One glance at his clothing—not a single piece crafted from anything less than premium moon-blessed leather—told me everything. Selene had been bankrolling him from the Crownhollow pack stores for the Ancestors knew how long.
And they actually believed he needed rite prize offerings for training dues? The stupidity was dragging down the average intelligence of our entire territory.
I regarded them both with cold indifference and stated again, "I don't need to swap ritual sigils to win. Especially not for some preliminary rite."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered wolves.
"Wait, that's true—this rite is just a regional trial. Kael has always competed in inter-territory championships."
"His pack's dominion is vast, and he's already established as a master rune-scribe. Why would he cheat?"
"What would he even gain?"
Doubt flickered across Selene's face. Her gaze slid toward me, uncertain now, her wolf instincts warring with her hatred.
But Darian's lips curled into a mocking sneer. He jabbed a claw-tipped finger toward my face.
"Need me to spell it out for you?"
"It's for the guaranteed bloodline placement!"