CHAPTER 254: MEETING

"Hah. Your presence scared them off, my king. Ronan ran away and sent his weak little mate instead to negotiate. Show them no mercy, Your Highness!"

Leon froze- Riven was coming?

The words hit Leon like a slap.

His brows rose slowly. "What?"

The crowd quieted just enough to let the words settle in his mind.

Riven was coming here? Alone?

His breath stilled. His body tensed.

And for a brief moment, the alcohol swirling in his blood buzzed louder than usual.

Riven. Coming here. Without Ronan.

Leon couldn’t stop the smirk from forming on his lips.

So, Ronan sent Riven instead? That coward. The thought made him snort aloud. What kind of Alpha sends his own mate to deal with potential war?

Ronan clearly didn’t care as much as he pretended to. He wasn’t even coming in person.

But Riven was.

Of course, he was. He was probably coming here to meet him.

Leon’s thoughts wandered dangerously. He’s coming here for me. Not for Ronan.

Not for the land. There was a strange, twisted pride blooming in his chest.

His mind, already clouded from the half-empty pitcher of mead, started spinning fantasy after fantasy. He could take Riven—just pluck him out of this mess and bring him back to his kingdom. Make him his own. His personal servant, Leon mused darkly.

Dress him in silk and make him wait at my feet. He laughed to himself, a low chuckle that drew strange looks from his own soldiers.

He should have never touched me that day, Leon thought. That incident... that wasn’t something you just forget.

He leaned back against the edge of the fountain, his earlier impulse to leave now completely gone.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

If Riven was coming—then Leon was staying.

Back in the tavern later that evening, Leon sat cross-legged with a cup of mead in hand, gazing at the flickering lantern light.

He still looked proud, composed even. But internally? His thoughts were messy. Loud. Unforgiving.

He hated how much he remembered Riven’s lips. The way he hesitated, how his fingers touched his face. How those green eyes had narrowed at him, both defiant and full of something deeper. Something softer.

He had meant to forget, but he could not.

And now that Riven was on his way—riding into this very town, possibly at this very moment—Leon felt like a lion in a cage, pacing.

What would he say?

What would he do? His mother would freak out if he kidnapped Riven again. The diplomatic relationship between the Wolves and the Lions would be ruined. But he couldn’t be bothered to come here himself. Instead, he sent his mate. So why shouldn’t he? Clearly, he was not being appreciated here.

Why come alone? Why risk this? For Ronan? Or for me?

He wasn’t sure which answer would drive him madder.

Outside, the town was restless. Soldiers whispered. Soren’s men watched. Leon’s presence here was already a provocation. He knew that.

But he didn’t care.

Let them watch.

Let them speculate.

Let them prepare for war if they want.

From a distance, Leon spotted the slow, rolling outline of a carriage making its way toward the heart of the border town. The wheels creaked softly, echoing through the narrow streets, drawing the attention of townsfolk and soldiers alike. The closer it came, the more obvious it became that this was not a wolf clan vehicle.

The wolf clan didn’t use carriages. Everyone knew that. Wolves prided themselves on their physical strength, their endurance, their pride in the land and their ability to move swiftly in their shifted forms. They ran. They sprinted. They didn’t sit cushioned in the back of ornate carriages.

The crest of the Snow Leopard clan.

His heart sank.

He stepped forward without realising it, boots crunching against the cobbled road as the carriage slowed to a stop just a few yards away.

The soldiers behind him stiffened, sensing the tension that poured off their king in waves. The few townspeople still lingering nearby instinctively backed up, watching with wide, curious eyes.

They never saw Ronan’s mate before, they only knew that it was a man... Which was absolutely absurd. They pictured someone weak and small.

Then the door opened.

Soren stepped out first, tall and elegant, dressed in his usual crisp black-and-gold robes with just a touch of effortless arrogance. He looked like he belonged anywhere he went, and unfortunately, this border town was no exception.

Leon’s jaw clenched.

Soren didn’t even bother acknowledging the tension around them. Instead, he turned smoothly, as if this was all a royal outing, and extended his hand back into the carriage.

And Riven took it.

Leon’s entire body went still.

Riven stepped out gracefully, one hand in Soren’s, the other brushing through his hair again, making sure there were no stray strands.

His emerald eyes scanned the town slowly—perhaps looking for Leon, perhaps just taking in the mood—but he didn’t pull away from Soren’s touch.

The image burned into Leon’s brain.

Riven. With him. Not Ronan. Not alone.

With Soren.

Riven hadn’t come to negotiate peacefully. He hadn’t come on behalf of the wolf clan.

He’d come with Soren.

Leon’s hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. His breathing had gone shallow, and something inside him twisted cruelly.

He had spent all morning justifying Riven’s visit. Telling himself that Riven coming here meant something—that maybe, despite everything... Forget it.

"I am the representative of the Wolf Clan," Riven said, his voice calm and clear as he stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Leon and Soren.

He sounded distant. He was acting like he never met Leon before, as if they were strangers.

Leon’s eyes flicked to him, then to Soren, and back. His jaw ticked, but he didn’t speak.

"And you know who I am," Soren added smoothly, his usual arrogant smirk in place. His voice was cool, unbothered, but there was steel beneath it. "I don’t need an introduction."

Of course, no one needed to be told. He was Soren, the master of the Snow Leopard Clan—a name that carried weight and danger wherever it was spoken. Everyone in the region knew him. Including Leon.