Misguided Wolves

3. The Failed Negotiations

In the continent of Skoll, where werewolves ruled four kingdoms, the border between Fror and Vintr hummed with ancient magic, its air thick with the scent of pine and frost. Inside the grand tent, a small table stood with two chairs on either side. King Mark sat in one, his posture regal yet tense, while Kate stood behind him, her forest green gown a quiet defiance against the looming talks. Tove stirred within her, growling at the scent of arrogance wafting from the tent’s far entrance.

Two men entered, their presence dripping with disdain. The older, King Charles of Vintr, wore gaudy rings on every finger and a bejeweled crown that gleamed ostentatiously. His thick purple and gold robes swished, and he leaned on a cane carved like a snake, its ruby eyes glinting maliciously. Short and heavyset, with a thin mustache and beady eyes, he exuded greed. His son, James, shared his father’s pale skin and arrogance but was muscular, with greasy dark hair and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow light.

Mark stood, mustering a bright smile. “King Charles! It’s a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for meeting with us.”

Charles sat, puffing out his chest with a dismissive grunt. “Mark, let’s not waste time. I’m a busy man. Shall we begin?”

Mark’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone diplomatic. “Of course. We know how valuable your time is. As discussed, we offer expanded trade to support your border villages this winter. Our harvests have been bountiful, and in exchange, we seek a peace treaty and ore from your mines.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “I know this already. If I go to war, I’ll take all that and more.” He patted his belly proudly. “As you can see, we’re not starving.”

“You assume victory,” Mark said, his voice steady. “I want peace, with no bloodshed on either side.”

Charles snorted. “Trust me, my connections ensure a swift win for Vintr.”

Mark sighed, frustration simmering. “I’ve arranged for rare gems from my queen’s homeland, with the potential for a steady trade route to your gates.” He glanced at Charles’s gaudy rings. “A man of your taste would appreciate them.”

Charles admired his jewelry with a smirk, then sneered at Mark. “I doubt your gems meet my standards. Some royalty lack refinement.” His gaze raked over Mark’s simple attire in disgust. “We’ll pass.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he shot Kate an apologetic glance. “Our final offer is to unite our kingdoms through marriage—your son, James, to my daughter, Kate.”

James appraised Kate like livestock, his dark eyes cold. “I’d take her for my harem first. If she proves… useful, I might consider marriage. She could bear me strong pups.”

Tove snarled in Kate’s mind, and she clenched her fists, fighting to stay composed. Mark’s face darkened, a rare fury in his eyes that Kate had seen only a handful of times. His voice was calm but laced with venom. “Watch your mouth, boy, or I’ll teach you respect—a lesson you clearly missed.”

Charles grinned, relishing the tension. “My son is a prize. Your daughter would be lucky to serve him, as wife or otherwise. You’re making compromise impossible.”

Mark slammed his fist down, splintering the table. As he rose, he swung his arm, sending Charles tumbling from his chair. The king’s eyes widened, his voice quivering. “H-how dare you, you brute? I, King of Vintr, declare war on Fror!”

Mark’s smile was cold, almost eager. “Good. I look forward to meeting you on the battlefield.” He spat at Charles’s feet and turned to leave, Kate at his side.

James stomped his foot, voice shrill. “You’ll rue this day! Beg for my harem, girl, and maybe we’ll forget this.”

An arrow whizzed past, thudding into the tent’s wooden support an inch above James’s head. Dean stood at the entrance, bow in hand, a proud grin on his face.

“Watch your mouth, boy. Next time, I won’t miss.”

James’s pants darkened, a puddle forming at his feet. Dean burst out laughing, and Kate stifled a giggle as she, Mark, and Dean strode out, mounting their horses with the warriors and riding back to Fror’s castle.

The castle buzzed with frenetic preparations for war and winter. Queen Margaret burst into Mark’s office, her green eyes blazing. “War? With winter coming? What happened to the marriage pact?” She pointed at Kate.

Mark’s brows furrowed. “They weren’t interested in talking. The meeting was a waste.”

“Then fix it!” Margaret snapped. “Send them jewels, gold—Charles loves shiny things.”

Mark slammed his fist on his desk. “Enough! Luka was right—Charles wanted war from the start.”

Margaret took a deep breath, calming herself. “Fine. We’ll do damage control. I’ll contact my brother for materials and warriors. We need to take stock of our resources.” Her eyes brightened as she looked at Kate. “And we need allies in the south—Logi.”

Mark nodded. “She’s right. Kate, we’ll be tied up here, but you can travel to Logi. It’s safer for you there if things go wrong.”

“I can stay and fight!” Kate protested.

Mark raised a hand, his tone firm. “I won’t have it. It’s decided. You’ll leave in a few weeks. Prepare well and be on your best behavior. As your king, I ask you to help our people. If Vargr backs Vintr, we need Logi’s support.”

His pleading eyes softened Kate’s resolve. She straightened, lifting her chin. “I understand. I’ll do my best to gain Logi’s aid.”

“You won’t be alone,” Mark said. “Dean will protect you, and our messenger, Ara, will keep communication open.”

Dean patted Kate’s shoulder, grinning. “Don’t worry, little pup. I’ve got your back. Need another boy to wet his pants? Just say the word.”

Kate laughed, picturing James’s humiliated expression. Margaret shot Mark a concerned glance, but he just smiled and shook his head. “I’ll tell you later.”