DARIAN
The knock on my office door comes before dawn, sharp and insistent. Only bad news arrives this early.
“Enter,” I call, voice still rough from lack of sleep.
Ronan, my beta, strides in, cloak damp with morning mist. "Alpha, a message from the northern sector. Their council says the villagers are refusing tribute. They're demanding a direct audience with you."
I rub my temple, suppressing a growl. “Tribute refusal? That’s not defiance, it’s desperation. What’s their grievance?”
“They claim the harvest was poor this year,” Ronan says carefully. “But… Theron is advising immediate discipline. He says hesitation looks like weakness.”
Of course he does. I push back from my desk, the carved wood legs scraping against stone. “Summon the elders. We settle this face-to-face.”
I hoped by
