The heavy iron gates of Ashdown Fortress groaned open.
The courtyard was packed. Alphas from a dozen allied packs stood in their finest furs, laughing and drinking spiced wine. At the top of the grand stone stairs stood Desmond. He was broad-shouldered and handsome in a rugged, arrogant way. He wore a coat of crimson wool, a heavy gold chain resting on his chest.
Beside him stood Lyanna. She was objectively beautiful — tall, willowy, with hair the color of spun gold and perfectly tailored silk that clung to her curves. They looked like the perfect rulers.
The carriage ground to a halt. The courtyard fell dead silent. Every eye was fixed on the black door.
One of Gideon's guards stepped forward and pulled the heavy door open. Gideon stepped out first. He didn't look around. He didn't acknowledge the gasps or the immediate, frantic bowing of the allied alphas. He simply turned, reached into the carriage, and offered his hand.
Cora took a shallow breath, expanding her diaphragm against the rigid whalebone of her corset. She placed her gloved hand in Gideon's. She stepped out into the freezing air.
The silence in the courtyard shattered. It wasn't a roar of noise, but a collective sucking gasp of pure shock. Gregory, standing near the bottom of the stairs, dropped his goblet of wine. It clattered against the cobblestones, a sharp ringing sound in the dead quiet, spilling red liquid across the snow.
Cora didn't look at Gregory. She didn't look at the whispering alphas. She fixed her gaze directly on the top of the stairs.
Desmond's face had drained of all color. His jaw hung slightly slack. His eyes, usually burning with aggressive confidence, were wide with a mixture of disbelief and sudden, visceral panic. He stared at the heavy velvet gown, at the silver choker masking his discarded mark, at the massive signet ring on her finger.
Lyanna looked confused, her perfect smile faltering as she glanced between her new mate and the imposing woman holding the king's arm.
Gideon tucked Cora's hand firmly into the crook of his arm. He didn't rush. He led her toward the stairs at a slow, deliberate pace, forcing every single wolf in the courtyard to watch them.
"Hold your head up," Gideon murmured, his voice so low only she could hear it over the frantic whispers. "You own this stone."
Cora tilted her chin up a fraction of an inch. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her face was a mask of cold, polished marble. She walked up the stone steps, her heavy skirts whispering against the granite.
They stopped two steps below Desmond and Lyanna. Gideon was tall enough that he still looked down at the Ashdown alpha.
Desmond swallowed hard. He recovered his composure with the speed of a seasoned politician, plastering a tight, forced smile onto his face. He bowed low, a deep sign of respect he clearly loathed giving.
"My king," Desmond said, his voice straining slightly. "We are deeply honored by your presence. We did not expect —" His eyes flicked to Cora, a flash of pure venom breaking through his facade. "— such a grand arrival."
"Alpha Desmond." Gideon replied, his tone perfectly flat, devoid of any warmth. "I received your invitation. I found the proposition of your union intriguing. I decided to bring my honored companion to witness the spectacle." He gestured slightly to Cora.
Desmond's jaw clenched so hard Cora thought she might hear his teeth crack. He was trapped. He could not insult the king's companion, no matter who she was.
"Welcome, Cora," Desmond choked out.
Cora didn't smile. She didn't offer a traditional greeting of submission. She looked at him with the same flat, tired expression she had used when chopping wood at her cabin.
"Desmond," she said, her voice steady and smooth. "Thank you for the invitation. It is entirely fitting that I witness you taking your place."
She fed his own arrogant words right back to him. Desmond's eyes flared with rage, but he could do absolutely nothing.
Lyanna, sensing the volatile shift in power, stepped forward, looping her arm through Desmond's. "We are thrilled to host you both. Please, the feast is beginning in the great hall. The high table awaits."
"Excellent," Gideon said.
He didn't wait for them to lead the way. He walked forward, forcing Desmond and Lyanna to step aside, claiming the path for himself and Cora.
As they walked past, Cora caught Desmond's scent. Under the pine and iron, under the expensive cologne, was a sharp, bitter tang.
Fear.