Page by page, I went through the list. Tribute rewards ranged from modest silver portions to generous hunting allotments—consistent with this season's contributions.
Then I reached the last page.
My hand stopped.
Next to Kael Ashford's name was a staggering allocation.
Season's tribute reward: One thousand silver marks.
And in the remarks column, a single line: Plus one prestige patrol mount and prime den quarters.
One thousand silver marks. An elite mount. Private chambers fit for a ranked wolf.
For an Omega Liaison who'd served less than six moon-cycles.
My eyes lingered on those figures for two heartbeats. Then I looked up.
Kael was watching me. That faint smile had deepened, and something flickered in his gaze—impatience.
"Alpha Blackthorn, is there a problem?"
His tone stayed respectful. But there was an edge now.
A challenge.
"The Beta-Consort is... waiting to head out."
He made a point of emphasizing those last two words.
I reached for the obsidian quill resting on my desk and lifted it from its holder.
The sharpened tip hovered over the blood-seal line. It didn't come down.
"Kael, you've served in this den for almost five moon cycles now, haven't you?"
My voice was steady. Unreadable.