"A king's laughter can shatter tension, but a king's truth can shatter kingdoms."
An hour later, I was back in private quarters having a drink with Marcus, Captain Thorne, Lord Rivan, and Sir Gavriel Thorne.
"It was a seduction mission," I announced, shoulders shaking as the laughter tore out of me again. "I swear on the old gods, Seraphine looked like she was auditioning for some cheap tavern play about forbidden romance."
Marcus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had already regretted every decision that had led him to this moment. "Your Majesty!"
"No, no, let him finish," Captain Thorne Rell cut in with his sharp grin. He leaned back in his chair, armor plates glinting in the torchlight. "I want to hear every scandalous detail. For strategy purposes, of course."
Lord Rivan Ostel, ever the dour treasurer, arched a brow. "If it involved expenditures of the royal budget, then perhaps."
"Expenditures?" I barked a laugh. "She nearly spent me! Her perfume could have funded an entire village if bottled and sold."
That finally cracked Sir Gavriel Thorne, my oldest friend, who slapped the table hard enough to rattle the goblets. "Tell me she didn't!"
"Oh, she did," I said, leaning forward like I was sharing a war story. "She had the room dimly lit, candles everywhere, the table set for two, a romantic atmosphere, and enough roses to choke a wolf, and then she walked in…"
"Go on," Thorne Rell said, eyes gleaming like a gossiping aunt.
"Dressed," I continued, "as though the seamstress had been told: 'Make it scandalous but keep just enough fabric so the priests can't call it blasphemy.'"
That earned a bark of laughter from Gavriel, and even Rivan smirked, though he tried to cover it with a cough.
"I bet your wolf had a lot to say," Marcus asked, dry as sand.
I closed my eyes briefly, mimicking my wolf's disgusted tone. "'Alaric,' he said, 'if she comes any closer smelling like that, I'm digging a tunnel out of this kingdom and moving us both to the south.'"
The room roared in laughter, and I could not help but grin like a fool.
Thorne Rell leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So, tell me how you survived the dinner? Or did she devour you whole?"
"Oh, she tried," I said, chuckling. "We had barely made it to the second course when she leaned in, eyes heavy with intent, and said, 'Alaric, why don't you just sleep with me now?'"
Gavriel nearly toppled out of his chair, wheezing, and Marcus muttered something that sounded a lot like let the gods save me, while Rivan finally allowed himself a small laugh.
I spread my hands dramatically. "And what did I do? I choked on my wine like some green pup at his first feast and nearly sprayed it across the table.
"You?" Marcus looked appalled. "You, who faced down an army at Blackstone Keep without flinching?"
"Yes," I said solemnly. "Taken down not by steel or magic, but by a forward proposal over roast venison."
The laughter was relentless now, and even stoic-faced Marcus cracked a faint smile, though he tried to disguise it by adjusting his cuff.
"And then?" Thorne Rell prodded. "What excuse did you make?"
"I told her," I said, puffing my chest in mock dignity, "'I must honor the old customs, and this will only happen when we are married.'"
"Smooth," Gavriel grinned. "And?"
"And she pressed harder," I replied. "Said we should move the wedding forward. Tonight, tomorrow, the next day, it did not matter. She all but suggested we skip the ceremony entirely and head straight to the bedchamber."
Thorne Rell whistled. "Determined, I'll give her that."
"I stood up," I said, shaking my head. "Told her no. And then she lost it, yelling, accusing me of not wanting to marry her, and well, I might have snapped.
Marcus muttered, "Of course you did."
"I told her," I continued, ignoring him, "'This marriage was arranged, Seraphine. I will honor it but never expect more from me.'"
The silence that followed my words was only broken by Gavriel's low whistle. "Sharp. Brutal. Effective."
"Necessary," I replied. "She needed reminding of the truth, throne may bind us in duty, but it does not bind my heart."
Rivan steepled his fingers, eyes narrowing. "And yet, she will not give up easily, and you humiliated her pride, and pride can be dangerous."
"Yes, yes, politics later," Thorne Rell waved dismissively. "Right now, I want to know how badly you choked on that wine. Did your face turn red?"
"Purple," I admitted. "Like an overripe plum."
The room exploded again. Gavriel nearly fell out of his chair this time, clutching his stomach. Marcus groaned like he was surrounded by idiots, which, in fairness, he was.
"You're all children," Marcus muttered.
"Children who enjoy a good story," Gavriel corrected. "Your Majesty, if Seraphine tries again, promise me you will choke on the soup next time. We need consistency."
I laughed so hard, my ribs hurt, and for a moment, in that chamber filled with torchlight and laughter, the weight of the kingdom felt lighter. Duty, politics, war, they all waited outside those walls. But here, with my men, my friends, I could laugh at the absurdity of it all. At the absurdity of being a king expected to marry a woman I could barely tolerate while my heart, my wolf, and my very soul tugged elsewhere. The laughter in the chamber still hadn't died down. Marcus had his head in his hand, muttering something about "your majesty has a talent for trouble," while Gavriel nearly toppled out of the chair, tears streaming from his eyes at my retelling of Seraphine's wine-soaked tantrum.
"I swear," I said, wiping my mouth after the fifth round of laughter, "if I had not stood up when I did, she would have pounced like a starved wolf. And Vayne? He threatened to abandon me altogether. Said I could rot in Seraphine's perfumed clutches on my own."
That set them all off again, and Rivan cracked the faintest of grins, which was rarer than gold in the North.
But when the noise ebbed, silence settled into a silence that pressed heavier than any laughter could. Thorne leaned forward, his voice losing its edge of jest. "Your Majesty, it is clear Luna Seraphine will not let this rest. The council already whispers, and the packs expect certainty, so tell us the truth. Why resist her so fiercely? Is there more?"
Their gazes were sharp, expectant, loyal yet demanding, and my laughter faded. For the first time in days, I let the weight of the truth slip past my guarded composure. "There is more," I admitted, leaning back in my chair. My hands folded together, steady despite the way my chest burned with what I was about to confess. "You've all known me long enough to understand I do not yield to whims, nor do I play coy for the sake of politics."
I let the silence drag for just a moment longer, until Marcus's frown deepened and Gavriel's grin faltered.
"My mate," I declared, my voice firm, steady, unshaken— "is an Omega." and the silence shattered like glass.