The slam of the door echoed in Ace’s bones.
The fury was a living thing, coiling hot and sharp in his chest, burning away the last traces of the morning’s strange pity.
He stormed down the east wing corridor after Alex, his boots hitting the stone like punches.
“That *bastard*,” Ace spat, the word vicious.
“That pretty, lying, legalistic *snake*.
I’ll tear that petition apart with my teeth.
I’ll burn his whole legal fortress to the ground.”
Alex didn’t answer.
He walked with a terrible, focused calm, his stride eating up the hallway.
He didn’t head back to their father’s study.
He turned instead toward the private family wing, to his own chambers.
“Where are you going?” Ace demanded, catching up.
“We need a plan.
We need to—”
“I need to think,” Alex cut him off, his voice a low rumble.
He stopped at his door, his hand on the handle.
He looked at Ace, and for a second, the mask of ice cracked, revealing the raw, furious heir beneath.
“He is right about one thing.
This is a war of paper and law now.
I cannot fight it with a sword.
Not yet.”
He opened his door.
“Do not do anything stupid, Ace.”
The door closed softly in Ace’s face.
*Do not do anything stupid.*
The words were a challenge.
A dare.
Ace stood in the silent hall, his brother’s dismissal ringing in his ears.
The anger twisted, morphing into something colder, sharper.
More familiar.
A plan.
He wasn’t Alex.
He couldn’t sit in a quiet room and think about laws.
He was the wildfire.
The smiling knife.
If Jade wanted to play a game of hidden documents and secret signatures, Ace would play a better one.
He turned on his heel and walked, not with Alex’s grim purpose, but with a new, dangerous lightness.
A smirk touched his lips, though his eyes stayed hard as rubies.
He went to his own rooms, but not to brood.
He went to his wardrobe.
He changed out of his training clothes.
He chose a fitted black shirt of soft, expensive cotton, left open at the throat.
He pulled on dark trousers and his best boots—the ones that made no sound.
He shrugged into a long, dark grey coat, its lining subtly embroidered with silver thread only visible in certain lights.
He ran a careless hand through his black hair, mussing it further.
He looked in the mirror.
He saw the rogue prince.
The merchant.
The flirt.
The threat.
He wasn’t going to confront Jade.
Confrontation was for Alphas like Alex, who met force with force.
Ace’s weapons were different.
He left his chambers and moved through the keep not like a prince, but like a shadow.
He avoided the main halls where ministers clustered, whispering about the petition.
He took the servants’ passages, the narrow back stairways, the routes he’d known since childhood when he’d sneak out to the stables.
His destination was not the east wing.
It was the west wing.
The ministers’ quarters.
Specifically, the suite belonging to Minister Rykar—Kalgen’s son.
The same Rykar who had sneered at Jade’s clothes at dinner.
The one whose signature, Ace was willing to bet his favorite dagger, was on that petition.
Ace didn’t knock.
He listened at the ornate door.
He heard the faint clink of a glass inside.
Good.
He was home.
Ace leaned against the wall beside the door, adopting a pose of casual boredom.
He waited.
He didn’t have to wait long.
A maid came scurrying down the hall with a tray of empty dishes.
She was young, pretty, with nervous Beta scent.
Ace pushed off the wall and stepped smoothly into her path, flashing his most disarming smile.
“Well, hello there.
You’re new.”
She startled, nearly dropping the tray.
“P-Prince Ace!
I’m sorry, I didn’t see—”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, his voice a warm, intimate murmur.
He reached out and steadied the tray with one hand, his fingers brushing hers.
He leaned in slightly, letting his scent—black cherry, smoked cedar, warm mischief—wash over her.
“You’re doing fine.
Is the Minister receiving?
I have some… urgent trade documents to discuss.” He winked.
The maid blushed from her neck to her hairline.
“H-he just finished lunch.
He’s alone, I think.”
“Perfect.” Ace’s smile widened.
He plucked a small, sugared violet from a leftover dessert plate on her tray and popped it in his mouth.
“My thanks.
You’re a treasure.”
He left her flustered and walked to Rykar’s door.
He knocked—three sharp, confident raps.
The door opened.
Rykar stood there, a glass of amber liquor in his hand.
He was a Beta in his late twenties, with a weak chin and the perpetually sour expression of someone who knows he’s less important than his father.
He blinked in surprise.
“Prince Ace?
What do you want?”
“To talk, Rykar,” Ace said, his tone friendly.
He didn’t wait for an invitation.
He simply stepped forward, forcing Rykar to move back or be walked into.
Ace closed the door behind him with a soft *click*.
The room was opulent and tasteless, full of gilded furniture and bad art.
Ace strolled in as if he owned it.
“I’ll get straight to it,” Ace said, turning to face him.
He leaned back against a heavy desk, crossing his ankles.
“The petition.
Jade’s little masterpiece.
Your signature is on it.”
Rykar’s eyes darted.
He took a sip of his drink.
“So?
It’s a legal matter.
The council has a right to review—”
“Oh, spare me the council speech,” Ace said, waving a hand dismissively.
His smile never faded.
“We both know you and your father have been itching for a way to clip my brother’s wings.
You think a quiet, pretty omega poet will be easier to control than the next Black Wolf.
It’s a boring, predictable play.”
Rykar’s face flushed with anger.
“You can’t just come in here and—”
“I can do whatever I want,” Ace interrupted softly.
He pushed off the desk and took a slow step closer.
“But I’m not here to threaten you, Rykar.
I’m here to make you an offer.”
That gave the minister pause.
“An offer?”
“A trade.” Ace’s ruby eyes gleamed.
He began to pace slowly around the room, trailing his fingers over the back of a chair.
“You see, I know things.
As the ‘problem child,’ people tend to talk around me.
They think I’m not listening.” He stopped and looked at Rykar.
“I’m always listening.”
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment.
He didn’t open it.
He just held it up.
“This,” Ace said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “is a bill of lading.
From the southern port of Sel Varin.
Dated three months ago.
For a shipment of… let’s call them ‘medicinal herbs.’ Herbs that are very illegal to import without the Duke’s seal.
Herbs that arrived on a ship called *The Siren’s Whisper*, which is registered to a holding company.” He smiled.
“A holding company owned by your dear father, Minister Kalgen.”
Rykar’s face went white.
The glass trembled in his hand.
“That’s… that’s a lie.
A forgery.”
“Is it?” Ace’s smile turned sharp.
“The captain of *The Siren’s Whisper* is a lovely woman named Mara.
We’re… close.
She keeps very good records.
And she’s very willing to testify before the Duke’s justice magistrate about who paid her, and what was in those crates.” He took a step closer.
“Smuggling contraband.
Tax evasion.
Undermining the Duke’s authority for personal profit.
It’s not just a scandal, Rykar.
It’s treason.
The penalty is not a fine.
It’s a headsman’s axe.”
Ace let the silence hang.
He could smell the fear-sweat breaking out on Rykar’s skin.
“What… what do you want?” Rykar whispered.
“Simple.” Ace folded the parchment and tucked it back into his coat.
“You go to the council clerk.
You withdraw your signature from Jade’s petition.
You say you made a mistake, that upon reflection, you support the legitimate heir, Alex.
And you convince… let’s say… five of your little friends to do the same.”
Rykar stared, his mouth agape.
“I can’t!
My father would kill me!
The Emperor’s faction—”
“Your father will be too busy trying to save his own neck from my accusations to care what you do,” Ace said smoothly.
He leaned in, his voice a velvet threat.
“And the Emperor is far away.
I am right here.
And I am not a patient man.”
He reached out and plucked the glass from Rykar’s numb fingers.
He took a sip, made a face, and set it down.
“Awful stuff.
You should buy better.
Maybe with the money you save not bribing ship captains.”
He straightened his coat.
“You have until sundown, Rykar.
Withdraw the signatures.
Or this bill of lading, and the sworn testimony of Captain Mara, lands on my father’s desk.
And I will personally make sure your father’s trial is the social event of the season.”
Ace turned and walked to the door.
He paused with his hand on the handle and looked back over his shoulder, his dimples flashing in a wicked, charming smile.
“Oh, and Rykar?
If you try to warn Jade or run to your father… well.” He shrugged, a graceful, careless motion.
“Let’s just say Mara isn’t the only person I’m close with in the shipping business.
Accidents happen at sea so often.
It’s a dangerous world.”
He opened the door and slipped out, leaving Rykar standing alone in the middle of his gilded room, shaking like a leaf in a storm.
Ace walked down the hall, his smirk settling into something colder, more satisfied.
One thread pulled.
The legal fortress had a weak spot, and it was made of greed and fear, not law.
And Ace was an expert at exploiting both.
He had just turned a corner when he nearly collided with someone.
It was Jade.
He was walking quickly, head down, a sheaf of papers in his arms—more legal work, no doubt.
He looked up, startled.
Their eyes met.
Crimson on crimson.
For a second, the hallway was utterly silent.
Ace could see the faint shadows under Jade’s eyes.
The tightness around his mouth.
He didn’t look like a triumphant claimant.
He looked like a young man carrying a weight too heavy for his slender shoulders.
The image of him in the snow, drawing the wolf, flashed in Ace’s mind.
He shoved it away, violently.
Jade’s gaze flickered over Ace’s deliberate, elegant attire.
His too-open shirt.
His knowing smirk.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he could sense the mischief just done.
“Prince Ace,” Jade said, his voice flat.
No ‘brother’ this time.
“Petitioner Jade,” Ace replied, his tone sweet as poisoned honey.
He didn’t move to let him pass.
He blocked the hall, radiating lazy, aggressive confidence.
“Off to file more paperwork?
You should be careful.
I hear ink can be… unpredictable.
Signatures can vanish.
Support can… crumble.”
Jade went very still.
He understood the threat.
Ace saw the calculation flash behind his eyes, quick and sharp.
“The law is not so easily swayed by whispers in hallways,” Jade said quietly.
“No,” Ace agreed, taking a slow step closer.
He invaded Jade’s space, letting his warm, chaotic scent envelop the colder, sweeter notes of winter lily and sakura.
“But men are.
And men make the laws.” He reached out, not to touch Jade, but to straighten the collar of the borrowed blue coat—*Alex’s* coat.
His fingers brushed the sensitive skin of Jade’s neck.
He felt the tiny, instinctive flinch.
“You’re playing a high-stakes game, little poet.
I hope you know the rules.
And I hope you know that in the North, we have a rule all our own.”
He leaned in, his lips almost brushing Jade’s ear.
His whisper was a soft, dangerous promise.
“We eat the weak.”
He pulled back, gave Jade a final, glittering smile that held no warmth at all, and walked past him, continuing down the hall without a backward glance.
He left Jade standing there, alone in the corridor, the papers clutched tight to his chest, the ghost of a touch on his neck and a threat hanging in the air between them.
The game was no longer just about laws.
Ace had just made it personal.
And personal was where he always won.