The eastern plains stretched to the horizon, golden brown beneath the autumn sun.
Kael stood on a ridge overlooking Corvin’s camp, his small guard hidden in the trees behind him. The wind carried the sll of woodsmoke and cooking at, mingled with the sharper scent of too many wolves gathered in one place. The camp was larger than Elowen had reported—not three hundred, but closer to five. Tents stretched across the valley in neat rows, their canvas bleached by sun and weather. Supply wagons lined the roads; their wheels caked with dried mud. Ard wolves patrolled the periter in pairs, their postures alert, their hands never far from their weapons.
"He’s been busy," Kael muttered, lowering his spyglass.
His second-in-command, a grizzled wolf nad Dain, scanned the camp from behind a thicket of pine. Dain had served with Kael for a decade, through the border wars and the northern campaign. His left ear was missing, torn off by a Thorne loyalist. His eyes were sharp despite his years.
"Those are northern banners," Dain said, pointing. "The black bear. The broken sword. The white wolf on red. He’s courting Thorne’s leftovers. The ones who didn’t surrender, the ones who lted into the hills after we killed their leader."
"Thorne’s leftovers were supposed to have scattered. Gone back to their villages and take the amnesty we offered."
"They scattered to Corvin." Dain’s voice was flat. "He’s been recruiting for months. Quietly. Village by village. Promising vengeance. Promising a return to the old ways. The kind of promises desperate wolves want to hear."
Kael’s jaw tightened. "How many northerners?"
"Hard to say. Maybe up to fifty or more." Dain lowered his spyglass and rubbed his eyes. "If he pulls in the disaffected from the south—the ones who think the charter went too far—he could have a thousand by spring. Maybe two thousand if the Pure Blood League throws its weight behind him."
"A thousand." Kael shook his head. "And the crown has two thousand spread across the entire kingdom. We can’t concentrate without leaving sothing else exposed. The south would see it as an invasion. The north would rise again. The west would panic."
Dain nodded grimly. "That’s what he’s counting on. Divide and conquer. He doesn’t need to beat us in a straight fight. He just needs to make the cost of fighting too high."
Kael spent three days observing.
He watched from the ridge at dawn, when the camp was just waking. He watched at noon, when the soldiers drilled in the valley floor. He watched at dusk, when the fires were lit and the rumours spread.
Corvin addressed his troops every evening.
He stood on a makeshift platform, his voice carrying across the camp. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a mane of dark hair and a beard that couldn’t hide the sharp lines of his jaw. He wore simple armour—leather and chain, nothing ornate—and his sword hung at his hip like an afterthought.
"Brothers," he called, and the crowd cheered. "Sisters. Wolves of the east, the north, the south. We have been forgotten by the crown. Ignored. Dismissed. While the human queen sits in her palace and passes laws that benefit her kind, we starve. We suffer. We watch our children go hungry."
The crowd roared.
"Corvin will fix it!" soone shouted.
"Corvin will make us strong again!"
Kael watched from the shadows of the ridge, his spyglass pressed to his eye. Corvin was charismatic—there was no denying it. He moved like a born leader, comfortable in front of a crowd, his gestures expansive, his smile warm. He made eye contact with individual soldiers, making each one feel seen.
*He’s good,* Kael thought. *Better than Elowen said. Better than we expected.*
On the second day, he watched supply trains roll in from unmarked wagons. The drivers wore no insignia, no colours. The wagons were plain, unremarkable. But the guards who accompanied them were professionals—hard-eyed wolves with well-maintained weapons and disciplined formations.
*Soone is funding him,* Kael noted. *Soone with resources.*
On the third night, he decided to get closer.
The infiltration was risky.
Kael left Dain and the guard at the ridge with strict instructions: if he wasn’t back by dawn, they were to ride for the palace and report everything they had seen. No rescue mission. No heroics. Just give information.
"Don’t die," Dain said.
"That’s the plan."
Kael slipped down the ridge, moving through the shadows. The camp was less guarded than it should have been—Corvin was confident, perhaps overconfident. The periter patrols were predictable, their routes tid. Kael waited for a gap and slipped between two tents, deeper into the camp.
He wore a plain soldier’s cloak and disguised his face by a hood. His sword was hidden beneath the cloak, his dagger at his belt. He moved like he belonged, his posture relaxed, his pace unhurried.
The camp was a small city.
Tents in neat rows. Cooking fires at regular intervals. A makeshift hospital at the far end, where healers tended to wounded recruits. A training ground where soldiers sparred with wooden swords. A command tent at the centre, larger than the others, marked by a banner bearing Corvin’s personal sigil: a wolf’s head crowned with thorns.
Kael circled the command tent, listening.
Soldiers grumbled about pay—Corvin had promised gold that hadn’t materialized. Officers argued about strategy—so wanted to attack imdiately, others wanted to wait for more reinforcents. A wolf with a northern accent complained about the human queen and her "mongrel pups."
"She’s not even a wolf," the soldier said, his voice thick with disgust. "She’s a human who got lucky. A servant who spread her legs for three princes. And now she thinks she can tell us how to live. How to rule. How to breathe."
"Corvin will fix that."
"Corvin will make himself king, you an. Sa as the triplets. Sa as their father. They’re all the sa. Wolves on top, everyone else beneath."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because Corvin pays better than the crown. And because I want to watch the palace burn."
Kael morized the voices, the faces he could see through gaps in the tent flaps. He counted guards, noted weapon placents, identified supply caches. Then he slipped out of the camp the sa way he had entered—through the shadows, through the gaps in the patrols, back up the ridge to where Dain was waiting.
"Report," Dain said.
"Over five hundred soldiers. Maybe more coming. He’s well-funded. Well-organized. Charismatic." Kael’s voice was flat. "And he hates Seren. Personally. Viciously. He’s using her as a rallying point—the human queen who stole wolf power."
Dain’s expression darkened. "That’s not good."
"No. It’s not."
Kael rode back to Elowen’s stronghold at dawn.
She t him in the war room, her face pale, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold hours ago.
"How did it go? You got panicking." she demanded.
"He has five hundred soldiers. Maybe more. He’s courting northern factions: Thorne’s leftovers, the ones who didn’t take the amnesty. He has supply lines we haven’t identified. Funding from sowhere we can’t trace." Kael spread his notes across the table; rough sketches of the camp, lists of unit positions, nas he had overheard. "If left unchecked, he’ll spark civil war within a year. Maybe less."
Elowen’s face went pale. "A year?"
"Maybe less. He’s popular, Elowen. Not just with malcontents—with wolves who feel the crown has abandoned them. The southern treaty gave autonomy to the south, but the east got nothing. The north got integration, but the east got Elowen. And so wolves don’t trust you any more than they trust us."
"I’ve delivered more than anyone—"
"Then why are his ranks growing?" Kael t her eyes. "I’m not blaming you. I’m telling you what I saw. Corvin is a threat. A real threat. And we need to deal with him before he becos unstoppable. Because if he reaches a thousand soldiers, we can’t beat him without a full-scale war. And a full-scale war will tear the kingdom apart."
Kael returned to the palace three days later.
The council convened imdiately, summoned by urgent ssage. Seren sat beside Aeron, her hand on his arm, her face carefully composed. Theron stood by the map, his fingers tracing the eastern border. Kael stood at the centre of the room, still in his travel-stained clothes, his eyes hollow from too little sleep.
"The threat is real," he reported. "Corvin has over five hundred soldiers. He’s courting northern factions—Thorne’s leftovers, the disaffected, the ones who never accepted the integration treaty. He has supply lines we can’t trace. Funding from unknown sources. He’s charismatic, ambitious, and patient. If we do nothing, he’ll spark civil war within a year. Maybe sooner."
Lord Pemberton frowned from his seat at the council table. "Can we negotiate? Address his grievances before he rallies more support?"
"He wants independence. Or the throne. He hasn’t decided which. Either way, he won’t settle for half asures."
Aeron shook his head. "We try diplomacy first. We offer him terms. We make him refuse them publicly. If he refuses reasonable concessions, his support will erode. Wolves won’t die for a man who won’t even talk."
Kael’s jaw tightened. "He won’t negotiate. He’s too far gone. Too convinced of his own destiny."
"Then we’ll find out what he wants. Publicly. In front of his followers. And when he refuses, we’ll have the moral high ground."
"And if he doesn’t refuse?"
"Then we have peace."
Seren looked at them and said, "I have an idea."
Reviews
All reviews (0)