Page 65 of Fated to the Wolf Billionaire

We were all pretty tired after the long journey, most of which had been undertaken on foot. After quick directions from the concierge who waited at a desk just inside the door, we split off into our three rooms to rest, then changed for the dinner. By the time we met back in the foyer to go to dinner, I was absolutely ravenous.

“Anybody know what dwarven food preferences are? I could eat a horse right now,” I said, resisting the urge to rub my belly.

“It’s pretty hearty fare, and they have talented chefs. I don’t think any of us will leave hungry,” Reed answered.

“Thank the Goddess.” Elodie echoed my sentiments exactly.

THIRTY-TWO

Reed

Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. The walk in had been smooth. Too smooth? We’d declined the sauna invite, which meant we were starting on a bad foot for our negotiations, but so far, there had been no backlash.

They’d let us all keep our weapons, which was typical for a diplomatic party. Barely batted an eye at the fact that we had a warrior maiden with us. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that after a week of sitting around waiting for no damned reason, I expected more trouble in getting to the dinner itself.

And yet, when the two liveried footmen opened the front doors of Neftheim Palace for us, it was with hearty cheers of “Mighty welcome!” and offers to tuck our coats away.

Smooth as butter, and that was the rub.

Nothing about interacting with the dwarves was typically smooth, let aloneeasy. The week of sitting on our thumbs was much more their style. So why the sudden ingratiation?

I didn’t know, and what I didn’t know could very well hurt not just our party, but our whole pack. And so I was on edge as we were led to the grand dining hall, which had ceilings at least three-stories high and massive fireplaces at either end, fed automatically by wood conveyor belts.

The room was set with multiple long, rectangular tables, enough to hold a feast of hundreds. Based on the commotion of the guests already inside, it looked like that was exactly what we were going to experience tonight.

I pulled Fiona a little closer to my side, not sharing her wide-eyed wonder at the beautiful interior of the palace. I couldfeelthe impending threat, I just couldn’t see it.

When the dwarf leading us stopped at the king’s table—evidenced by the giant, gilded throne inset with a rainbow of gemstones that sat at the head of it—I pulled out a chair for Fiona and leaned in to whisper to Gael.

“Anything about this feel strange to you?”

“Yes. I can’t place it, though.”

I nodded, and our eyes met for a split second before we took our seats. I sat closest to the end, near the king, followed by Fiona, Elodie, Leigh, and Gael at the other end. We hadn’t planned it any particular way, but clearly, we both wanted our mates protected from all sides.

Elodie’s big-ass sword gave me a measure of comfort. She might look like any other lady here in her sparkling knee-length gown, but I’d seen her sparring with Gael’s sister during our stay, and I knew she could kick ass if the situation called for it.

We weren’t alone for long. Other guests filtered in to fill our twenty-seater table, mostly dwarves, all dressed in splendid finery. I was more surprised by the contingent of trolls who were seated at the foot of the table, farthest from the king and the queen mother. It was a full battalion of six, bare-chested with their leather armor strapped on even at the dinner table. One had elaborately carved tusks, identifying him as the leader of their battalion.

The queen mother arrived at the table before her son. Positively ancient, her face had so many creases and folds, her eyes were like hard, jeweled green pits recessed into the crevices. Her hair was wispy and white, but so long, she had to throw it over the arm of the chair to avoid sitting on it. The very tips had a dusky tinge, as if the last bit of her natural color wouldn’t quite let go.

She scanned the table, passing over us as if we were of no importance rather than honored guests, and without a word, she lifted her goblet for the waitstaff to fill with mead.

I didn’t bother trying to engage her. She had a long history of being xenophobic. The fact that we were outsiders made us unworthy in her eyes, and many before me had tried and failed to change it, so I wouldn’t bother.

No, the king was the one who mattered.

When he arrived, a hush fell over the hall. He strode into the room with all the gravitas of a Viking lord of old. Long, blond locks trailed behind him, and when he arrived at our table, he held his great two-headed war hammer up high, threw back his head, and released a dwarven yell that rattled the stone under our feet.

It was a move meant to assert dominance, to intimidate—and on many, it probably worked. But alpha wolves were unimpressed by noise. We only respected strength.

Despite the dwarven king’s desire to put on a wholly unnecessary show, one would be a fool to mistake him for all bluster. He was a warrior, a true leader among their kind.

“Mighty welcome, King Cysernaphus.” I stood, extending my hand for him to shake.

“Mighty welcome, Alpha Monstru.”

We locked eyes as he leaned in and shook it, neither of us looking away. Dominance wouldn’t allow me to in the presence of a nonwolf leader. It would be a sign of weakness my wolf refused to accept. Only when he pulled back and gestured toward the empty seat beside his mother did I notice his lady companion.

---