Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

While dominoes in Lunaris dropped like pants at a brothel, the far end of the same chain started falling at Greyhall Crossing.

Eight hundred miles apart, same row, same collision course. Neither end had any goddamn idea the other was moving. When they met in the middle, the resulting shitstorm was going to make both ends look like foreplay.

Tile twelve belonged to a king who just arrived at his own summit in the nick of time, pun intended.

DOMINO 12: THE FINAL BOSS ENTERS

GREYHALL CROSSING - 6:55 PM

DISTANCE TRAVELED: 1,200 MILES

DISTANCE FROM GUINEVERE - 17 MILES

Let’s not bullshit each other. Their entrance was critical as fuck, and every last one of them knew it. Straight-up it was one of the most important things they could do for their pack.

Why?

Alphas were judgmental pricks and respect was earned for the dumbest shit imaginable. This was one of the main ways. Nicholas didn’t invent the game. But if he was playing, he was going to play the absolute fuck out of it.

One oversized Alpha and a team of wolves moving like a single organism was the visual equivalent of ’don’t fuck with us’ and that was the point. This minor flex would lock down border security and make Nicholas’s job in the council session a hell of a lot smoother.

The twelve wolves behind him communicated ’our pack is large, deal with it.’

Stack that on top of his black wolf dominating the size chart, and everyone nearby was about to get real interested, real fast.

Sure enough, every wolf and man in a fifty-yard bubble froze mid-step.

Without breaking stride, the Shadowfell wolves flipped into men in perfect sync and held the arrowhead formation like it was welded in place.

Tight. Clean. Lethal. V-formation with Nicholas at the tip.

He led his men into Greyhall Crossing looking like the final boss and his elite adds.

All of them were dehydrated, pissed off, and one inconvenience away from a full group meltdown. They didn’t show it one bit because they’d walk into hell for Nicholas Shadowfell if he so much as nodded.

One Alpha leaned to his Beta and muttered, "How many hours did those fuckers rehearse that?"

His Beta, who knew military discipline when he saw it, answered, "Zero."

Correct. Shadowfell ran that tight. It didn’t mean they weren’t fully aware of the impact. All of them kept eyes forward.

An Alpha from the eastern territories watched his Gamma full-on gawking and kicked him in the shin. "Stop staring, you idiot." The Gamma stopped. Four seconds later he was staring again. The Alpha didn’t kick him a second time because he was staring too.

Rival Betas who hadn’t spoken once made eye contact. Nothing said. Just the mutual, wordless admission that their formations had looked like a fucking clown show next to this and both of them knew it.

Best entrance of the day locked in for Shadowfell. The bar was high. That bar was also about to be annihilated in exactly ten minutes. Sorry, Nicholas.

DOMINO 13: ENJOY THAT RECORD WHILE IT LASTS, BUDDY

GREYHALL OUTER FOREST - 7:05 PM

DISTANCE TO GREYHALL CROSSING - 1.5 MILES

Gavyn moved right and left the arrowhead tip gaping. Invitation and order, no translation needed.

Front. Now.

She was playing Alpha, so naturally she needed to be in the place Alphas go. Right. Genius system.

She claimed the point and kept the exact pace Gavyn had set.

Six wolves clamped the V shut behind her, tighter than before, tighter than the competition. Was that on purpose? You’re damn right it was. She had pieced it together at this point.

Something had her heart pounding. Was she nervous? The answer to that question was yes, she was very fucking nervous.

Alphas and their formations made a point of staring ahead, not acknowledging her.

Every pack had frozen or done a double-take in the forest, and now they were pretending she was invisible.

The sun was setting. She was glowing like a beacon and suddenly nobody noticed. Yeah. No fucking way.

In other words, they were trying their best not to look. Fucking hilarious.

Ahead, a pack of nine wolves shifted at the same time in formation without slowing. Her wolf chimed in.

We do it better than them.

Guinevere adjusted to a brisk walk, matching the exact flow the other packs were using.

No. We move faster. Let me.

Her wolf took over and picked up the pace, which she was fine with. Sure. Why the hell not.

Apparently speed changed the game. Every head snapped in their direction. Wolves stopped dead.

A large arrowhead cracked right down the center as they passed. Whoops. Bold move. She would’ve never sliced a formation like that. Her wolf seemed to think it was fine.

The once-tight formations around them were now pure chaos. The contrast with Lunaris’s still-perfect shape made it look even more dominant.

Thirty feet to the gate.

Twenty.

Ten.

Seven wolves. One stride. One flash.

Every head in the vicinity turned. Wolves mid-conversation stopped. Warriors mid-stride paused. Three Alphas standing in a cluster near the main doors all looked at once, drawn by the flash the way predators are drawn by movement.

The Lunaris pack shifted in unison keeping their formation tight. In reality her wolf hit the switch and Guinevere went along for the ride.

The flash was significantly brighter than it had been earlier that day. Unintentional. The effect was devastating.

A massive grey wolf walking with his pack did a double-take so aggressive his formation partner bumped into him.

She didn’t stumble. Thank the Goddess. Face-planting after picking up speed as the point of a damn arrow would’ve been so fucking embarrassing.

Power is a costume and she was going to sell the fuck out of it.

Chin up. Eyes steady. Her white hair caught the last of the daylight and threw it back.

She realized her face was bruised. Her lip was split. She probably looked like she got in a fight.

With any luck they’d think she fought Cassian and beat his ass.

They moved without a word. The tight nine-wolf formation that had just shifted a few minutes ago broke apart like bowling pins after a strike.

"Pack?" the man at the registration table asked without looking up.

"Lunaris."

He glanced up and took her in: face, hair, body, outfit, six wolves, and the very loud absence of an Alpha or prince.

She held her face firm and waited.

"Lunaris wing. East corridor. Third floor. Your supplies arrived yesterday," he said after a moment.

Easy enough.

Guinevere turned the corner.

Across the hall, one of Nicholas’s men paused mid-stride. Could have sworn he saw... no. Nope. Trick of the light. Had to be.

If hindsight was a bitch on wheels, this moment was the bitch putting it in sixth gear.

Add it to the list.

By six forty-five that evening, four kings, one wolf princess, one prince, two Betas, and three master mages had each produced at least one world-class fuck-up they were still unaware of.