carried across 49

 

49 Extra Warrior 

Fenris 

Yesterday evening. One hour before I walked into Sera’s hallway and found Lord Torin trying to give orders in my fortress. 

The scent of southern perfume was a thick, rotting sweetness in the cold mountain air. It smelled of vanilla and crushed flowers, mixed with the sharp, bitter tang of raw panic. I smelled her before she even stepped out of the shadows. 

I was walking down the lower residential corridor. Yvara was beside me. We had just finished discussing the yard rotations for the next morning. The stone walls were freezing, radiating the deep chill of the 

mountain. 

The Queen of Valdris stepped out from the intersecting hallway leading to the guest wing. 

She did not walk out with the grace of a royal. She stepped out quickly, her heavy blue silk skirts dragging across the rough stone floor. Two Valdris guards followed her. They stopped the moment they saw me. Their hands twitched toward their sword hilts, but they did not draw. They knew better. They stayed back, pressing themselves against the wall. 

Sera’s mother stood in the middle of the corridor, blocking my path. 

I did not stop immediately. I took three more steps, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. I stopped only when I was close enough to see the rapid pulse beating in her throat. 

“Alpha Volkov,” she said. Her voice shook. She tried to steady it, pulling her shoulders back to mimic authority. It failed. 

“Make it quick,” I said. 

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She flinched at the bluntness. In the South, they padded their sentences with titles and useless pleasantries. I had no patience for it. 

“I need to speak with you,” she said. She glanced at Yvara. “Privately.” 

Yvara let out a low, dry scoff. She leaned her back against the cold stone wall and crossed her arms. She did not move an inch. 

“My second stays,” I said. “Speak.” 

The Queen swallowed hard. She gripped her hands together in front of her waist. Her knuckles were white. “This duel tomorrow. It cannot happen. You must pull her out of it.” 

“I do not have to do anything,” I said. 

“She is my daughter,” the Queen said, her voice rising in pitch. “She is a princess of Valdris. You cannot let her walk into a fighting ring like a common animal. You have the power to stop this. You are the Alpha. Draw her out of the duel.” 

1/2 

+25 Bonus 

“She accepted the challenge,” I said. My voice was flat. “In Ironmaw, you do not back out of a challenge. If she backs out, she proves to the entire pack that she is a coward. She proves she is weak.” 

“She is weak!” the Queen blurted out. The words echoed down the empty corridor. 

She realized what she said and quickly shook her head, trying to correct her mistake. “I do not mean she is weak. I mean she is not built for this. She is not one of your people. She does not know your laws. You don’t need to do this to her. You don’t need to put her on display.” 

I watched her face. She was terrified. But she was calculating, too. She was choosing her words carefully. She did not want to insult me directly. She knew her husband, King Aldric, needed this border alliance to hold. If she insulted me and broke the treaty, Aldric would likely banish her. She was walking a very thin line between begging for her daughter and preserving her own status. 

“I am not putting her on display,” I said. “She threw a punch at a council chief’s daughter. She earned the challenge herself.” 

The Queen stepped closer. The smell of her perfume was overpowering. “I saw what happened in the training yard today. I saw how she was being treated.” She looked at Yvara with open disgust. “Your second beat her into the dirt, and left her bleeding.” 

Yvara did not react. She just stared back with blank, dead eyes. 

“She was training,” I said. 

“That is not training!” The Queen’s composure cracked. Her voice turned shrill. “That is torture! Why are you allowing something like that? She is supposed to be your bride. Are you ever planning on making her your Luna, or are you just trying to add an extra warrior to your platoon?” 

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