Page 14 of FoolSilver
And then I caught myself. Nikolai was a thousand miles away. Aelindor and Caspian stood ten feet from me, and my mind strayed to the one who wasn’t.
I shoved the thought down and took another sip.
Caspian reached for the box. The room watched him. No one would touch the donuts until the heirs did. Caspian selected a pink-frosted ring, turned in his seat, and held it out.
“Max. This is for you.”
I froze.
The room went silent; not the usual briefing-room quiet, but the loaded silence of officers witnessing something unprecedented.
Shifters didn’t offer food casually. Offering food meant claiming someone. Pack. Inner circle.Yours.Rejecting it in front of witnesses was a slap to a shifter prince’s face, a public humiliation that could fracture alliances.
Caspian knew exactly what he was doing. The wolf prince had many layers, and the easy grin was the one that made people forget he was a predator with a body count. He’d put me on the spot, and the warm flutter in my chest didn’t change the fact that I wanted to kick him under the table.
Aelindor gave Caspian a brief, unreadable glance, then a subtle nod to me before lifting his coffee. Drakken shot Caspian a hard look. Said nothing.
I was already moving. Standing against the wall like a target wasn’t an option.
I crossed the room, skirting two tables, shoulders locked in military posture—no swagger. Drakken had once made me run twenty barefoot laps for walking with confidence. I kept my gait tight, my face blank.
I took the donut from Caspian’s hand like a live grenade, eager to end the spectacle, and saluted. “Thank you, sir.”
I turned to retreat. Drakken’s voice caught me.
“Cadet Private Max.”
I stopped.
My first thought: he’d order me to put the donut back. A donut brawl between dragon and wolf princes in front of field officers would be the most ridiculous moment in Zodiac Covenant military history. But I’d seen the heirs fight over a water cup, a drinking party, a seat in a jeep. I wouldn’t put a donut incident past them.
I turned. Drakken’s gray eyes pinned me.
“Grab a chair. You’re sitting with us. Today’s topics concern you.”
My heart stuttered.
I’d known this was coming, the moment when my abilities would stop being the heirs’ private knowledge and become operational intelligence. I’d expected a closed room with four princes, not a briefing table full of commanders and colonels. And it wasn’t Aelindor who’d made the call.
It was Drakken.
The man who’d interrogated me in a cell. Who’d tested whether I’d survive his dragon fire. Who’d called me warlock, liar, threat to the brotherhood.
That man was pulling me to the command table.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I turned, coffee in one hand, donut in the other, scanning for an empty chair.
“Commander Aldara,” Caspian said to a woman seated too close on his left. “Mind moving? Max, come sit by me.”
Aldara rose without hesitation. No glare, no sidelong cut of the eyes, not a flicker of resentment. A professional. I wondered if Caspian had slept with her on a previous visit. Knowing his reputation, odds were better than even.
Aelindor kept his expression neutral. Drakken shot Caspian a look that could curdle milk.
Caspian was a bully. Drakken was worse. But Caspian was my bully.
I slid in next to Caspian, perched on the edge of the seat, spine straight, hands flat. I didn’t show my discomfort. But I’d have to tell him—privately, firmly—to stop parading me in front of the officer corps. The barracks already had me pegged as his new squeeze toy, and I was no one’s fucking toy. The heirs needed to be careful if they thought I was their favorite of the month.
