Embers In The North
4

Reyna’s fingers fumbled with the fastenings of her Prussian blue long-sleeve Fang suit, a rare moment of self-consciousness gnawing at her.

The attire was a practical necessity, providing her the agility she required as a Fang. Yet, its constricting embrace had always irked her. The way it hugged her every curve felt more stifling than empowering. Despite the snug fit, it boasted an insulating layer that defied the biting cold, a feature that often spared her from the need for a cumbersome cloak.

But Icehelms rarely felt the cold, unless of course, on days like this.

The reflection in the mirror caught her attention as she adjusted her suit’s collar. Her own gaze met hers, and she felt a sudden rush of irritation. She wasn’t one to care about appearances. Yet, there she stood, fussing over the alignment of her suit, a traitorous seed of doubt planted by none other than Roth Maynord himself. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

Not that she considered herself unattractive – she was well aware of her features, shaped by both her lineage and relentless training. But the opinions of others, especially males who chose to judge a female’s worth by their superficial physical attributes weren’t something she concerned herself with.

Her mother, a woman of wisdom and abilities granted by Mimir himself, bestowed her more than just the heritage of their bloodline. It was a legacy of strength, knowledge, and a touch of enchantment that flowed through her veins. Abilities hidden from prying eyes, kept close to her heart and only used when absolutely necessary. She had no intention of revealing them, especially not in the face of those who might exploit them for their own gain.

Or worse, kill her as a possible Luna.

Snatching the honeycomb pin adorning her hair, a cherished keepsake from her mother, she slid it out with deft fingers. The golden emblem glinted in the soft light, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the weight of memories and tradition. With a heavy exhale, she set the pin on the dressing table and reached for the intricate leather cords that would tie her hair in its usual no-nonsense braid. The firelight played upon the silver strands, casting shadows that danced like fleeting phantoms on the walls.

Reyna’s fingers deftly worked on the cords of her hair, weaving them into a utilitarian braid that fell down her back. She marched to the other side of her bedroom, where an assortment of blades gleamed in the dim yellow light. They were her trusted companions, each with a history of battles fought and victories won.

The black falchion blades called to her, and she took a moment to admire their craftsmanship. The golden grips felt familiar in her hands, grounding her as she prepared for the confrontation. With a practised motion, she sheathed the blades at her thighs, ready to draw them at a moment’s notice.

She spared a final glance at the mirror before starting out of her quarters.

As she left, her footsteps echoing through the stone halls of the west wing’s corridor, her mind wandered. She saw through Bandos’s intentions – the ploy to manipulate her into a public apology, thinly veiled as a gesture of welcoming the House of Maynord. But she was no pawn; she was a Prime, a leader, and a female of unwavering conviction.

Reyna traversed the hallowed halls of the Mithril Obelisk. The polished walls of black opal, adorned with intricate gem-filled runes that came alive in even the faintest light. She cut through the ramparts that connected the western wing to the heart of the Obelisk and reached the Great Hall in no time.

As she arrived at the entrance, the grand doors swung open for her, revealing the assembly within. The room stretched out, its expanse divided by an azure rug that ran from the entrance all the way to the ornate throne at the far end. On both sides of the throne, two majestic frost swallowtail banners hung, their golden sigils catching the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

Perched upon an elegant crystal throne adorned with the spoils of countless triumphs, Bandos, the Warmaster of Egranox, held court. The pelts of his conquests draped over the throne; a testament to his prowess on the battlefield. The chamber itself was steeped in history, its walls adorned with murals depicting legendary battles and the deeds of mighty ancestors.

Before him, the other four Warmasters of the North formed a solemn line, their faces etched with scrutiny as they observed her.

On one side of the hall, the commanders of the various Frostcall Fleets stood in disciplined formation. Clad in their distinctive Fang suits, they represented the military might of the North.

On the opposite side stood the House of Maynord. Their presence was unmistakable and their arrogance obvious. Their posture and expressions bespoke their confidence, perhaps even an expectation of the outcome that was to come.

Reyna stepped onto the azure rug, her falchion blades catching the light as she went. Her gaze stayed on Alpha Roth. She couldn’t deny the electric charge in the air whenever their eyes met, a combination of tension, challenge, and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But she knew better than to let that distract her.

Her steps carried her forward, her gaze steady and her spine straight. As the only female Prime in the entirety of Aupheadia, she was no stranger to the expectations and the challenge of proving her capabilities especially within these walls. Mimir’s teachings echoed in her mind, reminding her of the strength that ran through her veins.

She met Bandos’s gaze. This was a test of her mettle and she was ready for it. She wasn’t just a Prime Commander – she was a bearer of legacy, a guardian of tradition, and a force to be reckoned with.

There was a lingering doubt in her mind that she was more than that. An apprehension about her own abilities, and the possibility of being a Luna, gripped her. Her gaze flitted back to the Alpha, whose presence provided a means of unravelling those uncertainties.

“Alpha, esteemed House of Maynord. I take great honor in introducing to you my finest Fang and the revered Prime Commander of Frostcall,” Bandos said.

The ritual was familiar; it was the same each time he presented her victories or spoils of battle. His pride in her was clear. Yet, amid the commendations, the title of “daughter” remained an omission, a void that stung even as it went unspoken.

“Her formidable presence is a privilege I’ve had, Bandos,” Alpha Roth stated, stepping forward to address her directly.

Once again, he fixed his mismatched gaze on her and she sensed his curiosity behind them. She struggled to suppress her Azure ability. It was almost untamed, responding mysteriously to Roth. She noticed a faint glow around his eyes. She’d missed something about Roth that her Azure ability was roaring for her to notice.

“On behalf of the Northern Territory, I acknowledge the presence of Alpha Roth Maynord and his entourage within the halls of the Mithril Obelisk,” she began. "I welcome you to Frostcall and may Odin bless these winter solstice celebrations.”

“I have heard admirable things about you, Prime,” Roth said with respect. “I must admit, I am thoroughly impressed.”

“Perhaps if the Maynord House hadn’t made it so difficult for females to rise in ranks, you wouldn’t be so impressed by such a minor feat,” she said wryly.

The Omegas’ mocking sneers didn’t deter her. Past Roth’s shoulder, she caught her father’s narrowing gaze; an unspoken admonition threaded through that silent warning.

“Welcome to Egranox, Alpha Roth Maynord, the gracious Alpha of Aupheadia.” She cracked a small smile at the subtle irony, but did not bow. Her gaze swept over the Krelon Omegas. “And of course, the House of Maynord.”

A crass remark cut through the air, spoken by that bald Redfall idiot! “What an insolent female. Nothing a proper fuck won’t fix.”

The comment elicited laughter from the Krelon wolves and even the Frostcall commanders. Her jaw clenched at the provocation but she remained calm, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

But she knew one thing for certain—such behaviour only stoked her father’s rage. In those rare moments when his emotions broke through his stoic façade, she knew he cared for her.

“Morris!” Roth growled. “She is a Prime! Give her the respect she deserves in front of her Warmasters and subordinates!”

Reyna could barely suppress a scoff at his attempt to rein in their audacity. She found the sudden concern ironic. He could not behave with impunity, while expecting his Omegas to meet a different standard.

“Speak such profanities about her again, and you will replace it to be your last, you foul-mouthed cock!” Bandos’s voice thundered, filling the hall with the scourge of his warning.

Reyna knew her father’s words held dual nuances that applied to the Warmasters and other commanders as well as the Omegas. Although she appreciated her father’s defense, she didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her.

In response to her father’s warning, Morris—the bald Omega—rose from his seat and bowed low, offering his apologies to both Bandos and Alpha Roth alike.

“Last I checked, you disrespected me, Morris.” She broke eye contact with Roth and looked directly at him. “The apology is owed to me.”

Morris’ face burned with humiliation, but he maintained poise and fixed his gaze on the floor. “Forgive my disrespect, Prime,” he said in a low voice.

Alpha Roth’s approach drew her attention back to him. Locking her gaze on his looming figure as it cast a commanding shadow over her. Even with that disfiguring scar that marred his face—an enduring testament to legendary exploits—his allure remained undeniable.

“Is there something you want?” she asked, almost shocked by how steady her voice sounded.

His closeness, coupled with his unwavering gaze, made her feel uneasy. The intensity of his scrutiny was almost stifling. What was he trying to figure out? To her chagrin, he sent her heart racing. In a chamber teeming with Omegas, Warmasters, and commanders, each blessed with heightened senses, it felt almost intrusive that they could hear her heart pounding.

Alpha Roth’s gaze dissected her like a puzzle he was determined to solve. Meeting his scrutiny head-on, Reyna took an assertive step forward to establish her space. Her only concern was that a few more steps would put her up against him; she didn’t want that. She wanted him to retreat, to yield ground. But instead of backing away, Alpha Roth leaned in, challenging her to take another step. As she stood there, her heart fluttered, an involuntary response she struggled to suppress.

“You tread too closely for comfort, Alpha Roth. Or have you never seen an Icehelm female before?” Reyna’s question hung in the air, an unspoken challenge that encapsulated their intricate interplay.

Alpha’s eyes darkened, a smirk appearing on his lips as he leaned in, his next words a low whisper. “None quite as lovely as you, Prime.”

She felt her cheeks burn, a fervent warmth coursing through her as his words sent a thrilling shiver down her spine. A sudden urge to touch him possessed her, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. The smirk on Alpha Roth’s face widened into a mischievous grin; he was aware of her visceral response to him.

A dangerous thought flashed in her mind as storms of emotions raged within her. If only she could carve out his heart!

Reyna shifted her attention away from him, sidestepping to face Bandos directly.

“Is this over?” she asked.

Bandos stared at her as he considered her request. “Not yet. There remains the issue of an apology owed to the House of Maynord.”

Alpha Roth turned to Bandos too. “What about that?”

Observing Alpha Roth’s actions with a brief respite from her internal vexation at her father, Reyna’s curiosity was piqued.

“Alpha,” the Ulan Warmaster began with a bow. “It is customary that any Fang found in defiance of the authority of the ruling House of Aupheadia must apologize publicly, while the Warmasters deliberate on whether they get to keep their title. Though stringent, this protocol is essential to maintain order.” Stepping forward, he offered another reverent bow.

Within Reyna, a tempest of frustration surged. Those scheming, conniving Rotbrains, ever poised to seize an opportunity to wrest the Prime title from her! Her Ember power threatened to unleash itself, but she summoned every ounce of control to restrain it. Alpha Roth gave her a sidelong glance as if he could feel her Ember crack beneath the surface.

Bandos leaned forward on his throne. “Uriel, you hasten like a shadow. The potential discussion of stripping her title hinges on the Alpha’s response to her apology. Tread with caution,” he warned. “Alpha Roth, if it pleases you, Reyna will apologize now.”

“I require no apology from the Prime,” Alpha Roth said. “All parties are complicit in this matter, and my intent is to put this dispute to rest. I propose a gesture of reconciliation—an invitation for Reyna to share a drink with me and bury the hatchet.”

Before Reyna could respond, Bandos rose swiftly from his throne, descending to where they stood.

“By Odin’s virtue, Alpha,” Bandos greeted, inclining his head in a respectful bow.

The Alpha approached the other Warmasters. “Let there be no further discussion about revoking her title. Do I make myself clear?” His gaze held the Warmasters in rapt attention, each acknowledging his decree with a bow.

Reyna observed him with wariness. What was his game? She rarely found politics to flow in such straightforward ways or in her favour.

“I will have the helpers prepare,” Bandos continued. “Reyna, accompany the Alpha to the tearoom and offer him the finest ale the North can provide.”

She just about snarled at Bandos for interfering. His motives were coloured by an eagerness to placate the House of Maynord. His all-consuming desire to maintain favourable relations grated on her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

In protest, Reyna said, “I doubt he meant to share drinks with me right now.”

Roth’s response only inflamed her anger further. “The prospect of sharing drinks with someone of your calibre is indeed intriguing. Shall we?”

Her fists clenched at her sides as she put on an expression of composed detachment. Reyna made her way towards the exit, casting a withering glare towards Bandos as she passed by conveying her silent reproach, a message cutting through the silence with razor-sharp precision.

Roth followed in her wake, prompting the assembly to rise. A hushed acknowledgment murmured through the hall as the powerful figures within paid their respects to his presence.

“Alpha,” the hall echoed in unison, their acknowledgment taking the form of a collective curtsy.