How to Raise a Dumb Wolf - Chapter 21

Tom Firos had been observing the girl for some time.

She was plainly the sort of girl who could become a trophy worth displaying.

A face anyone could call beautiful. Golden hair and blue-green eyes that did not quite match the standard, yet looked all the more distinctive for it. The noble status of a countess’s daughter.

And most importantly…

She was the deeply mysterious daughter of the heroine Tina Killott.

Tina Killott was unquestionably the center of this victory ball, its single greatest subject. Her name rose again and again from almost every gathering. Barring some surprise, the female general who ended a decades-long war and cast the darkfolk into chaos would remain at the center of the Helman Federation for at least another year or two—and be written permanently into history after that.

Then the palace steward announced the name “Aisha Killott.”

It was like dropping another boulder into the ballroom, sending waves through the entire gathering.

Everyone knew Tina Killott had no relatives. She had never married and had no children. By all reason, no second person bearing that surname should have existed in the hall.

Tina, as army commander, attending the ball with her deputy commander Hock Byrd as her male companion was still within the bounds of possibility. At most, it suggested an intriguing intimacy.

But what was this picture of a family of three?!

Apart from a few central figures such as King Richard Brown, who already knew the truth, nearly everyone at the ball was stunned. By openly bringing her daughter to so formal an occasion, Tina plainly intended to reveal her marriage. Yet no explanation had been offered.

The guests questioned one another frantically, desperate for details. No one knew anything. Worse, the Killott family moved too quickly. Before the crowd recovered, they had disappeared among the guests, and hardly anyone had even seen the legendary daughter’s face.

Most people cared because a sudden heir to Tina Killott might affect politics, or because they simply wanted gossip about the invincible general’s love life.

Tom was different.

He saw another kind of value in the girl called Aisha.

She could make him look powerful, impressive, and exceptional before his friends.

Unlike the oblivious crowd, Tom, as a practiced philanderer, always watched new arrivals for the next potential target. Aisha immediately caught his eye.

She was unfamiliar. She looked awkward in such surroundings—somewhat clumsy, but charmingly so. Her appearance was sweet and lovely. Her eyes curved when she smiled and remained clear and bright. A gentle innocence distinguished her. She did not quite belong among the splendor. Despite her fine clothes, she lacked the innate pride and certainty of superiority that nobles assumed as their birthright. Her hesitant manners and imperfect etiquette had little grandeur, yet were unexpectedly appealing in their natural sincerity.

Only an outstanding wastrel as seasoned and professional as Tom Firos could gather so much precise information in less than a second.

He quickly reached a conclusion.

She was the daughter of a minor noble from a remote fief far from Vitas. Quite possibly, this was her first visit to the capital.

Good. Fresh. Unlike his usual type. Worth amusing himself with.

At that point, Tom had no serious intentions. A sheltered country girl should be easy to win.

One second later, he heard the palace steward announce “Aisha Killott.”

In truth, General Killott had spent so many years stationed away that even nobles and ministers who faithfully attended national and Federation meetings had not necessarily met her. An idle noble son like Tom Firos certainly had not. He could not identify which person amid the large group entering was General Killott and therefore could not immediately tell which guests were her family.

But wastrels had their own methods.

Of the young women who entered during that minute, Aisha was the only one he did not know.

So while everyone else searched wildly for the heroine’s supposed daughter, Tom fixed his gaze upon her without revealing it.

He had no intention of sharing his prize. Only a philanderer understood the savage competition of a philanderer’s world. The smallest lapse could allow another hawk to seize prey he had planned around for ages. To win, he had to choose the perfect moment.

At first, circumstances were unfavorable. Aisha remained beside her parents. Given that her mother was Tina Killott, even the experienced Tom dared not approach rashly. He could only watch from afar.

The opportunity soon arrived. Her parents prepared to dance. After speaking to Aisha, they left her alone.

Perfect.

Tom ran both hands over his hair and made it still neater. He strode toward Aisha…

Another girl reached her first. They seemed to know each other, though Tom had never seen this young woman either. Never mind—she was another girl, not a rival. He could wait for another opportunity.

Aisha was what mattered.

“Good evening, Miss Killott.”

Tom stopped before her and produced a gentlemanly, impeccable smile.

He had to admit that at close range, Miss Killott distracted him for an instant. Even so, his confidence remained absolute.

As the good-for-nothing third son of Count Firos, he had almost no hope of inheriting. But he possessed handsome features, excellent manners, noble birth, and parents who would fund him whenever he asked. With these advantages, Tom believed he required no substance whatsoever to rank above ninety-eight percent of the nation’s men.

Sure enough, Aisha and the girl beside her turned together.

Tom did not falter. With practiced ease, he continued.

“Forgive my boldness, but I must tell you the most honest thing I can—you are beautiful.”

“…Thank you?”

Aisha blinked and answered in confusion.

She and Elizabeth exchanged surprised glances.

Tom curved his lips into his most elegant smile and came directly to the point.

“Then… Miss Killott, may I have the honor of the next dance?”

For some reason, after asking the question, Tom abruptly felt a chill creep up his back. A terrible shudder ran through him, as though some ferocious beast had fixed its gaze upon him.

He glanced around and found an open window in the ballroom. That must be the cause. Relieved, Tom turned back and looked earnestly at Aisha.

He could not know that, on the far side of the Divine Sea, the blue-gray eyes of a beast truly were staring him down.

The air around Les changed in an instant. Had he been in beast form, he would already have assumed an attacking stance—back arched, fangs exposed, a threatening growl rumbling in his throat.

Even as a man, his fists clenched hard. Anyone could read the cold, furious hostility in his eyes.

In primitive times, beastfolk men settled romantic disputes through simple violence. All a male had to do was defeat his rival, and the girl would like him. Beastfolk society had since become civilized, and beastfolk women now considered mates with all the complexity found among darkfolk and humans. But the instinct for combat remained inside beastfolk males.

Les’s mating instincts ignited completely. His blood seemed to boil in every vein. He felt an overwhelming urge to fight the man openly expressing desire for Aisha, to display his strength and powerful physique before her—to flaunt his superiority.

I am stronger than that man.

Beneath my paw, he is less than an ant.

I can protect you.

I can give you strong offspring.

So love me. Do not love him.

Any aggressive male animal became particularly brutal in competition for a mate. Under the crushing pressure of a direwolf, the far more fragile fox could scarcely breathe. Honestly, Fawkes would rather tuck his tail between his legs and hide in a thicket than keep working the magic.

The court mage turned pleadingly toward his only possible savior, the feline emperor…

Carter III lounged elegantly against one hand, watching from the sofa with great enjoyment.

Fawkes: …

At that moment, Aisha finally spoke.

“I…”