"You didn't balance the tariff sheets for the Ironwood crossing," Cael barked, slamming a thick leather folder onto the library desk.

I didn't lift my eyes from the book in my lap. "I balanced them three weeks ago. You merely failed to review the third sub-ledger."

"There are eight different ledgers!" He grabbed a handful of papers, his gray eyes bloodshot, hair unkempt. "The grain guilds are screaming, the northern lords want their timber rebates, and half the clan chiefs are threatening to pull their garrison troops. Why isn't there a single clean summary?"

"There was," I turned a page. "I kept it in my head. You only ever had to sign your name."

Cael threw the parchment down. "You did this on purpose. You organized the entire estate so only you could run it."

"I ran it because you were busy drinking in border taverns," I said. "Now it's yours. Enjoy your domain, Alpha."

A knock rattled the library doors before he could reply.

Elder Brand squeezed through, bowing so fast his spine curved. "Alpha Cael! Lord Elias has crossed the courtyard with his vanguard. The negotiation feast starts in twenty minutes."

Cael grimaced, running a rough hand over his face. "Tell the kitchen to bring out the reserve wine. I'll be down shortly."

"Lord Elias?" Brand swallowed hard. "He didn't bring diplomats, Alpha. He brought trade arbiters. He expects the revised border treaty signed tonight."

Cael stiffened. For five years, I handled every renegotiation with the neighboring territory. Cael didn't even know their current export quotas.

"Get dressed, Serafina," Cael ordered, turning back toward me.

"No."

"You are still the Lady of this house until the council ratifies your petition," his voice grated, thick with frustration. "You will sit at the high table and smile."

"I will attend," I shut my book with a firm thud. "Not for you. But because Elias represents people who actually honor their treaties."

***

The Great Hall buzzed with quiet unease.

Candles flickered in iron sconces along the walls, casting jagged shadows across the assembled nobles. Across the center aisle, Lord Elias sat straight in dark charcoal wool. Unlike Cael's wild, unbuttoned arrogance, Elias carried himself with quiet authority. His amber eyes watched the room like a hawk tracking prey.

I sat at the far end of the dais, far from Cael.

Lyra occupied the chair right beside him. She wore a shimmering silver gown with a plunging neckline, leaning her head against Cael's shoulder as if marking her territory.

When the servers brought out the roasted venison, Lyra stood up.

She picked up a crystal goblet filled to the brim with dark red vintage and swayed toward my table.

Several clan elders stopped chewing, their eyes darting between us.

"A toast," Lyra said loudly, her voice ringing over the chatter. "To our dear Lady Serafina."

I rested my chin on my palm, watching her.

She stopped right in front of me, tilting the goblet just enough that wine splashed onto the linen cloth near my wrist.

"It must be so exhausting," Lyra smiled sweetly, leaning down so only the front tables could hear her venom. "Running around with dusty ledgers, pretending you matter, when you can't even hold onto your own Alpha."

A few younger wolves at the side tables snickered into their cups.

Cael sat twenty feet away. He took a sip of his wine, his expression stone cold, offering not a single word of reprimand. He wanted me shamed. He wanted me to realize that without him, I was nothing.

I didn't cringe. I didn't reach for a napkin to wipe the spilled wine.

Instead, I raised my voice, cold and ringing.

"Captain Gary."

My guard stepped out of the shadow behind my chair. "My Lady."

"Escort this woman out of the hall," I said clearly. "And strip her of guest status in House Morwyn."

Lyra gasped, clutching her goblet to her chest. "How dare you! Alpha Cael invited me!"

"Alpha Cael holds military command," I replied, standing up smoothly. "The Lady of the house governs domestic hospitality and estate registry. And according to pack law, no guest may reside in the Lord's manor while actively defrauding the provincial treasury."

The hall fell dead silent.

Lyra blinked, color draining from her cheeks. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father owns three textile warehouses in the lower district, does he not?" I asked, pulling a small folded parchment from my velvet pouch. "Under the surname Vance, he claimed total crop failure during the autumn freeze to dodge twenty thousand gold crowns in trade taxes."

Lyra stepped back, shaking her head. "That's a lie!"

"The manifests were stamped by your uncle at the river docks," I laid the paper flat on the table for all the elders to see. "I completed the audit this morning. By pack statute, harboring a confirmed tax evader's direct kin in the manor incurs immediate forfeiture of all guest privileges."

I pointed toward the heavy arched exit.

"Throw her out," I commanded the guards. "And seize her father's warehouses at dawn."

Gary stepped forward, clamping an iron grip on Lyra's silk-covered arm.

"Cael!" Lyra wailed, thrashing against Gary's hold, real tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "Cael, stop her! She's humiliating me!"

Cael slammed his goblet onto the table. Wine sloshed over the rim.

"Serafina, that is enough," Cael snapped, rising from his seat, his Alpha aura rolling outward like heavy smoke. "Release her. I grant her family amnesty."

"You cannot grant amnesty without council quorum," I stated without taking a single step back. "Read your own laws, Cael."

"I am the Alpha!" Cael snarled, stepping down from the dais. "My word overrides your petty bookkeeper rules—"

"Actually, it doesn't."

A deep, smooth voice cut through Cael's fury.

Lord Elias leaned back in his high-backed chair, tapping his fingers against the table. His amber eyes flicked from Cael to me, completely unimpressed by Cael's display of power.

"Territorial law states it very clearly, Alpha Cael," Elias said, his tone casual, almost conversational. "Estate jurisdiction rests solely with the Lady's seal until a formal trial revokes her title. Your mate is simply enforcing pack statute. Unless, of course, House Morwyn considers fraud an acceptable standard for nobility?"

Cael froze mid-step.

His fists clenched so tight his knuckles popped. He glared at Elias, his chest heaving, but the words died in his throat. Challenging a neighboring Alpha over a common dancer's tax fraud would ruin the trade alliance entirely.

"Take her away," I told Gary.

Gary dragged a sobbing Lyra through the double doors, the heavy oak thudding shut behind them.

Murmurs erupted across the banquet floor. The elders leaned toward one another, whispering in shock.

For five years, no one had ever spoken on my behalf against Cael. Not the council. Not the clan heads. No one.

Yet an Alpha from a rival border had just silenced Cael with a single sentence.

Cael stood frozen on the steps, his jaw twitching violently as he glared at Elias, then back at me. He looked like he wanted to rip the room apart, but his hands were tied.

Without another word, I picked up my wine, took a slow sip, and sat down.

***

When the banquet finally concluded, the nobles drifted out into the cold night air.

I stood by the east balcony, letting the chilly mountain breeze cool the heat lingering on my skin.

"You handle a room better than most warlords, Lady Serafina."

I turned.

Lord Elias stood a few paces away, his hands resting easily in the pockets of his dark coat. A faint, intriguing smile touched his lips.

"You took a risk back there, Lord Elias," I said. "Cael does not take public embarrassment lightly."

"Cael was acting like an undisciplined pup," Elias replied smoothly, stepping closer.

He stopped two feet in front of me and extended a broad, calloused hand.

"I have spent three years listening to northern merchants praise the mind running House Morwyn," Elias said, his amber eyes locking onto mine with undisguised respect. "I always heard Cael had an exceptionally capable wife. Today, I finally saw it for myself."

I looked down at his outstretched hand, then placed my fingers in his grip. His touch was warm, steady, and carried none of the suffocating pressure Cael always exerted.

"Thank you, Lord Elias."

"Call me Elias," he answered softly, his thumb brushing the side of my knuckles before letting go. "And if you ever tire of cleaning up a boy's messes, my territory has an open seat on our high trade council."

A sharp growl shattered the quiet behind us.

Cael stood at the corridor archway, half-hidden by the pillars. His eyes burned with violent, possessive rage, his face darker than thunder as he watched Elias looking down at me.