Page 2 of A Warrior's Fate

The Heir’s tribulations of the mate variety had been the hottest pack news and gossip for the past year. Even this gathering was one of the earliest events Adrien had been to since the unbinding and his own personal hell that followed. It was one of the rare times Isla had seen him as of late.

Callan coughed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

There was the smallest downturn of Adrien’s lips. A flicker of words that would remain unspoken in his eyes. “Well, may the Goddess bless you both with a bountiful future,” he said with sincerity but also a finality in his tone.

And following the words, he turned his attention to Isla.

The air of moroseness was no more as he put his uniform grin back on and cleared his throat, knowing what had to come next. Isla glared at him but having been drilled in etiquette since she was a pup, knew her place. She dipped her head.

Adrien was all too happy about it. “Milady.”

Isla wrinkled her nose. What the ever-loving-fuck was that address?

Adrien, with his own look of distaste, spun back to Callan and the trainee. “May I steal her a moment?”

Isla grabbed Adrien’s arm with a huff, sick of his act and being amongst this group of males. “Yes, you may.”

She could hear her friend chuckling as she dragged him away, likely the only person in the room who’d get away with the manhandling of high royalty.

As the two dove into the depths of the gathering, past the attendees and the bustling staff setting the grand table up in the middle of the room for the feast, Adrien’s laughter quieted. “Do I sound like as much of a pompous ass as I think I do?”

Isla dropped his arm. “More so than usual."

Adrien scoffed. “I never want to address you—or anyone—as Milady again. I’m burning Winsy’s Pack Relations Code Encyclopedia and leaving the ashes in his front yard. I don’t need to sound like I have a stick up my ass to be a good Alpha.” He veered in a different direction, and Isla followed. “You’re welcome, by the way. You looked like you were ready to kill him.”

“No, not murder. Maim him, maybe. I’m surprised you both fit in this hall with your giant heads,” she jeered, trailing her gaze around the party’s patrons. “And speaking of a disproportionate number of inflated egos, where’s my brother?”

Adrien left her in suspense as they approached the open bar. He called the tender for a spiced gin while Isla ordered herself a glass of wine before situating himself behind the counter’s decorative willow, shielding himself from the eyes of the room.

“I don’t think I even need to answer that,” he finally said.

Isla retched, regretting the inquiry, very aware of her sibling’s lack of self-control and favor with women. “We haven’t even eaten yet.”

A mischievous look lit up Adrien’s face, an innuendo most likely on the tip of his tongue.

“Don’t,” she chided, leaning back against the bar and looking out at the floor.

There weren’t many unmated wolves at this gathering, from what she could see and sense, but enough for a few to pair off, had the desire risen. She wasn’t that desperate tonight, though it had been quite a while, thanks to training…

“I’m surprised you’re not off screwing someone,” she said to Adrien. “That waitress seems just your type.”

The Heir peered around his plant-formed shelter to follow Isla’s gaze to the woman setting up the centerpieces on the table. Long legs, caramel skin, chestnut hair—probably not the best comment for Isla to offer, given how much she looked like Corinne.

Adrien’s eyes drew lengths up and down the waitress’s lithe body, considering, and thankfully, not frowning. Instead, he settled back in his spot. “If it was easy for me to sneak away, I’d consider it, but my father would rescind my title and probably have my head if I do anything off the book to make the Imperial Council question me. Even baseless rumors by pack gossips are enough for Winslow to pop by my house to ‘have a chat’.”

The last of his words came out mockingly, a perfect impersonation of Io’s Head of Pack Relations and Interpack Liaison. The poor official had been the butt of all their jokes and receiving end of their mischief since they were kids.

Isla sighed. “Have to keep the hierarchy looking polished.”

Adrien grunted. “Goddess, help me.”

As they lost themselves in another conversation, Adrien giving Isla more crucial tips for finding the safest routes through the Wilds and achieving the fastest kill in the Hunt, the bartender brought over their drinks. They were gone quickly, both realizing they were just about ready for the night to end—or at least blur—before it had truly started.

“I think they’ve had me placed next to the new Alpha of Deimos,” Adrien said after Isla had asked him about the feast’s seating arrangements.

“Deimos?” Her voice went high. The kingdom’s name was enough to send a shudder down her spine.

She glanced around, the discussion feeling taboo this soon. The next person at the bar was a few feet away, although for wolves, that barely meant inches. But as they weren’t mates, it wasn’t possible for Isla and Adrien to share thoughts or exchange unspoken communication. Not unless they shifted and conversed as only their wolves could.

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