The council chamber of the Blood Rivers Pack was heavy with silence, its walls lit by the faint glow of oil lamps. The carved table of black oak stretched long, where the elders had gathered, faces lined with age, wisdom and in that moment, unease.

Janet sat at one end, her hands clasped tightly together, knuckles white. Beside her was Gerald, the father of the Alpha-to-be, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of worry. Both parents bore the same haunted look, the look of wolves who had raised a monster and now feared what they had unleashed.

“She is cruel,” Janet said, her voice breaking in the tense quiet. “Cold beyond reason. She killed her brother without hesitation. And now the other lies broken, perhaps never to heal. Is this the kind of Alpha who will lead us? She does not care for the pack. She does not even care for her own blood.”

Gerald exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “I tried to speak to her too. There is no reasoning with Valta. She listens only to herself. She feels nothing like the little pup I knew her to be.” His eyes lifted to the elders, searching their faces. “We ask you, is this truly what is best for Blood Rivers? To give the crown to a daughter who wears death like a cloak?”

A murmur rippled across the table. Some elders nodded, their expressions grim, but others sat with unreadable calm.

It was Elder Harkan who finally leaned forward, his gnarled hands resting on the table’s edge. His eyes, pale and sharp as moonlight, studied them with quiet authority.

“You speak as parents,” Harkan said, his voice steady, carrying weight through the chamber. “But we must speak as wolves.” He paused, letting the silence settle. “The Alpha is not chosen by kindness. The Alpha is not measured by mercy. The Alpha is forged by strength.”

Janet’s breath caught. “Strength without heart is tyranny.”

Harkan’s gaze flickered to her, unflinching. “Perhaps. But weakness invites death swifter still.”

Another elder, Maren, lifted her chin. “Valta stood against her brothers and defeated them. One she killed, the other she broke. By our laws, that makes her rightful heir. Cruelty or not, she has earned her place.”

“She is feared,” Gerald countered, his voice rising, a growl beneath the words. “But will fear alone hold loyalty? Will wolves follow her because they respect her, or because they are too afraid to resist?”

“Both,” Harkan said simply. “And fear, Gerald, has led packs longer than love ever has.”

The chamber fell into uneasy silence again. The elders exchanged looks, some troubled, some firm. At last, Elder Maren spoke once more.

"The Alpha ceremony is not ours to deny her. She has claimed victory with her claws, with her will. Our traditions do not bend for grief or parental sorrow.” Her eyes shifted toward Janet, softening only slightly. “You may see a daughter. But we see an Alpha. And the pack must survive, no matter the cost.”

Janet lowered her head, tears glistening but unshed. She had come hoping for reprieve, for someone to take this burden from her hands. But all she found were walls, laws carved in stone and elders too bound to break them.

Gerald’s hand closed over hers beneath the table, steady but heavy with defeat. He whispered, only for her: “She will be Alpha. Nothing will stop it now.”

While the elders’ voices droned in the chamber, weighed down with talk of tradition and fear, Valta already knew of their little gathering. She knew her parents would scurry like frightened mice, appealing to the old wolves to strip her of what she had already claimed.

It did not concern her.

With or without their blessing, she would be Alpha. No voice, no law, no plea could take that from her.

And so, instead of wasting thought on the weak worries of her parents, Valta turned her mind to more… interesting matters.

Her chambers were lit in golden lamplight, the air heavy with the scent of pine and smoke. She sat sprawled on the edge of her bed, long legs crossed, her eyes following the movements of the servant boy tasked with arranging her space. He was clumsy, so clumsy. The clatter of cutlery struck the stone floor again, echoing sharply. His hands shook as he bent to gather the silver, and when he straightened, his eyes refused to meet hers.

Valta smiled.

How delicious it was, the way he trembled. As if he already knew what she intended for him.

She rose slowly, her presence filling the room, and the boy froze, a deer caught in the shadow of the predator. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Do you always make such a mess,” she murmured, her voice low, silken, “or is it only in my room?”

He stammered, words breaking. “I..I’m sorry, my Alpha, I...”

Valta closed the distance between them with languid grace, her eyes never leaving his face. She reached out, one finger under his chin, tilting his head up until he was forced to look at her. His eyes, wide and uncertain, reflected the storm she carried inside.

“Do not apologize,” she whispered, her lips curving. “You have already given me something far more valuable than order.”

His breath hitched.

“I don’t care if you belong to another,” she continued, her tone turning darker, hungrier. “Tonight, you belong to me.”

Her hand slid from his chin down to his chest, fingers splayed over the frantic beat of his heart. She could smell his fear mingled with something sweeter, something he tried to hide. Desire.

The boy shivered beneath her touch, powerless against the force that was Valta. She reveled in it, the taste of control, the thrill of taking what she wanted without question or consequence. To her, he was no more than a vessel to pour her hunger into, no more than the fleeting heat to quench a Queen who bowed to no one.