Page 39 of Nikolay

“I am not asking whether he was vetted.”

Her gaze held mine. “Then perhaps you should tell me what precisely, you wish to know.”

“Everything,” I said.

“Everything,” she repeated.

“Most importantly, if he arrived by invitation. Why exactly is he in a Kozlov club tonight?”

Her gaze flicked once to my hands, still spread against the desk as though I might otherwise put them through the wood, then returned to my face. “His stated purpose for attending was social recreation with approved companions. As to the rest, I can have a summary prepared—”

“No.”

The word came clean enough to slice.

I straightened only slightly, enough to make the next sentence colder.

“I am not asking as one of Obsidian’s interested stakeholders,” I said. “I am asking as your prince. I want the full dossier, not a summary, and I want it before the hour is out.”

For one beat, silence stood between us.

Amara was not a woman easily impressed by title. That was one reason Father valued her. She respected hierarchy, yes, but she did not simper toward it. She met it head-on, evaluated its legitimacy, and answered accordingly. I had watched her make lesser men feel ridiculous with nothing but a pause and an impeccably polite refusal.

Now she regarded me with that same level of assessment, and I knew she was cataloging the deviation as surely as she would a forged pass or scent mismatch at the door.

“Very well, Your Highness.”

She moved at once. One manicured hand slid to the hidden drawer built beneath the desk’s false front. The lock released with a soft click. She withdrew a slim tablet first, then a leather folio, both handled with the same brisk care she brought to everything under her charge.

“As approved,” she said while her fingers moved over the tablet screen, “Sage Alexander Lynch attended under primary membership granted three months ago, following a full background review. Alpha of Ironwood Pack. Pack population one hundred and thirty-five registered wolves, headquartered outside Philadelphia on privately held compound territory. Public-facing enterprise: Lynch Dynamics.”

I knew much of that already, but hearing it now, item by item, only sharpened the outline.

“Wealthy,” I said.

“Extremely.”

“Old line.”

Her eyes flicked up. “One of the oldest surviving North American bloodlines claiming uninterrupted continuity. Their separatist reputation required additional observation, but no actionable violations were found. Council sanction remained in good standing.”

Of course it had. Men like Sage built themselves carefully. Not clean, perhaps, but clean enough for institutions.

“And tonight?”

“Entered with four pack members,” she said. “All cleared in advance. No prior incident reports within Obsidian. No misconduct flags. His visit was not brokered by any standing arrangement with this house beyond membership access.”

Not brokered by us. Not invited by Bohdan. Not formally.

That troubled me more than if it had been planned.

“Who signed off on the group?” I asked.

“I did.”

There was no apology in it. Nor should there have been.

“Did he request the upper lounge?”