Chapter 67 — The Alpha’s Decision
1047 Words
Alpha Illarik sat at the large oak table in his study, slowly turning pages of parchment covered in careful handwriting.
Names.
Lineages.
Notes written in the margins by his advisors.
Beside him stood Olson, his Beta, who had been helping him sort through the records for the better part of the afternoon.
The room smelled faintly of ink, leather, and the smoke drifting in from the courtyard braziers outside.
Illarik leaned back in his chair.
“This one?”
Olson glanced down at the parchment.
“She comes from a respected family, Alpha. Her father commands the southern patrols.”
Illarik nodded slowly.
“And the second?”
“Merchant blood, but wealthy. Her family finances half the trade routes near the eastern ridge.”
Illarik tapped the parchment thoughtfully.
“Not weak.”
“No.”
Before he could speak again, the door opened.
Trent entered the room.
The young wolf closed the door behind him and gave a brief respectful nod.
“Father.”
Illarik looked up.
“Trent.”
The young man walked to the opposite side of the table and stopped there, waiting calmly.
“What did you want to see me about?”
Illarik said nothing.
Instead, he picked up a parchment and slid it across the table toward him.
Trent looked down at it.
His brows slowly drew together as he began reading.
A long list of names.
Female names.
Family names.
Notes beside each one.
He glanced up.
“What is this?”
Illarik’s voice was calm.
“A list.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Trent lifted the parchment slightly.
“But of what?”
Illarik met his son’s gaze evenly.
“Of potential wives.”
The reaction was immediate.
Trent stiffened.
Across the room Olson felt the shift in tension instantly, like the air tightening before a storm.
“I see,” Trent said slowly.
Illarik folded his hands on the table.
“It is time you began thinking about marriage.”
Trent dropped the parchment back onto the table.
“I’m not ready.”
Illarik leaned back slightly.
“Two days ago you were planning to marry Linda.”
Trent’s jaw tightened.
“That was different.”
Illarik’s expression hardened.
“Different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Trent struggled for a moment to answer.
“That wasn’t political.”
Illarik’s patience thinned.
“That is precisely the problem.”
He pushed his chair back and stood.
“The marriage of an heir is always political.”
Trent’s shoulders stiffened.
“You talk about it like it’s a trade agreement.”
Illarik’s voice dropped.
“That is exactly what it is.”
Olson remained silent beside the wall, carefully observing the exchange.
The tension in the room was building quickly.
Trent shook his head slowly.
“You don’t understand.”
Illarik stepped around the table, moving closer to his son.
“Then explain.”
Trent hesitated.
For a moment he seemed ready to argue further.
Then he stopped himself.
The silence stretched.
Illarik studied him.
“You believe in stories.”
Trent looked away.
“White Hunters. Sacred bloodlines. Powerful offspring.”
Illarik’s tone sharpened.
“Legends.”
Trent’s hands curled slightly at his sides.
“It’s not impossible.”
Illarik gave a low, irritated growl.
“Marriage is not about myths.”
“It is about stability.”
“Influence.”
“Power.”
He stopped directly in front of his son.
“You are my heir.”
Trent said nothing.
Illarik’s voice softened slightly, though the authority behind it remained iron.
“I will give you time.”
Trent looked up cautiously.
“How much?”
Illarik answered without hesitation.
“Two months.”
Trent blinked.
“Two months?”
“Yes.”
Illarik folded his arms.
“You have two months to find your own mate.”
“And if I don’t?”
Illarik’s answer was immediate.
“Then I will choose your wife for you.”
The words landed like a hammer.
Trent’s expression darkened.
For a moment it looked like he might argue again.
Instead he turned abruptly toward the door.
He opened it quickly—
And nearly collided with someone standing outside.
Trent stopped short.
Stanton stood there.
The two wolves almost crashed into each other.
Trent muttered something under his breath and brushed past him, storming down the corridor without another word.
Stanton watched him disappear around the corner.
Then he stepped into the room.
He looked between Illarik and Olson.
One eyebrow lifted slightly.
“I assume I missed something entertaining.”
Illarik exhaled slowly.
“Family matters.”
Stanton nodded.
He had no intention of asking more.
Illarik returned to the table and sat down again.
“I called you here for something else.”
Stanton leaned casually against the wall.
“What is it?”
Illarik steepled his fingers together.
“Trent will attend Morgan’s wedding.”
Stanton’s expression did not change.
“That makes sense.”
“As my representative.”
Stanton nodded once.
“And?”
Illarik looked directly at him.
“I would feel more comfortable if you and Linda were nearby.”
Stanton’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Nearby.”
“Yes.”
“Not part of the ceremony.”
“Not part of the guests.”
“But close enough to intervene if something goes wrong.”
Stanton understood immediately.
Illarik was asking them to act as insurance.
Protection.
Or weapons.
Depending on how events unfolded.
Stanton nodded slowly.
“That can be arranged.”
Inside, however, he felt the familiar tension return.
He did not want Linda anywhere near Damien’s territory again.
But they had already agreed on something.
Until they understood Illarik’s true plans—
They would play along.
Stanton straightened.
“Anything else?”
Illarik shook his head.
“No.”
Stanton gave a short nod.
Then he turned and left the room.
The door closed quietly behind him.
Olson glanced toward Illarik.
“You trust them?”
Illarik leaned back in his chair.
His expression was thoughtful.
“I trust their motivations.”
“And those are?”
Illarik’s eyes drifted briefly toward the door Stanton had just exited.
“Survival.”
He picked up the parchment again.
“And revenge.”
Then he resumed reading.
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