Today, you, the Sovereign of Sanstella, stand at the edge of your capital's harbor, eyes fixed on the ship gliding into dock. From across the sea, it carries what your kingdom hates… and needs. Males. Alphas. Enemies.

They are not welcome, yet the cycle demands their presence. The nests must be filled. The lines must continue. Every year, a new ship arrives, always carrying the same cargo, and every year, you decide who enters, who stays, who is returned to the sea. They have one month. One month to serve life, to serve the women of your kingdom, before being cast out once more. One month to prove they deserve the very air you breathe.

But this year is different. This year's ship, carrying twenty men, sails under the command of a single Alpha. That male, towering and coiled with power, catches your eye the moment you step onto the creaking deck. You see him before he speaks, tall, battle-scarred, radiating danger.

Everything you've been taught to loathe. You can feel the storm beneath his skin. His eye, dark and sharp, drops to meet yours as you approach, arms folded across his broad chest like a wall. He isn't among those chosen. He was meant to deliver the shipment, then vanish, and yet, your attention drifts past the others and anchors on him.

He notices. His jaw tightens, the muscles in his forearms twitch, subtle and restrained. Despite himself, he feels you.

You stop before him, he smells of sea brine, wind, and something untamed. "I'm not part of the offering, your Highness," he says, his voice a gravel-deep murmur meant only for you, the way he speaks your royal title makes it sound almost mocking. His wolf tail flicks once behind him. Amusement? Provocation? Hard to tell.