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Roman had gone to catch up with some old friends who had travelled here with them from Ashdale. The Baxgroll tradition of racing to the palace had made conversation impossible.

Of course, it had been Waylen, the pack’s beta, to reach the palace first. It was him every year. She had almost clipped his paw with her fang just so it wouldn’t have been him to finish first. Wolves were happy to fight dirty, and she had thought about it for a long moment, but she had opted against it, knowing how much of a sore loser Waylen was. The win wouldn’t have been worth the whining for days on end.

The male ego really does go back to the most animalistic parts of existence, Breighly thought as she pulled on her dress for tonight.

Her attire was nothing like what the females here were going to be wearing. It was not lined in elegant lace, nor was it deemed classical. It did not have ruffles or tulle, or any signs of sleeves or a train.

It was black and it was tight. And maybe a little too short for an event like this, but screw them. Elegant balls were not her thing. The only reason she was here was to please her father.

Messing up her hair that sat a little too perfectly on her shoulders, her eyes narrowed in on her body in the mirror. She looked like she was going for a night in La Luna, maybe even a night’s work in the forbidden lanes of the Huntswood Markets. Everyone else at the ball would be too concerned with looking respectable to have painted their lips dark crimson or covered their eyelids in glitter.

She absolutely did not look like she was going to a grand ball hosted by the Supreme.

It was perfect.

Smiling, she picked up a little white box that had been strapped inside a satchel. She had to admit it, not in the eternal life of Vanadey did she expect a fireletter from Emara Clearwater yesterday. And she especially hadn’t expected a fireletter to request such items. But then again, the newly ascended Empress of Air seemed to be full of surprises. And Breighly liked that about her. So she had gone into the Huntswood Markets before her travels and picked out the garments she thought best complimented the empress.

Closing her door and walking along the corridor swishing her hips, Breighly made her way to where Emara had said her room was. It hadn’t taken her long to make her way to that side of the grounds, passing a few magical factions on the way. Some had smiled, knowing how lethal she could be if they so much as sneered at her. But some had been brave enough to draw their eyes off her like she was dirt on the floor.

All for what she was wearing.

Didn’t these assholes know that fashion was changing? Women and men should make it their objective to visit Huntswood every so often and educate their little backwards minds on the new trends.

Breighly sighed. “The life of a woman,” she muttered under her breath as she noted the faces that were screwing up in distaste at her fashion statement. If she ever saw them outside of the palace, they would pay for the way they had snubbed at her.

And she looked forward to it.

Rounding the curve of the corridor, knowing that Emara’s room was directly in front of her, she stilled. A familiar scent drifted to her nostrils. The scent was masculine, but it was also like toasted orange and summer rain. She cursed under her breath, knowing exactly who she was about to come face to face with. His scent still covered her blankets at home.

Breighly swished a little more sass into her hips as she walked, raising her chin, taking the final few steps before he would be able to see her with his golden eyes.

And he was waiting for her, almost like he had caught her scent too.

That was impossible, of course, since he wasn’t a wolf. He didn’t have her instincts.

She rolled her eyes as she stood before him. His brute mass spread across the door like he was the solid oak frame himself. He was probably less likely to break.

“Hello, wolf.” His rich, deep voice sprung from his ever-growing smile.

She hated it.

“Hunter,” she addressed him, giving out an over dramatic sigh and looking over every inch of him. “Step aside and I won’t hurt you.”

He took a moment, his gaze raking all over her, before he huffed a laugh. “You must have been thinking about me, because I can see you are all worked up already.” His broad shoulders squared out even further.

“Don’t piss me off, hunter,” she warned, popping out a fancy shoe. “I am here on business. Tell the Empress of Air I am here.”

His eyes stroked from her toes to her face again, and she swallowed down that inner wolf who always responded to such glances.

She was a traitor.

“Are you not here to see me? I am a little disappointed.” His eyes danced with delight, telling her he felt no such things as disappointment.

“If you don’t want my claws slicing into your neck in the next few seconds”—She drew her eyes from him and looked down at her nails. They were sharp and polished.—“I suggest you let me through that door without any more hassle.”

He let out a wolf whistle. “You do like playing at Alpha, don’t you?”

That struck a chord.