Threads of Fate

Chapter Twenty-Five - The Wolf's Bargain

The council chamber was empty save for its echoes. Ash still clung to the rafters; the long table bore gouges from hasty markers and slammed fists. Only two figures stood within its silence: the Wolf, and the Princess.

Altan leaned one shoulder against the map table, arms folded, watching her as though he could wait a lifetime. Xinyue faced him head-on, her cloak hanging heavy around her like armor, her chin lifted in defiance.

"You asked me to marry you," she said at last, voice flat as a blade laid on stone.

Altan's mouth curved. "I did."

"And you think I will simply bend, like a reed in your steppe wind?"

His smile deepened, sharp. "I think you already know bending is not the same as breaking."

Her laugh was hollow, bitter. "Spoken like a man who's never worn a crown. You mistake survival for victory, Wolf."

She stepped closer, until the lantern's glow caught the hard glint of her eyes. "If you want my hand, you will have my terms."

Altan tilted his head, gaze narrowing, but he did not interrupt.

"First," she said, each word cut with ice, "the wedding will be here. In Jinling. Not in your tents, not beneath your banners. If you seek to bind me, you will do it beneath these walls, so all will see I am no prize dragged into conquest, but a shield standing for this city."

His brow arched slightly, but he gave no reply.

"Second," her voice sharpened, "my uncle, General Shucheng, remains in command. He will not be stripped, displaced, or paraded like a beaten hound. His word is Jinling's steel, and it will not be bent for you or for my father."

The flicker in Altan's eyes was almost amusement, almost respect.

"Third," she pressed, "my blood is Imperial. That title does not vanish with your vow. I will not be called 'Wolf bride' as though I were a trinket from the steppes. I am daughter of the Dragon Throne — and I will be known as both Princess of the Empire, and Lady of Xinbei. Deny me that, and you deny your own claim to legitimacy."

Her breath hitched, but she forced it steady. "And last — your soldiers protect Jinling. They will not occupy, they will not plunder, they will not turn their blades inward. If you seek a chain, then let it be one that shields, not strangles. I will not wear your ring if it means this city burns."

The chamber rang with her words. For a long moment, only the crackle of torches filled the silence.

Altan finally straightened, pushing off the table. He walked toward her slowly, like a wolf circling prey — but there was no triumph in his gaze. Only something sharper. Something almost reverent.

"You drive a bargain like a sovereign, not a bride," he said softly. "Tell me, Princess — is this marriage your cage, or my leash?"

Her lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. "That depends. Do you keep your word, or do wolves bite the hand they claim to protect?"

They stood a breath apart now, the air taut as a bowstring.

Then Altan laughed, low, dangerous, but edged with something startlingly close to admiration. He bowed his head — not in mockery, but in acknowledgment.

"Very well," he murmured. "Jinling shall be your altar. Shucheng keeps his sword. You remain Princess. And my riders guard these walls as though they were the steppes themselves."

He lifted his gaze, locking onto hers, unflinching. "But know this, Xinyue: you bind me as much as I bind you. When you stand at my side, there is no turning back. The world will see wolf and dragon as one."

Xinyue's throat tightened. Her pride screamed at her to flinch, to spit, to refuse. Instead, she held his gaze, unblinking, cold.

"Then let the world choke on it," she said.

The words struck like steel in the chamber. And though her heart thundered beneath her ribs, Xinyue felt, for the first time since the banners rose, that the noose had slackened — if only by her own will.