The Lycan Court quarters were nicer than anything I'd ever lived in.
That was the first thing I noticed when Jensen's attendants—two silent, efficient wolves who moved like shadows—deposited my bags in the suite and disappeared without waiting for a tip. The second thing I noticed was the size. Three rooms. A sitting area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the eastern training grounds. A bedroom with a bed large enough to sleep four wolves comfortably. A bathroom with a tub that could double as a small swimming pool.
The third thing I noticed was the tea.
It sat on the kitchen counter in a small ceramic canister, unlabeled, the lid slightly ajar. I walked over. Opened it. The scent hit me immediately—chamomile, lavender, a hint of honey, and something else I couldn't name. Something I'd sourced from a neutral-territory apothecary eight months into the contract year because the scent-dampening herbs were giving me headaches and I needed something that didn't taste like punishment.
I stared at the canister.
This wasn't the suppression blend. This was the comfort tea. The one I'd brewed privately, late at night, when no one was watching. The one I'd never told anyone about.
I picked up the canister. Turned it over in my hands. Set it down.
Walked out of the suite, down the hall, and straight to Jensen's office.
He was at his desk, reading something on a tablet. He looked up when I walked in. Smiled. "Eleanor. Settling in?"
"How did you know?" I said.
He set the tablet down. "Know what?"
"The tea. The one in my quarters. How did you know about it?"
Jensen leaned back in his chair. "I pay attention."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I stared at him. He stared back. His expression was calm. Open. Completely unbothered by the fact that I'd just walked into his office without knocking and was now standing in front of his desk with my arms crossed.
"You've never been in my den during the contract year," I said. "You've never seen me brew that tea."
"No," Jensen agreed. "I haven't."
"So how—"
"I asked," he said simply. "After the bar. After I saw you standing under my aura. I wanted to know who you were. So I asked."
"Asked who?"
"People who know you. People who've seen you when you thought no one was watching." He tilted his head. "Andi mentioned the tea once. Said you brewed it late at night. Said it smelled like the only thing that made you smile during the contract year."
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Andi. Of course Andi had told him. Andi, who'd been rooting for Jensen since the moment he'd stepped between me and Greyson at the bar.
"That's invasive," I said finally.
"It's thorough," Jensen corrected. "There's a difference."
I wanted to argue. I didn't have the words.
Jensen stood. Walked around the desk. Stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his scent—cedar, something warmer underneath, something that made my wolf stir faintly.
"I'm not trying to trap you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to know you."
"Why?"
"Because you're worth knowing."
The words landed soft. Honest. I felt them settle somewhere in my chest I didn't have a name for.
I stepped back. "I need to unpack."
Jensen nodded. Didn't follow. "Dinner's at seven. I'll meet you in the main hall."
"I didn't agree to dinner."
"You're my liaison. Dinner's part of the job."
I stared at him. He smiled.
I turned and walked out.
---
The next morning, Jensen was waiting outside my quarters at dawn.
I opened the door and found him leaning against the wall, dressed in training gear, looking like he'd been there for a while.
"Morning walk," he said. "Court grounds. I'll show you the territory lines."
"I didn't agree to a morning walk."
"You're awake. I'm awake. Seems efficient."
I looked at him. He looked back. His expression was pleasant. Unbothered. Completely immune to the fact that I wanted to close the door in his face.
My wolf stirred. Curious.
I sighed. "Fine. Give me five minutes."
---
We walked the eastern perimeter first. Jensen narrated the history of each territorial marker—who'd held it, who'd challenged for it, which treaties had redrawn the lines. He spoke with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he actually cared about centuries-old land disputes, and I found myself listening despite my better judgment.
"This section," Jensen said, gesturing to a ridge that overlooked a valley, "was contested for three generations. Two packs, both convinced the Moon Goddess had promised it to them. They fought over it until the Lycan Court stepped in and declared it neutral ground."
"And now?"
"Now it's a training ground. Open to any pack that requests access." He glanced at me. "Including Ironveil. Though they haven't requested access in over a year."
I looked at him. "Why not?"
"Because I revoked their allied territory agreements two days ago."
I stopped walking. "You what?"
Jensen stopped beside me. "Ironveil held three allied agreements—eastern hunting rights, northern trade routes, and a shared water access treaty with the Crescent Ridge Pack. All three were contingent on maintaining peaceful relations with neighboring territories and the Lycan Court."
"And?"
"And Greyson Miller assaulted you in a neutral-territory bar in front of witnesses, using Alpha aura to force submission from non-pack wolves." Jensen's voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. "That's a violation. I filed the administrative orders. The agreements are void."
I stared at him. "You dismantled his resource base."
"I enforced existing policy."
"Jensen—"
"He put his hands on you," Jensen said quietly. His eyes met mine. "He used his authority to intimidate you in a space where you should have been safe. That has consequences."
I didn't know what to say.
Jensen started walking again. "His Beta reached out yesterday. Callum Reid. Polite. Diplomatic. Asked if there was a path to appeal."
"What did you say?"
"I said the appeal process is outlined in Lycan Court protocol. He's welcome to file." Jensen glanced at me. "It'll take six months. Minimum."
I felt something shift in my chest. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Something else.
"You didn't have to do that," I said.
"Yes," Jensen said. "I did."
We walked in silence for a while. The sun was rising over the ridge, casting long shadows across the valley. My wolf stirred again—stronger this time, pressing against the edges of the suppression I'd maintained for over a year.
Jensen looked at me. "What are you thinking?"
I didn't answer right away. I was thinking about Greyson. About the phantom scent of my mark that probably still lingered in the pack house hallways. About Callum Reid's diplomatic phone call and the six-month appeal process that would go nowhere.
I was thinking about the tea in my quarters. About Jensen asking Andi what made me smile.
I was thinking about the fact that I was walking beside a Lycan Prince at dawn, and my wolf wasn't screaming.
"I'm thinking," I said finally, "that you're very good at this."
Jensen smiled. "At what?"
"Courtship."
He laughed. It was warm. Genuine. "I'm really not. I'm just paying attention."
"That's the same thing."
"No," Jensen said. "It's not."
We reached the end of the ridge. The valley stretched out below us, green and quiet. Jensen stopped. Looked at me.
"I'm not performing, Eleanor," he said. "I'm just here."
I met his eyes. Held them.
My wolf stirred. Quiet. Curious. Not screaming.
I didn't know what to do with that.
So I turned and kept walking.
