Chapter 177 – The Gates of Silvercrest
Mara
Silvercrest rises out of the snow like arrogance carved into stone. The walls don’t huddle for warmth the way most strongholds do. They reach for the sky, polished pale until they catch every scrap of light and throw it back at the world.
Even the frost looks rehearsed, arranged to flatter the architecture. The message is clear. We’re very important.
Wolves watch from the ramparts as we approach the gates. Kieran slows first, shifting to human before we get too close. The act is deliberate. No weapon, no fur, just contrition on display. He’s very good at pretending to crawl.
Ronan keeps pace behind him, cloak dragging through slush.
Every line of his body portrays exhaustion. The mask of an Alpha forced into diplomacy. It’s theater, but the kind that leaves splinters under the skin. I can smell the resentment on him.
Eli walks beside him, smaller frame, eyes cast down demurely. It says something that his act is the most jarring to me.
I see the way Alaric’s men glance at him and then away, unsure if they should stare or bow. They choose the latter just to be safe.
Hazel and Jace flank the rear, shadows that move when I move. Our formation looks casual. It isn’t. Every step is a calculated distance. Close enough to defend, far enough not to threaten.
The gates open with the sound of steel screaming against stone. Considering the opulence everywhere else, I’m sure it’s an intimidation tactic.
“Welcome home, Lord Kieran.” The captain bows stiffly. His eyes are completely devoid of sentiment. That’s how you know they’re loyal to fear, not to family.
“My father knows of our arrival?” Kieran’s voice is calm, but I can hear the tremor in it.
“He awaits your party in the great hall, my lord. He sends his greetings.”
I doubt that.
We cross the courtyard. The snow here has been swept into perfect circles, no footprints, no dirt.
The servants standing along the walls look like they’ve been carved there. No scent of hope, no chatter. Just that faint, steady perfume of obedience. I wonder how many of them remember what laughter sounds like.
Inside, heat slams into me. Pine smoke, polish, too much perfume.
It would appear that wealth has a smell. Sweet and rotten at the same time.
Alaric waits at the far end of the hall, seated on a dais pretending not to be a throne. He’s younger than I expected, or maybe just well-preserved by vanity.
Hair silver-streaked, eyes like frozen smoke. He smiles as we approach, and every instinct in me wants to bare my teeth. I bow instead.
“My errant son returns. What a lucky man I am,” he says, the warmth in his tone the kind used for toying with prey.
Kieran kneels. “I apologize for not informing you of my departure, Father. I went off hoping to broker peace and didn’t want to disappoint you again if I failed.”
“Peace?” Alaric rises, smooth and slow. “You bring Blackthorn wolves into my hall and call it peace?”
Ronan steps forward, voice level. “I requested a conversation and you agreed, Alaric. Kieran didn’t drag me here. He did help me see that there was no way to keep avoiding the inevitable though.”
Their gazes lock. It’s like watching chaos see itself and grin in delight. The air between them thickens until my teeth ache from the tension.
Eli shifts slightly, drawing the attention like he means to.
When Alaric’s eyes land on him, I feel the temperature drop. That look isn’t curiosity, it’s ownership waiting to be declared.
Ronan’s shoulders stiffen so hard, I can see his back muscles through is shirt. His control hums through the pack link, all edges and discipline. I keep breathing for all of us.
Alaric steps down from the dais, pacing around us with the patience of something that means to take what isn’t his.
“Blackthorn sends its Alpha to bargain,” he muses. “Tell me, what will you offer that could buy my forgiveness?”
Ronan doesn’t blink. “A compromise. An equal claim to my Omega.”
The words taste wrong even to me. Alaric’s smile widens. “You propose to share what is mine already?”
Eli’s breath hitches, but Ronan, to his credit, doesn’t move. “Half the year in Blackthorn, half here,” he says. “Peace for both our packs.”
“And the property in question, does it speak for itself?”
Eli lifts his chin, but his voice wobbles when he speaks. “I’m right here.”
Silence rings out like struck metal. My pulse jumps. If Alaric lashes out, I’ll be first across the room, etiquette be damned.
But he only laughs, soft and condescending. “You seem to wear your collar proudly. I like my property to be well-trained.”
Eli’s voice is so soft, I can barely hear his words. “I take pride in belonging to a powerful Alpha.”
I want to groan. He’s either going to save us all or start the war early.
Alaric studies him another moment, then looks back to Ronan.
“We’ll speak more tomorrow. Tonight, you rest. My son will ensure your comfort since he seems so invested in peace between us.”
Comfort. The word curdles in my stomach.
He gestures, and a servant appears from nowhere, head bowed, hands folded.
“Escort our guests to the east wing.”
The corridors are wide enough to ride horses through. Each torch burns with unnatural steadiness. No flickering flame, no smoke. Control that precise is unnatural. So is everything else around here.
Kieran walks ahead with the servant and Ronan and Eli follow close behind him. I stay at Ronan’s flank, scanning our surroundings.
The scent of snow is strongest above the doorframes. There are vents cut into the stone, pretending to be for fresh air. I’m sure they’re actually listening holes. Alaric likes to collect secrets.
When we reach our assigned rooms, the guard announces, “Prepared for your comfort, my lord. Some food has been set out.” He bows and leaves before we can thank him.
Inside, the chambers are obscene. Fire roaring, rugs thick as moss, food laid out like it’s a mid-summer feast. I count three decanters of wine, one already uncorked. Poison would be too simple for Alaric, but I check anyway.
Eli stands in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the luxury with disgust. “He decorates like a man trying to bury the smell of his own gluttony. Did you see how terrified all the servants are?”
Ronan touches his elbow, shocking everyone by being the voice of reason. “You should eat something.”
“Later.” Eli crosses to the window, staring out at the snow. Seeing slaves here has to bring back memories of his life in Ashgrave.
I move to the wall near the hearth and run a hand along the paneling. Hollow. “There are eyes in here,” I say quietly.
Hazel, already crouched by the drapes, finds one of the slits. “Three so far.”
“Good. Let them watch.” I sit by the fire and stretch my legs in front of me. “If they think we’re calm, they’ll relax.”
Ronan doesn’t answer. He stands by the window with Eli. Their heads are close together and the tension in his body eases fractionally when Eli leans his head against his shoulder.
Kieran paces near the hearth, too restless to sit. “He’s testing us already.”
“Then don’t blink,” I tell him. “He’s waiting for a flinch. We stick to our plan, no matter what he throws at us.”
He stops pacing, taking deep breaths to calm his jittery movements. “You’re right,” he says, jaw set.
I usually am, but I won’t trouble him with that right now.
Jace drops into a chair opposite me, boots up on the table. “How long until he springs the trap?”
“Tomorrow night, during the feast,” Kieran answers without hesitation.
I glance at him. “You’re sure?”
“I know him.”
That’s all he says, and it’s enough.
Hours pass. The fire burns low, and the castle settles into its counterfeit quiet. Hazel pretends to sleep, her knife within easy reach. Jace watches the flames with half-lidded eyes. I keep my seat facing the door.
Ronan and Eli are wrapped around each other on the bed. Neither sleeping, just breathing each other in. Their bodies overlap until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The sight steadies something in me.
We’ve made it through the gate. Tomorrow, we smile for the monster.
“Sleep while you can,” I tell them quietly. “He’ll want a show tomorrow.”
Outside, wind rattles the shutters like a warning. Inside, no one answers, but we all hear it.