Political negotiations aren't so different from the markets, Marin thought fleetingly, just higher stakes and fancier clothes. Instead of haggling over bolts of silk, we're trading in alliances and lives — but the principles are the same. She glanced at Kael and murmured under her breath, "Only difference is, no one ever glared at me this hard over a sack of barley."
The council chamber smelled faintly of parchment and polished wood, but today it also carried the rich, wild scent of the Beastfolk delegation. The air felt heavier, charged with the quiet tension of politics and the unspoken weight of tradition. Marin adjusted her skirts, sitting tall beside Kael, conscious of the curious eyes on her. This was no ordinary meeting — alliances could be won or lost in the next hour. Breathe, Marin. This is just another deal… only with a lot more fur. Very soft, very fluffy.
The heavy wooden doors swung open, and in strode Garrik Stonepaw — towering, broad-shouldered, with fur the color of storm clouds and golden eyes that missed nothing. His every step echoed against the marble floor, the beads and charms woven into his braids clinking softly. The rest of his delegation followed, each wearing their clan's colors in intricate patterns that told stories Marin could only guess at. Oh, they're adorable. Like dignified, dangerous teddy bears. The faint rustle of silks and low whispers swept through the chamber; nobles leaned subtly to each other, their eyes flicking between the newcomers and Marin.
As Garrik's gaze swept the room, Marin caught Kael glancing at her from the corner of his eye. A quick, almost imperceptible lift of his brow asked, Do you know what you're doing? She answered with the faintest curve of her lips — a silent, confident Watch me. For a heartbeat, the political tension wrapped itself around that private exchange, sharpening the moment into something that felt like more than just diplomacy.
She had read about Garrik before, in the merchant ledgers and travel journals her father kept — heavy, leather-bound tomes she used to pore over in the evenings. The entries spoke of rare visits to human lands, always tied to trade, war, or the most delicate diplomatic missions. She'd imagined the bustling markets her father described, the smell of spices, the clinking of coins, and the way a single respectful gesture could shift the course of a negotiation. Those lessons were etched into her mind — Beastfolk customs were as binding as any treaty, and their honor could not be bought with coin alone. She leaned slightly toward Kael and whispered, "When it comes to diplomacy, it's not much different from bargaining for spices in the market — except the spices here have very fluffy ears." He gave her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching before he looked forward again.
Servants moved forward with platters from across Dravenhold's provinces. Marin accepted a tray offered to her, her merchant's eye sweeping over its contents. She instantly recognized the roasted root vegetables, bright orange berries, and smoked sunboar. Memory sparked — an entry in her father's notes describing it as the Feast of Ancestors, reserved only for the most sacred of gatherings in Stonepaw lands. A misstep here could insult them; the correct gesture could secure an ally for life. Well, here's my moment. No tripping, no spilling — just… diplomacy. And maybe earning the right to pat one of those fluffy ears someday.
Without hesitation, she rose slightly, every movement measured and graceful, and placed the tray directly before Garrik. She dipped her head in a refined bow that balanced respect with confidence. "Honored Stonepaw," she said evenly, her voice steady but warm, "I hope you find this offering worthy of the moment — and of the friendship I hope our peoples will share."
The room went still. Even the rustle of garments ceased; startled nobles exchanged glances, a few brows lifting in silent surprise. Garrik's golden eyes studied her for a long beat before he leaned forward, inhaling the aroma deeply. His expression shifted subtly — curiosity, then approval — and then, to the surprise of many, the stoic leader's face broke into a wide grin.
"You serve us the Feast of Ancestors," he rumbled, voice carrying a weight of tradition and reverence. "A dish prepared only for the most honored of allies… and for those we might one day call friends."
A ripple of hushed approval moved through the councillors' benches; someone near the back murmured, "She knew." Another nodded slowly, as if reassessing her entirely. Marin held his gaze a moment longer, letting the sincerity in her eyes speak as clearly as her words. Thank you, Father. Your dusty old ledgers finally paid off. And yes, they are definitely as soft as they look. If I have anything to say about it, those ledgers will help make them more than allies — they'll be friends.
She inclined her head once more. "Your people's respect is not given lightly. Neither is ours. May this be the first step toward trust."
Kael's gaze slid toward her, one brow raised — not with the amused disbelief she was used to, but with a quiet admiration that sent a ripple of heat through her. "You've been studying," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.
"It pays to pay attention," she replied softly, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. The scent of frost and leather clung faintly to him, making her pulse skip.
The other council members murmured among themselves as Garrik rose from his chair. "By our customs, such a gift is not given lightly. Dravenhold will have the full strength of Stonepaw warriors in the coming campaign — and perhaps, in time, our friendship as well," he declared, the deep rumble of his voice echoing off the chamber walls.
A collective murmur swept the room; some nobles sat straighter, others allowed rare smiles to slip. Relief and excitement rippled through the gathered nobles like a warm current. Kael inclined his head, offering thanks in the formal tongue, his voice even — yet Marin felt his attention linger on her far longer than protocol required. Is he… proud of me? Or just surprised I didn't cause some sort of catastrophe? Or maybe… maybe he's starting to trust me.
When the meeting adjourned, Garrik approached her directly, his towering shadow enveloping her in its breadth. "Lady Draven, if you ever wish to visit our lands, you will be welcomed as kin. My people will remember this day."
Marin rose to meet him fully, smoothing her skirts with deliberate grace before dipping her head again. "Your words honor me, Lord Stonepaw," she said, her tone carrying both warmth and measured dignity. "And I hope, when that day comes, it will be as more than guests — but as friends who share trust and understanding."
Garrik's ears twitched forward slightly, a rare tell of approval. "You speak like an envoy who knows the value of kinship. When you come, you will sit at my table as family." His hand, massive and furred, clasped hers gently — a gesture she returned without flinching, holding his gaze as if sealing an unspoken pact. Yes, and I will absolutely bring my softest gloves for ear scritches.
A few nearby councillors exchanged approving glances; one even smiled outright at the display. The moment held the weight of more than politics — it was a seed of genuine alliance.
As the Beastfolk departed, Kael leaned close enough for her to catch the faint scent of frost and steel. "You recognized it."
"I read about it in my father's trade records," she murmured, keeping her gaze ahead. "Some knowledge is worth more than coin."
His lips curved faintly, but there was something in his eyes now — pride, a flicker of admiration, and perhaps the start of something warmer. "Lady Luck… and a merchant's eye."
She arched a brow. "You sound impressed, General."
"I am," he replied simply, and the sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. Oh no… don't look at me like that. My heart can't afford it.
Her mouth quirked. "Careful, or I might start thinking you like having me around."
He smirked just enough for her to see. "That would be dangerous for both of us."
As they walked out together, their footsteps echoing in the grand corridor, Kael's hand brushed hers for the briefest moment before retreating. They traded a few more quiet, teasing remarks — about her diplomatic victory, about his poker-faced nobles, and about how many startled looks she'd caused. The air between them seemed lighter now, threaded with shared amusement and an undercurrent of respect. Behind them, faint murmurs of speculation still rippled among the council — a reminder that every move in Dravenhold was watched. If I'm not careful, Marin thought, this dangerous, sharp-edged general might be more dangerous to me than any enemy across the battlefield. But at least the Beastfolk are fluffy.