Page 73 of A Warrior's Fate

Isla bit the inside of her cheek to keep from beaming. That was what she needed to focus on—reigning triumphant. She had to hold onto that for as long as possible for a reprieve before she lost her mind.

Even though they’d passed the borders, there were still a few more hours until they reached Io’s Pack Hall. The route they’d taken went around the bustling Imperial City, through the roads with clear views of the towering mountains of the Valkeric ranges where one would find the High Ground, the prison.

As they curved into the outskirts of the city, Isla caught sight of the iconic golden gates that surrounded the Pack Hall, stretching high into the air, near-blinding in the brutal sunlight. A beautiful, behemoth of a structure—the building was at least three times the size than that of Callisto’s. Pack members were buzzing outside of the gates as they approached, reporters and gossips too. As usual.

The boys had since woken up and found themselves looking out the windows at the gathered crowd who wanted to catch sight of the Imperial Heir, mostly. Adrien lifted his hand to wave to them, drawing more of a commotion and sending those reporters and gossips scribbling in their notepads. They’d take anything to record, Isla figured. Even the most professional of journalists were itching to get the inside scoop about what had truly happened between their prince and the woman who was set to be their future queen.

Some parts of the story were even still a mystery to Isla despite having been so close to Adrien and Corinne.

The gates of the hall were nothing like that of the Wilds. They drew open easily, and the vehicle rumbled up the extensive drive and by the long pool of water, sprouted with golden fountains and glittering with sunlight that Isla wished it would be acceptable to jump into.

She leaped to her feet before the van had even come to a stop, her body releasing groans and cracks in celebration of finally being stretched out again. Her head spun from the exhaustion, but despite it, she practically raced down the row of seats, eager to feel the earth beneath her feet, to maybe find a breeze in the open air.

She’d gotten one of the two.

“Shit, it’s hot,” Sebastian cursed, wiping the sweat off his brow as he joined at her side. His shirt, soaked again, was slung around his neck.

“It’s home,” Isla said with a smile, tying her shirt around her waist. But the words also felt…wrong out of her mouth. Out of place. She wouldn’t dawdle on it.

As Adrien came to stand at her other side, Isla’s eyes directed up the many stairs to the opening of the hall’s grand doors. Out of it strode a familiar gangly man, a clipboard tucked under his arm. Of course. Isla’s grin grew as she observed their pack’s liaison walking down the stairs towards them.

Bags under Winslow’s eyes were typical, as was the slight jitteriness he exhibited from drinking too much brew, but the veins spider-webbing his temples told her he’d been more stressed than usual. It didn’t take much thought to figure out why.

“Welcome back,” he greeted the three, a tiredness in his voice saved just for them, residual from the years he’d dealt with them as they grew up “complete animals”.

“Good to be back, Winsy,” Sebastian replied, beaming in a way that made the liaison arch an eyebrow in suspicion. He’d given up trying to deter them from using the nickname.

Before any other comments could be made, the hall’s doors opened again, and Isla’s breath caught as the Imperial Luna came down the stairs. She donned a beautiful maroon dress, cut in a way that was both modest yet left enough skin exposed to keep temperate in the heat. The sudden wind caught perfectly in her long flowing hair.

Despite her closeness to their son and being their closest confidant’s daughter, Isla had never been as friendly with the leaders of their pack, but she’d always been in awe of Imperial Luna Marlane. The easy, powerful grace she exuded. How beloved she was. How kind.

Growing up, through every rigorous lesson in etiquette she’d endured at the helm of the Elders, she’d been taught that the luna was the prime example of everything a she-wolf should be. Been taught about how the role she played at the alpha’s side, the role she played for Io’s people—a foundation of strength, a mother, a caretaker—would be one Isla would need to carry herself to a smaller scale in her own domestic life.

When Isla had a mate and children and was bound to those things and her home as she took care of them, she would try to emulate it…when she was ready for that. To be a mother and…someone’s mate.

Grimacing, she brought her hands together, rubbing her thumb over her palm.

The Imperial Luna greeted Adrien with outstretched arms, pulling her son into a tight, tight hug as if he’d fade away if she loosened her grip. After everything, Isla understood, although, she knew the recent coddling had been driving her friend mad.

Once she pulled away, but not until she could bestow a kiss on his cheek, the Luna turned to the Beta’s children, greeting them both before she focused on Isla.

“Congratulations, Warrior,” she said, her smile as dazzling as her golden-green eyes. As bright as the sun above them.

Isla bowed her head, stomach twisting in nervous knots. How could she be expected to be someone like this?

“Thank you,” she answered, and then noticed Winslow had drifted a few feet away, his hand up and gesturing her over. Praying she didn’t come off as rude, Isla excused herself from the others and went to him. “Yes?”

Winslow kept his voice quiet. “The high general is here and would like to speak with you in the hall.”

Isla’s heart skipped. “The Warrior High General?”

“That is the only high general in Morai, I believe.”

Isla pursed her lips at the sarcasm. “What about?”

“That’s for you two to discuss,” the liaison said, and then, wasting no time, turned on his heel to head up the stairs.

Isla took a deep breath, almost choking on the thickness of the air.

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