POV Soren
Alpha King Aldric sits at the head of the dining room table, his ice-white gaze assessing each of us like prey he's deciding whether to devour now or save for later.
I've been assessed by powerful men before. I've never flinched.
But I've also never sat across from a woman whose taste I can still remember on my tongue.
The seating arrangement is strategic—I recognize the Alpha King's hand in it immediately. Eva is positioned directly across from me, giving me an unobstructed view of her face whether I want it or not.
Her father probably thinks he's doing me a favor, letting me study my potential mate throughout the meal.
I wish she were anywhere else.
I've spent years perfecting control. My wolf is a savage thing—ancient and predatory, with appetites that would horrify polite company. I've learned to cage it behind walls of ice, to smother every flame before it can catch.
Emotion is weakness.
Desire is a weapon others can use against you.
I learned these lessons in blood when I was barely more than a pup, and I've never forgotten them. But this girl is unraveling everything.
Outwardly, I'm the picture of Nordic composure. Spine straight, expression neutral, cutting my meat with mechanical precision. The mask I've worn for decades fits perfectly, not a crack showing.
Inside, a fire blazes so hot I'm surprised the others can't feel it.
Every time I look at Eva, my wolf surges against its chains, howling with recognition and want.
The memory of her body haunts me—how she flexed in my arms, how her skin tasted beneath my mouth, how she whispered my name without even knowing it.
She'd been drunk and desperate for escape, and she'd gasped like a prayer when I made her come apart.
I hate what she does to me. Hate the way my control fractures every time our eyes meet across this ridiculous table with its ridiculous silver and its ridiculous pretense that any of this is civilized.
Eva keeps glancing at me—quick, nervous looks that she breaks the moment I catch them. Her green eyes meet mine for a heartbeat, then dart away like startled birds.
Does she recognize me? Does some part of her remember my hands on her skin, my mouth on her throat?
Or is she simply unsettled by the intensity of my stare?
I can't tell. And the uncertainty is maddening.
Prince Sebastian has already engaged her in conversation, leaning in with that golden-boy charm that makes everyone like him. His smile is warm, his questions gentle, his entire demeanor designed to put her at ease.
Eva responds with polite smiles and appropriate answers, playing the role of gracious princess even as her father watches her every move from the head of the table.
Sebastian says something I can't quite hear, and Eva laughs—a soft, surprised sound, like she didn't expect to find anything amusing tonight.
My wolf snarls with jealousy so sharp it takes my breath away.
A foot kicks my ankle under the table. Hard.
Matteo sits beside me, the picture of casual indifference to anyone watching. He's draped in his chair like he owns it, wine glass dangling from elegant fingers, dark eyes hooded with apparent boredom.
But his whisper is pitched for my ears alone.
"You should just sit on the table in front of her. Make it even more obvious you can't stop staring."
"I don't understand what you're talking about." I keep my voice flat, dispassionate, cutting into my meat without looking up.
Matteo snorts quietly, nodding toward my plate. "Do you prefer your meat with glass? Then press down harder on the cutlery, just to be sure."
I glance down. My knife has scraped through the meat entirely and is grinding against the porcelain with enough force to leave visible marks.
I force my grip to relax, my fingers uncurling from the handle with deliberate slowness.
"Matteo." My voice drops to a hiss. "Now is neither the time nor the place for this conversation."
"On the contrary."
His dark eyes glitter with amusement, though his expression remains perfectly bland for anyone watching.
"Now is the perfect time to solidify something very important. We're keeping quiet about what happened that night. No one can know—agreed?"
My jaw tightens. "Obviously."
"Good. Because if Daddy Aldridge finds out we already sampled his precious daughter before the courtship even began, we'll find ourselves in serious trouble."
"Since when have you cared about consequences?"
Matteo's grin is sharp as a blade, there and gone in an instant. "Since we fucked the heiress on whom the political future of our packs depends."
The words hit me like ice water. My fingers clench around my fork—and the metal bends with a screech that silences the entire table.
Every head turns toward me.
The Alpha King's eyes narrow, ice-white and assessing. Eva's lips part in surprise, her wine glass frozen halfway to her mouth. Sebastian and Khalil exchange confused glances.
Even the servants freeze mid-step, platters hovering in arrested motion.
I stare at the mangled fork in my hand, my legendary composure cracking for one horrifying moment. The tines are twisted at impossible angles, bent by fingers that forgot their own strength.
"Excuse me." I clear my throat, setting down the ruined cutlery with forced calm. "The fork was... defective."
No one believes me. I can see it in their faces—the curiosity, the suspicion, the barely concealed judgment.
But servants rush forward with fresh silverware anyway, and the table slowly returns to conversation, the moment smoothed over by breeding and propriety.
Matteo, the bastard, is fighting back a smirk.
The rest of dinner passes in a fog of tension I desperately try to mask. I engage the Alpha King in diplomatic small talk, answering questions about my pack, my territories, my plans for the future.
My voice is steady. My responses are appropriate. I am the Ice Prince of the North, cold and controlled and utterly unflappable.
All the while, my attention keeps drifting back to Eva.
The way candlelight catches in her dark hair. The graceful movement of her hands as she lifts her glass.
The guarded look in her green eyes that speaks of someone who's learned to hide her true self behind walls almost as thick as mine.
She never looks directly at me again. But I notice the way she tenses whenever my voice carries across the table, the way her fingers tighten around her wine glass when I speak.
She feels something. I'm certain of it.
Finally, the Alpha King sets down his napkin and rises.
"Gentlemen, I trust you've found your accommodations satisfactory. Tomorrow evening, we will hold a gala reception where each of you will have the opportunity to properly meet my daughter and demonstrate your... suitability."
His gaze sweeps across us, cold and calculating.
"I suggest you rest well. The month ahead will be demanding."
The dismissal is clear. Servants appear to escort us to our respective quarters.
I rise with the others, but my eyes find Eva one last time. She's already being led away by her father, her back straight, her shoulders tense beneath the elegant fabric of her dress.
My wolf howls with anticipation.
And somewhere deep beneath my ice, I burn.