Chapter 81: A Diplomatic Incident

The group starts toward the chief’s house together, but Val stops short after only a few steps, nose lifting into the air. He grins slowly. “Not in the mood for more meetings, I think. I’ll catch up with you all after.” He inhales again, deep and appreciative. “Something interesting nearby.”

“You just smell something delicious,” Lucien says.

Val chuckles. “Important market research.”

“You’re just copying me.”

“Learned from the best.” Val smirks at him.

Lucien beams at that, entirely disarmed.

They press on without him, passing further through the village. Houses, huts, workshops built low and sturdy against the terrain and Lucien catches a glimpse of what looks like a mine opening cut straight into one of the surrounding hills, workers filtering steadily in and out with spades and pickaxes slung over their shoulders, carts of raw ore trundling along a worn path toward the village center.

They reach the chief’s house at last, a large, imposing structure hung with banners and flanked by armed guards on either side of the entrance.

Inside, the walls are decorated floor to ceiling with hunting trophies. Mounted weapons, the preserved skulls and hides of beasts considerably larger than anything Lucien’s seen outside the Ashlands, tusks and claws arranged in careful, deliberate displays that speak to generations of accumulated pride, and prey. Firelight from wall-mounted sconces catches in a dozen sets of glassy, unblinking eyes, following him down the hall.

They’re led through a series of narrower halls, each one hung with more trophies than the last, before finally reaching the chief’s meeting room, where he sits at the head of a long table carved from a single, massive slab of dark wood, two strikingly beautiful wolf-kin women stationed at his sides, draped comfortably against his shoulders.

A row of large, seriously unsmiling wolf-kin men lines either side of the table beyond them, arms crossed, watching the newcomers with the flat, unblinking attention of military men.

Kamiko greets chief Braska, warmly.

He scoffs in response, eyes never once leaving Lucien.

Kamiko presses on regardless. “And this is Lucien Vale, a business associate,” she says, adding with clear emphasis, “he carries the Beast Mother’s blessing!”

Chief Braska’s whole demeanor shifts at that.

He rises from his seat, grinning now, and greets Lucien properly with a short bow.

“A great honor, having you visit our tribe.” Braska smirks. “A blessing from the Beast Mother certainly calls for a proper welcome.”

“Thank you,” Lucien says, relaxing. “I look forward to your hospitality.”

Brina shakes her head sharply beside him and elbows him in the ribs, hissing under her breath,

“Wolves don’t show hospitality. They’re planning to fight you.”

Lucien clears his throat, raising a hand toward the chief. “Actually, I was hoping we might sit down and talk properly. I’ve got some fairly significant plans for the region, and I’d love the Shadowfang tribe’s blessing on them.”

“A blessing?” The chief asks, tilting his head with intrigue.

“They don’t give blessings!” Brina mutters through gritted teeth. “Not unless you earn it. In blood!”

Lucien hitches. “Actually.” Lucien clears his throat for a second time. “I generally prefer to discuss business over a glass of wine, if that’s an option.”

Brina whisper-screams, barely audible, “Chiefs only drink with the victors of a battle!”

Lucien hitches again. “This is going terribly.” He clears his throat for a third time, straightens his jacket, and steps forward toward the chief.

Kamiko and Brina’s mouths both fall open in unison.

Serenith bites back a laugh from somewhere near the ceiling.

“My apologies,” Lucien bows low before the chief. “There’s clearly been some kind of miscom—”

The entire table gasps at once.

Chairs scrape back hard against the stone floor, several of the seated wolves shifting away sharply, a few hands drifting instinctively toward weapons that aren’t currently there.

The two women beside the chief squeal and bolt for the far corner of the room, clutching at each other, peering back over their own shoulders like they’re bracing for the room to catch fire.

“He didn’t know,” Kamiko begs the chief, “please, understand, Lucien doesn’t yet understand your customs.”

“I explained this exact thing yesterday!” Brina mutters, throwing her hands up. “Were you even listening?”

“I might have gotten a little lost in your eyes at some point during that conversation.” Lucien chuckles, sheepish. “You do have very lovely eyes.”

Brina flushes deep red instantly. “Y-You don’t step within three feet of a wolf-kin chief unless you’re challenging him.” Brina says, exasperated, “or trying to mate with him.”

Lucien’s eyes go wide. He glances at Chief Braska, then down at the floor, doing a quick, visible mental calculation of exactly how much space currently sits between them.

It’s less than three feet.

“You really should learn when to keep your mouth shut.” Serenith giggles from somewhere above him.

“Not helpful!” Lucien mutters.

Braska rises slowly from his chair, eyes locked on Lucien’s. “I’m going to assume,” he says, a growl layered into his words, “that you are not trying to mate with me.”

Lucien chuckles, recovering some composure, and smirks. “No.” He turns instead toward the two wolf-kin women huddled in the corner, offering them the full weight of his smolder. “More of a ladies’ man, myself.”

Both women’s eyes go wide, gazes darting away, lips caught between their teeth.

Lucien’s grin widens further.

The whole room gasps again, louder this time.

“Oh gods. He’s going to get us all killed.” Brina groans.

“It’s considered a great insult,” Kamiko explains calmly, “to look too long at a woman the chief has already claimed.”

Lucien turns back to the chief, who’s now snarling openly, fangs bared, ears pinned flat against his skull.

“Can we start over?” Lucien smiles innocently.

“TO THE ARENA!” Chief Braska barks sharply at the room.

He huffs at Lucien then storms out of the room without another word, boots striking the floor hard enough to rattle a shield mounted on the nearest wall. The entire table of seated wolves rise and storm out right behind him in a wave of scraping chairs and low, muttering growls, the door slamming shut hard enough to dislodge a thin drift of dust from the rafters, leaving Lucien, Brina, Kamiko, and Serenith alone in the sudden, ringing quiet.

Kamiko and Brina both drag their hands down their faces in unison, groaning.

“This is not going to be good for business relations.” Kamiko sighs.

“This is not going to be good for Lucien’s continued survival.” Brina groans.

Serenith bites back laughter. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him get his ass beat by somebody other than me, honestly.”

“Where exactly was your guidance a minute ago?” Lucien turns on her, betrayed.

“Some lessons are best learned the hard way.”

“I expect immediate healing when this is over.” He huffs.

“Sure,” Serenith says. “Assuming there’s enough left of you to heal.”

A wolf-kin woman pokes her head into the room just then, glances around, spots Lucien, and flushes deep, biting her lip before straightening back up.

“The chief awaits your presence at the arena. You’d better hurry.” She winks at him, and slips back out before anyone can respond.

Brina and Kamiko both turn to look at Lucien with matching expressions of pure disdain.

“I’ll admit,” He says, raising both hands. “Things are getting a little out of hand.”

Serenith just laughs harder.

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