THE tall oaks surrounding the Georgios estate danced to the tune of the evening breeze, their golden leaves rustling with grace and purpose, just like the man within the high, iron-wrought gates. The manor stood proud, he was a grand testament to old money, older bloodlines, and ancient loyalty. Torch-lit lanterns flickered on every column of the colonnade, casting long shadows across the marble floor of the open courtyard.

Archon Georgios stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching two young sparring warriors on the training ground behind the manor. His sharp eyes followed their movements, his lips tightly drawn, a silent judge and master of discipline.

His daughter, Phoenix, sat with her mother, Lady Callista, beneath a pergola shrouded in grape vines, sipping a goblet of dark wine and watching her father.

“Too slow,” Georgios barked suddenly, startling the younger of the two boys. “Did you learn nothing from last week’s drills, Dorian? Anticipate. Don’t just defend. Strike before the threat thinks of hitting you!”

“Yes, Archon!” both boys responded in unison, quickly correcting their footwork and getting back into motion.

Phoenix rolled her eyes slightly and exchanged a look with her mother, but neither dared speak a word. To speak against his methods was to disrespect centuries of tradition. Archon Georgios was not just a nobleman, he was the embodiment of the Old Code, a living pillar of the pack’s unshakable hierarchy.

“You watch over them like hawks,” Callista said gently as he strode over to join them.

“And they still don’t see the blade coming until it is at their neck,” he muttered, accepting the goblet Phoenix poured for him. He did not sit. He rarely ever did. “We are surrounded by softness. Privilege has bred weakness into our youth.”

Phoenix gave a tight smile.

“Perhaps it is because the threat has been absent, Father. No rogue has breached our lands in years.”

“The absence of wolves does not mean the forest is safe,” he replied sharply, his voice cold and gravelly. “The moment we believe there is no threat is the moment we fall. It is the moment enemies strike! And you—” his gaze lingered on Phoenix, who straightened in her chair immediately, “—will soon sit beside the Alpha. You will not be permitted softness.”

“I understand,” she said, her smile gone.

“You will be more than a bride,” he added, lifting his goblet to his lips. “You will be a queen in every essence. The future of this Pack rests on how you carry yourself beside him.”

He turned toward the horizon as the last sliver of the sun dipped behind the trees, his eyes distant, perhaps remembering days long past, perhaps watching for enemies only he still believed in.

A hush fell over the courtyard.

Then a footman hurried across the tiles, bowing low.

“Archon Georgios,” the boy panted, hand across his chest. “A messenger just arrived from the palace. The Alpha requests your presence immediately.”

Without a word, the Archon handed his goblet to Phoenix, his expression unchanged.

He nodded once.

“Prepare my cloak.”