell was Nicholas Shadowfell. This was his summit. Was he not aware she was here?

He pulled back her blanket cautiously to see fresh bandages, then dragged a hand down his face.

Landon shook his head once.

"No. I’m done."

He was done asking where she was. Done chasing signals through empty skies. Done arriving after the damage was dealt. Done trusting kingdoms that whipped her, sold her, and left her unconscious.

There was no portaling TO Greyhall. No anchors. No infrastructure. A magical dead zone, which is why he’d spent six hours in the air. But portaling FROM Greyhall was a different equation. He had an anchor in Solveil. She had just refilled his light so he could make it.

He gently picked her up off the bed and situated her so one arm was under her knees and her head was in the crook of his neck.

More light flowed from her into him, refilling his reserves at an alarming rate.

She didn’t stir.

But for a moment, he could feel the dark magic he had missed earlier. It brushed against his light and recoiled. Good. His light wrapped around her anyway, sinking in deep, marking territory that already belonged to him.

He walked to the center of the room. Closed his eyes. Reached for the anchor in Solveil. A portal opened. A golden ring of light three feet wide that hummed with a frequency that made the glass in the balcony doors vibrate.

He paused at the edge of the portal, turned towards the empty doorway like instinct had tapped his shoulder, held there for two full seconds while the silence confirmed what he already knew.

Not ideal, but he had learned the hard way of not leaving anchors on this continent. If he would have made one at the rogue camp, he could have portaled from Lunaris and been here hours ago. His palm lit up and in the stone, he carved a small rune. It faded.

He stepped through his portal with his fated mate in his arms. It collapsed behind them with a sound like a candle being snuffed.

The room was empty.

The balcony doors swung in the wind. The bed was made, but the blanket was gone. And on the floor, half-hidden under the bedframe, was a single black feather that had not been there when Landon arrived.

Floors below, a wolf king had just wrapped up a council session and was about to lose his shit.