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Asher Nightshade sat on his throne in the Silver Court with all the elegance of a lion at rest, enjoying breakfast. On his plate, he had roasted plantain, golden and caramelized at the edges, and smeared with a hefty dollop of unsweetened Greek yogurt mixed with tahini.

The food was a odd combination as it was

neither sweet nor fully savory, balancing somewhere in the middle. The yogurt-tahini sauce was creamy, tangy, and slightly bitter, sticking to the warm plantain like it was trying to be something it wasn’t.

Most people would be put off by the taste. Not that it was revolting or something, it simply confused the tongue and definitely left them wondering why anyone would take a second bite. Asher, though, didn’t mind. He devoured it all.

He dragged a slice through the food, letting the cream coat the roasted flesh, then shoved it into his mouth. The sauce smeared across the corner of his lips, pale and thick but he didn’t bother to wipe it.

Usually, Asher Nightshade was the picture of orderliness even while eating, but at that moment, he didn’t care.

With half-lidded eyes and a cool, lazy kind of threat in his posture, the West House Alpha seemed to be savoring more than just the strange meal.

He was relishing the moment. Perfect and ripe as he wanted it.

And it wasn’t long before his cardinal brothers, Griffin, Alaric, and Roman appeared.

Just as he expected.

A subtle curve teased the corner of Asher’s lips, but it was so faint it might have been imagined. Just as quickly, it vanished, his expression sliding back into its usual cool neutrality, revealing nothing.

Griffin, Alaric, and Roman had no idea what to expect when they came looking for Asher.

Yet the sight before them startled them more than any tense confrontation ever could.

There, laid out on the table before their individual seats were fresh, steaming breakfasts carefully prepared for each of them.

The three paused, exchanging surprised looks. It wasn’t just the fact that Asher had arranged a meal for them as if he knew they were coming, but that the food was meticulously tailored to their individual preferences. The mind compelling bastard ordered their favorite foods.

Roman found himself staring down at bowl of savory soup.

The spicy, red broth was filled with tender pieces of goat meat, mushrooms, and root vegetables, and followed by flat, chewy bread perfect for dipping.

It was exactly the sort of thing he craved in the morning after a night full of activity — if you knew what he meant.

As for Alaric, his own tray was more indulgent.

There was sweet pastries dusted with powdered sugar, drizzled with chocolate sauce was arranged beside a dish of candied fruits.

Then a glass of sweet vanilla almond milk completed the setup.

The sweet aroma wafted up like a siren call to his well-known sweet tooth.

And for Griffin, there was a plate of seared steak strips, succulent and still sizzling, paired with roasted peppers and onions. Just the kind of hearty, protein-packed breakfast he typically favored.

All three of them cast uneasy glances at one another, unsure whether to treat this as a peace offering, or a trap. This felt too good to be true. No, right now, Asher was giving the vibe of a witch trying to lure in children with goodies.

For his part, Asher said nothing. He only ate his food with the confidence of one who knew he would win in the end.

However, just to test him, Roman intentionally said, "Did we miss your birthday or something?"

"Fool" Griffin mocked him. "We were all born on the same day."

"Oh right, " Roman recalled, saying dramatically, "What great fate tying us together."

Then without a care, Roman pulled out his seat, no, scratch that, his throne and sat down. No other student possessed such regal seat as theirs, hence deserved its title.

He picked up a spoon, muttering, "If this is poisoned, at least I’ll die happy."

Griffin grumbled in response, yet he pulled out his own seat and sat. They had come here to talk to Asher. The fact he even entertained their presence meant he was giving them a chance to talk things out. He hoped so.

Alaric was the most worried and the last to settle down. Even when he was seated, he stared down at his plate of sweetened perfection like it was laced with cyanide.

The food was everything his sugar-loving heart adored. And yet, he couldn’t.

He lifted his gaze, catching Asher’s stare from across the table. "Why are you not eating?"he asked knowingly.

"What?" Alaric said.

"Guilty?" Asher taunted him.

Alaric’s face hardened at once and he was about to retort but Asher beat him to it, saying with a cold voice, "Eat your food. We’ve got shit to talk about."

Alaric didn’t trust the West House Alpha further than he could throw him, but Asher wouldn’t go through the trouble of laying out a meal only to poison it. That wasn’t his style. If Asher wanted you dead, he’d look you in the eye and handle it with his own two hands.

With resigned acceptance, Alaric picked up his fork and took a bite. And he had to admit, it was good.

The three Alphas ate in silence, the kind that buzzed just beneath the surface like static waiting to erupt into a storm. The air was thick with tension, heavier than the silence itself.

As expected, Asher was the first to finish, and now, he leaned back in his throne, his fingers tapping against the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t relaxed either. It was measured, and calculated like a countdown.

The others tried to ignore it and keep eating, but under that haunting gaze, it became unbearable. It was impossible to stand Asher’s unnerving presence. They would choke at this rate.

So one by one, they pushed their half-finished meals away. They weren’t here to eat anyway.

It was time to talk.