Ever since the days leading up to the war, Dionysus’ life had been broken into pieces; he had lost his sister Iris, then his mother Pandora, sisters Alectrona and Khione, and brother Apollo. Then his father Achilles, nephew Adonis, and Aurora, his sister-in-law. It all felt like a bad dream Dionysus couldn’t wake up from. And now his big brother, Aeolus, had promised various living members of the Sabertooth royal family to be married to royals of other packs in order to ensure peace . . . and one of them was Dio.
He knew they had enough royal wolves so as to satisfy the treaty. Dionysus himself was to bind his pack to the strange one of Amaya, taking a daughter of the late queen by some kalak man to wife. She was called Althea, he was fairly sure, a passing fair name for a young girl. But he was nervous about the match. For one, Amaya was alike to Tarben with their strange mating customs and law. This was in addition to Dionysus’ simple anxiety about the notion of taking Althea as his wife, as he would have been if it was any other girl. Would he live in Amaya, or she come to dwell in Sabertooth? Would she turn out to be a bratty, demanding femme? Would she hate him? Abhor him? Resent him? Dionysus didn’t know. He was only a younger son of the deceased first ruling pair of Sabertooth. He was simply trying to prepare himself to do his duty.

“Oh can I wake up?”