Misguided Wolves

40. Invitation

Elliott glared at the envelope Jackson handed him, its wax seal—a wolf-serpent head—taunting him with its smug intricacy. Word of Fror’s new king, Castiel, had spread like wildfire across the kingdoms. Among aristocrats and royals, he was a dashing monarch, charming ladies who vied for harem spots, lauded as kind and just to all, regardless of status. Elliott’s stomach churned, a bitter scoff escaping as he rolled his eyes at the nauseating lies. The lower classes whispered the raw truth: Fror’s people starved, shivered, and toiled in mines, their suffering fueling Castiel’s greed. Elliott’s blood surged, a molten rage coursing through him. How had his family been so blind to this monster? Only Kyle, from the outset, had pierced Castiel’s veil of deceit.

Forcing his trembling hands to steady, Elliott tore open the envelope. The words within stabbed at his heart:

The nation of Fror formally invites you to celebrate a new reign under our King. Join him in welcoming his newest harem addition. Bring family and friends—everyone is welcome.

Elliott’s fist crashed into the stone wall, the impact reverberating as the rock crumbled, leaving a jagged imprint of his knuckles. His rage drowned out the pain, nostrils flaring, breaths sharp and ragged. His blue eyes glowed faintly, Leo stirring within, a primal fury roaring at the thought of Castiel’s hands on Kate.

“He has the balls to send this?” Elliott snarled, voice thick with venom. “He thinks I’ll let him parade my Kate?”

Castle staff scurried from the hall, their footsteps fading to avoid his wrath. Elliott’s curses echoed, Leo’s growl clawing for control. “I’ll rip his filthy hands off if he touches her!”

“Calm down,” Jackson said, his steady tone cutting through the storm. “This is good news.”

Elliott whipped around, eyes blazing, closing the distance between them. “Good news? Have you lost your damn mind?”

Jackson rolled his eyes, unfazed, and snatched the crumpled invitation from Elliott’s grip, smoothing it with deliberate care. “Look at the opportunity. Our original plan had us storming Vintr, wasting time searching for Kate. This tells us she’s in Fror.”

Elliott dragged a hand through his hair, his chest heaving as the fire in his veins cooled to a smolder. “You’re right…” he muttered, the admission heavy.

Jackson’s grin broke wide, a spark of triumph in his eyes as he tapped the paper. “It’s an open party—no guest list, no names. We all go. They welcome us inside, and our troops strike from outside. This is our chance.”

Elliott’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with visions of traps. Castiel’s family wielded vast connections through their harems, a web of allies that could ensnare them. “It could be a setup. We don’t know who else is invited.”

Jackson’s hand clapped Elliott’s shoulder, firm and grounding. “I get the worry, but we can do this. We need to. Maybe we turn their allies against them.”

Elliott reread the invitation, each word a thorn in his heart. After a long silence, he groaned in defeat, resolve hardening. “Fine. It’s our shot.”

Jackson’s laughter boomed as he lifted Elliott in a bear hug, nearly crushing him. “That’s the spirit!”

****

In Vintr’s shadowed halls, Margaret sat alone, her fingers tracing the edge of an identical wax-sealed envelope, its wolf-serpent emblem glinting under flickering candlelight. Her heart quickened, a greedy thrill laced with a cold shiver of dread. Castiel’s invitation had arrived at dusk, delivered by a silent courier:

The nation of Fror formally invites you to celebrate a new reign under our King. Join him in welcoming his newest harem addition. Bring family and friends—everyone is welcome.

Margaret’s lips curled into a sly, self-satisfied smirk, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. This was no mere summons—it was a gilded opportunity, a chance to secure the life she craved: wealth dripping from her fingers, a lazy existence where every desire was met without lifting a hand. Banished from Logi for her betrayal (Chapter Thirty-Seven), she’d latched onto Charles in Vintr, her every move calculated to win his favor. Her thoughts turned to Kate, her own daughter, trapped in Fror’s harem—a pawn in Castiel’s game. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed her chest, Kate’s trusting eyes haunting her, but Margaret crushed it, her greed flaring brighter. To please Charles, to secure his promise of luxury, she’d do anything—even kill her children. Kate’s death, and perhaps others tied to her past, would prove her loyalty, ensuring a life of silks, jewels, and endless ease.

She summoned Charles, her voice smooth as velvet, masking the ruthless intent beneath. “This party is our moment. Castiel’s distracted, flaunting his new prize. We slip in, and I… remove obstacles.”

Her fingers tightened on the envelope, the wax cracking under her grip, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. “Kate’s a threat to him. If she’s gone, you’ll reward me, won’t you? A life where I want for nothing.” Charles’s eyes gleamed, his nod fueling her resolve, but her stomach twisted as she pictured Kate’s face—innocent, betrayed.

Margaret’s smirk faltered, a tremor of doubt creeping in, but the vision of a gilded future drowned it out, her ambition a relentless tide.

****

Over the next weeks, Logi thrummed with purpose. Oliver, the festival designer, led his team in crafting outfits for the infiltration, their needles flashing through silks and leathers. Despite the pressure, Oliver’s eyes gleamed with joy, joking with Jackson to find his mate at the party for an excuse to work more. His team, once confined to practical clothes and blankets for Logi’s folk, poured their creativity into designs meant to outshine Fror’s king.

“They’ll look better than Castiel!” Oliver declared, clapping sharply to rally his team.

While the designers wove their art, Logi’s people prepared for war. Those staying behind sharpened weapons and trained, their resolve a shield for the grasslands. The infiltrators packed supplies, mapping their assault—troops encircling Fror’s walls, allies slipping inside. Elliott’s nerves twisted, a knot of dread and hope, warm and electric, anchored him. He’d face any trap to bring Kate home.