The etiquette hall of the Silver Crown was a vision of understated elegance, a stark contrast to the wild splendor of the castle's courtyards. Its high ceilings were adorned with frescoes of wolves weaving through starry skies, their forms outlined in silver leaf that caught the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Long tables of polished ebony stretched the length of the room, set with an intimidating array of silver cutlery, porcelain plates rimmed with gold, and goblets etched with the snarling wolf emblem of the United Packs. The air carried a faint scent of lavender from bowls of dried flowers placed strategically to calm the nerves, though the tension among the twenty girls was palpable as they filed in, their elemental gowns shimmering under the soft glow.
Ember took her seat near the end of the table, her scarlet silk gown with flame-embroidered bodice catching the light, her amber-beaded braids clicking softly. The pendant pulsed warm against her chest, a reminder of her dual nature and hidden gifts stirring like flames beneath her skin. Sara sat beside her, fidgeting with the lace hem of her orange gown, her shy eyes darting to the bewildering array of forks and spoons. Mira and Lira, whispered excitedly, their crimson dresses vibrant, while Sable, lounged with casual confidence in her slit gown. Aria, led the Aero Claws with poised elegance in her swirling blue silks, Riven, seventeen, soon to be 18, exuded grounded strength in green velvet, and Liora flowed in teal, her pearl necklaces glinting.
Vera stood at the head of the table, her gray wool dress austere but adorned with a silver wolf pin. Her sharp eyes scanned the group, her braid swinging as she clapped for attention. "Today, you begin your transformation into queens," she announced, her voice crisp as autumn frost. "A mate to Prince Haven must navigate the court with grace, wielding etiquette as a weapon sharper than any blade. We start with the basics: dining. The wrong fork can signal ignorance; the right one, power."
Ember found the lesson mundane, her quick mind absorbing the rules with the ease of tracking prey in Scorchvale Ridge. Her cunning, honed by years of concealing her dual nature, lent her a knack for observation, noting the subtle differences in cutlery as Vera explained their purpose. Dining etiquette in the Silver Crown was a dance of precision, a code separating the refined from the wild. Each place setting held a small army of utensils: a salad fork with shorter tines for delicate greens, a dinner fork with broader tines for heartier fare, a fish fork with a slight curve for flaky textures, and a dessert fork above the plate. Spoons followed—soup spoons with rounded bowls, teaspoons for stirring, dessert spoons for sweets. Knives varied: a butter knife with a blunt edge, a dinner knife with subtle serration, a fish knife for separating flesh from bone. Goblets were for wine, tumblers for water, never to clink unless toasting the Alpha Sovereigns. Napkins, folded into intricate wolf shapes, were placed on the lap immediately, never tucked into a collar—a faux pas that could draw snickers.
Vera demonstrated, her movements fluid as she lifted a salad fork, her posture straight but relaxed, elbows never touching the table. "The outer utensils are used first, moving inward with each course," she instructed. "Hold your fork in your left hand, tines down, knife in your right for cutting. Never wave or point them—subtlety is strength." She paused, her gaze lingering on Sara, who fumbled her fish fork, dropping it with a clatter. "Precision, not haste," Vera chided gently.
Some girls, particularly the older ones, wielded their utensils with confidence, their experience evident. Aria, her movements performative, corrected an Aero Claw's grip with a condescending, "It's not a spear, darling—grace, not force." Her blue eyes flicked to Sara, smirking, "Some packs clearly never dine beyond campfires." Liora was equally adept, her fluid motions mirroring her water gift, but her kindness was shallow. "Oh, sweet Sara," she cooed, adjusting Sara's napkin, "you'll get it eventually. Not everyone grows up with proper tables." Riven, less polished but steady, mimicked Vera, muttering, "This is pointless, earth doesn't need forks to stand firm." Her companions nodded, casting pitying glances at the Flame Fangs.
The room buzzed with subtle barbs, Aria and Liora using their etiquette prowess to assert dominance. Mira and Lira tried to keep up, their enthusiasm outweighing skill, while Sable scoffed, "I'd rather hunt my meal than fork it." Sara shrank further, her cheeks flushing as she mixed up her dessert and salad forks, earning an AeroClaw's snicker.
Ember watched with cunning, her mind sharp as the knives before her. Kadyn's voice echoed from Scorchvale Ridge—"You're pack, Em"—urging her to protect her own as she'd protected her secret. When Aria leaned over, her voice mock-concerned, "Perhaps the Flame Fangs should stick to roasting sticks," Ember acted, her diplomacy cloaking precision. "Actually, Aria," she said, her voice smooth but edged, "fire refines metal into these forks. Without our flames, your winds would have nothing to polish." She lifted her fish fork with deliberate grace, her posture flawless, meeting Aria's gaze. "And Sara's hands weave baskets that could hold your entire meal, forks included. Skill comes in many forms, don't you think?" Her words parried, praising Sara while chiding Aria's divisiveness, forcing a retreat with a forced laugh. "Of course, dear. Just teasing."
Ember leaned close to Sara, whispering, "Follow my lead—salad fork first, tines down. You've got this." Sara nodded, her grip steadier, a spark of confidence returning. Riven and Liora exchanged glances, reassessing Ember as a subtle force.
The lesson continued, Vera guiding them through napkin etiquette—unfold gently, dab don't wipe and small talk, requiring neutral topics like the weather or the Old Spirits. "A queen listens more than she speaks," Vera said, her eyes lingering on Ember, who nodded thoughtfully. When an attendant suggested a garnet choker over Ember's pendant, she covered it. "It's a Flame Fang heirloom, blessed by the Old Spirits," she said, her voice firm but pleading. "It anchors my fire—surely Prince Haven values tradition?" Vera nodded. "Keep it. But ensure it complements your gown."
As the lesson ended, the girls rose, their dreams of Haven's favor burning bright. Aria whispered of charming him with elegance, Liora of soothing him with grace, Riven of proving her strength. Ember guided Sara, her thoughts on navigating this gilded cage, her cunning her shield