Inside the Great Hall of the Black Wolf King, the temperature had plummeted to freezing.
Despite her protests, Charlotte had insisted on receiving Edric and Rowan. Ragnar responded by crowding her into a corner of the throne, his massive frame caging her in with a possessive weight.
CRASH!
The heavy oak doors were blown off their hinges by sheer force.
Edric strode in, flanked by an elite squad of Brown Wolf guards. He was as dapper as ever in his tailored suit, but there was a deadly promise in his eyes.
Beside him, Rowan gripped several glass vials shimmering with an eerie green light. His expression was so dark it was practically funereal.
"Ragnar, get your filthy hands off her," Edric said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the crushing weight of a man born to lead—calm, deep, and utterly dangerous.
"Well, look at you—the Great King of the Brown Wolves, acting like a pathetic lapdog for the humans," Ragnar barked with a defiant howl. His muscles surged, and black fur began to sprout along his forearms as his transformation simmered just beneath the skin.
"And Rowan—you little Grey Wolf cub who can't do anything but play with a scalpel. You've got some nerve breaking into my hall."
"Ragnar, your 'Berserker' fits aren't cured yet. If you're dying for an early grave, I'm happy to oblige," Rowan sneered. He tilted a vial ever so slightly, and a colorless, odorless gas began to drift through the air. "This mist is enough to put you under for three days straight."
"You asked for it!" Ragnar roared. He blurred into a black shadow, lunging forward and tossing Edric's two lead guards aside like ragdolls. Far from backing down, he shifted into a partial-beast form, his roar vibrating the grand chandeliers until they threatened to fall.
Edric didn't flinch. His hand was a blur as he drew, and a custom silver pistol snapped into a loaded position.
Just as the hall was about to turn into a slaughterhouse, a command sliced through the chaos, cold enough to draw blood.
"Are we done here?"
Charlotte stepped out from the shadows of the throne. Her features were carved from ice, beautiful and utterly lethal. She grabbed a wine bottle from Ragnar's side table and shattered it on the floor right between the three men.
"Keep the gun, Edric. Your media empire is nothing but a glass house, and it'll shatter the second the Black Wolf military stops shielding it."
"As for you, Ragnar? Unless you want to rot alongside your tribesmen, you'll need the antidote only the Grey Wolves can provide."
"And you... Rowan. Watch your toxins," Charlotte whispered as she leaned in close to him. "Your ancestors risked everything to taint the Black Wolf water supply. Do you really want to commit suicide here today?"
Three men who ruled their respective territories with an iron fist went silent in an instant.
Charlotte stepped into the center of the fray, her presence commanding the silence of the room. "The situation is simple. Valeria has the White Wolf army and a forged decree. If you want to keep bickering, fine—but I'm not going down with you."
"Starting now: Edric, you handle intelligence and financial lockdowns. Rowan, you're on the rescue mission and the antidote. Ragnar, you lead the frontal assault."
"This is a joint op. If anyone drops the ball because of their ego, you're out of my life. Permanently."
The three men glared at each other, sparks still flying. But under her queen-like pressure, they forced their murderous impulses back down.
Edric elegantly wiped a speck of dust from his glasses, his tone silky yet firm. "I'll play ball. But Charlotte comes with me tonight. The consulate is far safer than this crumbling fortress."
Ragnar's jaw tightened. He moved before she could answer, intercepting Edric. "In your dreams! She's my Luna. Touch her and lose a hand!"
Charlotte pressed her fingers to her temples. These men were ticking time bombs. If she didn't give them a reason to stay, they'd blow the whole mission—and each other—to hell.
It was time to play the "Ultimate Diplomat."
She turned her gaze toward the most volatile one, Ragnar. She gently took his hand and led him into the private study.
Ragnar followed like a massive, brooding hound, radiating resentment.
Charlotte sat directly on his lap, cupped his face in her hands, and looked at him with a gaze that was both wild and searing. "Ragnar, I don't want a partner who can only fight. I want a God of War who can rule the entire werewolf race by my side."
"In return, I will give you the absolute submission of the White Wolf Clan."
"You're the only man strong enough to hold my gaze."
Her words hit him like a physical blow. "A wolf craves power, but they're addicted to ambition. His violent aura melted instantly. He locked his massive arms around her waist and let out a low growl. "You're a maddening woman, you know that?"
[Ding! Ragnar favorability +10%, Progress: 65%!]
She found Rowan in the garden later, under the pretense of fetching medicine.
He was sitting on a bench, staring into space. Charlotte approached quietly, letting her guard fall, she allowed a rare flicker of exhaustion to cloud her eyes.
She leaned her head lightly on his shoulder, her voice weak. "Rowan, you're the only person in this world I can truly trust with my life. Ragnar is too volatile, Edric is too calculating... only with you can I take off this mask."
Rowan's tongue was sharp, but his breath hitched. He reached out, almost despite himself, to stroke her hair. The 'illusion' of being her sole confidant was a hook Rowan didn't even try to fight.
[Ding! Rowan favorability +15%, Progress: 50%!]
Finally, she intercepted Edric on the terrace.
"Still playing the brooding intellectual, Edric?" Charlotte leaned against the railing, letting the wind pull at her hair.
Edric adjusted his glasses and said softly, "I knew you'd come."
She stepped into his space, her fingers grazing his silk tie with a calculated lightness. "You don't just want the money, do you? You want a seat at the high table. You want to be the one pulling the strings in Parliament while I wear the crown."
Edric looked at her and leaned in until their breath mingled. He chuckled. "More than status... I want a private dance with you."
Seeing his most secret ambitions mirrored in her eyes, Edric was hooked. It wasn't just the power—it was the fact that she saw right through to the core of his ambition.
[Ding! Edric favorability +10%, Progress: 70%!]
The dinner table was a battlefield of silent competition.
Ragnar tore into the venison as if it were a rival, while Edric meticulously arranged her plates, and Rowan provided a running commentary on her digestion while placing a bowl of warm, stomach-soothing tonic in front of her.
Charlotte sat at the head of the table, calmly accepting the tribute from the three Wolf Kings.
When she stood up to head to bed, Ragnar blocked the bedroom door. He bared his fangs at the trailing Edric and Rowan. "Tonight, she's mine. This is a private suite for a King and his Luna. The rest of you—get lost."