Serena walked into the War Summit Camp with disarming grace.
Stares followed her, per usual. But after this morning, this was a cakewalk. In fact, she'd pick doing this naked over the Battle Address.
Gavriel, Hale, and Hyran flanked her, wearing matching male variants of their Drakenfell combat suits.
Hale and Gavriel were immediately recognized, receiving nods and quiet respect by most as they walked past. Mages inclined their heads towards Hyran too.
Serena's lips twitched with restrained pride at all three of them.
Then, they entered the High Council meeting tent. Serena scanned the room, memorizing faces.
She recognized a few, surprising herself. It'd been a minute, but yes, she too was born into this world.
Her father had dealt with several Skardos packs when she was younger, but she had been just a girl. Doubtful they would remember her.
She was wrong.
Recognition sparked in a handful of eyes. Polite nods followed, gazes lingering a fraction longer than necessary, careful not to reveal familiarity. Respect without exposure.
King Viremont entered the tent from the opposite side.
His gaze landed on her immediately. Serena looked past him, as though unaware of his presence.
He did not look away.
The weight of his stare lingered too long, pressing into the space between them until ignoring it became its own kind of acknowledgment. Any longer and it would be strange.
She turned and pretended to just see him looking at her.
She dipped politely.
"I imagined the woman who took my daughter's place would be lacking in every way," he said slowly. "Instead, I find myself distracted by your face, your figure, the way you move. Forgive me. It is unsettling to admire the person you were prepared to hate."
"Your Grace, please excuse me."
She inclined her head just enough to be respectful and stepped past him, deliberately disengaging, as though his words had never reached her at all.
"Your scent is distinct. Impossible to forget."
The tent froze. That was not something you said to a woman unless you were intimate with them.
She was a princess and a mated one. Well, not really. But as far as this tent was concerned, she was.
"I know you from somewhere else," King Viremont continued. "We've met before."
"You are mistaken," Serena said evenly.
"No," he replied, lips curling. "I am not. If Tiberon insists on dangling his son's favorite toy in a den of alphas, he should not be surprised when one of us decides to bite."
King Nightspire stepped between them before anyone else could move, his smile easy, almost pleasant.
"Careful, Reginald," he said lightly. "You already have a reputation for favoring them young. She's barely two years shy of Agnes. Even by your standards, that is… ambitious."
A few sharp breaths followed along with some chuckles.
Viremont's voice cut sharp through the tent. "Get my daughter's name out of your filthy mouth."
Nightspire took another step, placing himself squarely between them and blocking Serena completely from Viremont's view.
"Get your grimy eyes off my niece." Nightspire's voice dropped low, but the whole tent heard. "Mention her scent again, and I promise it will be the last thing you ever do."
Steel rang out across the tent as blades were drawn by everyone except for Serena, Nightspire, and Viremont.
Serena noticed multiple blades pointed at her, a few at Nightspire, and the majority at Viremont.
"Is that a threat, Nightspire?" Viremont demanded.
Nightspire smiled faintly, eyes never warming.
"It is a promise, Reginald, if you do not apologize to my niece. Now."
"Say that again," Viremont snarled. "I dare you."
Nightspire leaned in just enough to be heard, voice silk over steel.
"You rely on our coin to keep your armies fed and borders quiet. You and I both know it, Reginald. Without us, you are a loud man with very few friends."
Viremont's jaw ticked, fury grinding against necessity.
"No offense was meant," he said stiffly, face twisted with disgust.
King Bloodmoon spoke at last, his voice low and ironed flat, cutting through the tension without effort.
"That is enough. Put the blades away. This is a war summit, not a proving ground."
Steel slid back into sheaths, slow and reluctant, men obeying because disobedience did not feel like an option.
"There we are," Nightspire said lightly, clapping Viremont on the back like an old friend. "Not so difficult, was it?"
Viremont's eyes flashed gold for a brief, dangerous moment before he forced his wolf down. It might have been amusing if the stakes had not been real.
King Nightspire turned then, smile easy, all tension forgotten.
"Last time I saw you," he said, holding a hand at chest height, "you were about this tall."
Serena's surprise softened into warmth.
"Uncle Riven," she said, smiling. "It's good to see you."
She began a respectful dip, but Nightspire stopped her and pulled her into a brief, warm hug.
"You as well. I thought you were your mother when you walked in," he said, grinning.
She met his grin with a sad smile. He understood and didn't press.
King Nightspire was someone she had called Uncle, though she had only seen him a handful of times. His territory had been her original destination before everything went wrong, before capture rewrote the path. The fact that he had remembered her at all warmed her chest more than she expected.
She was caught in nostalgia and failed to notice King Shadowclaw stiffen the instant she passed him. It was as if lightning had run straight through him. His body went rigid, breath shallow, eyes locked on her without permission or restraint.
Serena settled into King Tiberon's chair with the Drakenfell sigil carved into it.
She looked up at the same time as Darkhowler sat.
Their reactions mirrored each other. Serena's mouth fell open. His did the same.
The thought hit her like a physical blow. Garrett. Dead.
She and Elara had buried him in memory and blood. She had seen it happen and tried to save him. He died.
She blinked, stunned, breath catching.
They broke eye contact at the same time, both looking away as if that single glance had said far too much.
Nightspire laughed as he clapped Garrett on the back.
"Garrett. I see Darkhowler has been treating you well."
Garrett straightened slightly, a crooked, familiar grin breaking through.
"Riven," he said, respectful but easy. "Still terrifying rooms and collecting secrets, I see."
King Nightspire's eyes flicked knowingly before he laughed again.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost."
Garrett barked out a laugh of his own, shaking his head as if the thought were absurd.
Meanwhile, Hyran mindlinked Hale and Gavriel, words clipped and unimpressed.
Hyran:Five minutes in and we have already had an unplanned family reunion with blades. Charming.
Gav: An uncle. Not relevant at all…. Why did neither think to disclose that?
Hyran: Doubtful it is just him. I have counted three so far she has made eye contact with and looked away abruptly. Very subtle, Serena.
Gav: Viremont should really chat with his daughter. Turns out, he's behind on the latest.
Hale: What is wrong with Shadowclaw?
✦✦✦
Serena crossed the camp with Hale, Gavriel, and Hyran close at her sides. All four wore their hoods up, moving with purpose as they headed straight for Shadowclaw's tent. The guards barely glanced at them before stepping aside.
Serena entered first.
Two crowned men stood mid-conversation. Both froze.
She lowered her hood slowly. The fabric fell away, revealing a crown and hair like fresh snow pulled halfway up, each strand catching the golden glow of firelight.
Then she lifted her gaze.
Green eyes, striking and clear. She was beautiful. Disarmingly so. The kind of beautiful that made men do stupid things.
Finnick Shadowclaw's expression remained neutral, but his fingers tightened against his whiskey.
"Serena Frostborne," Garrett said, already moving toward her. He pulled her into a quick, familiar hug. "In the flesh. And looking significantly less dead than the last time I saw you, which is always a good start to a reunion."
"Or should I say Princess Drakenfell now." He pulled back, grinning.
She gave him a soft smile, warmth flooding her chest. "Good to see you too, Garrett."
"Garrett Darkhowler," he said, turning to the three flanking her. All three looked genuinely surprised by the easy affection between them.
Garrett gestured toward the man still watching Serena with unsettling focus. "This is King Shadowclaw. Fair warning, the last king who tried to renegotiate a deal with him lost the deal, the territory, and his seat at the table. Fin sent him a thank you note after."
"He earned it," Finnick said flatly, though his eyes never left Serena.
Serena dipped into a respectful bow, precise and measured. "It is good to meet you, King Shadowclaw."
His gaze lingered as he answered, voice smooth as dark honey. "Please," he said, taking a single step closer, "call me Fin."
Serena lifted her head, her smile warm and effortless. "Of course, Fin. Thank you for receiving us."
His eyes tracked the small gesture. The corner of his mouth curved, barely. Like he'd won something.
Another man entered the tent, presence sharp. Serena recognized him immediately.
King Bloodmoon.
He greeted Hale and Gavriel first with easy familiarity, then turned his attention to her.
Serena offered a polite dip, posture flawless.
He stopped. Blinked. Then his smile turned sharp and assessing. "So you're the one causing all the fuss."
"Apparently," Serena answered.
Bloodmoon grinned. He hadn't expected her to answer.
Finnick Shadowclaw did not sit. He stood near the hearth, sleeves rolled back to his forearms, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. This was his tent, his ground, and everyone felt it.
"You asked for privacy," Finnick said curtly, looking toward Hyran. "You have it. Start talking."
Hyran stepped forward first, expression dry and faintly amused, like a man about to ruin someone's evening.