Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 72

Third person POV

The sun had barely climbed over the tree line when Alpha Rowland’s car rolled to a slow halt before the tall wrought iron gates of Alpha Baron’s territory. The air was fresh, carrying the faint scent of pine and blooming marigolds from the gardens that framed the main road. It had been months since Rowland last set foot here, and though the purpose of this visit was joyous, his mind couldn’t help but churn with the matters he’d left back home.

The guards stationed at the gate bowed respectfully before signaling for the heavy gates to swing open. Rowland’s convoy moved forward, the vehicles gliding over the cobbled path that led toward the grand courtyard. Even before the engines came to a stop, he spotted Baron himself standing on the front steps of the packhouse, his tall frame impossible to miss.

“Rowland!” Baron’s voice carried across the courtyard as the Alpha strode down the steps, a broad smile lighting up his features.

Rowland stepped out of the car, his expression softening into a smile of his own. “Baron. I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble preparing for me.”

Baron laughed, clapping him firmly on the shoulder in a way only old friends could. “Trouble? You wound me. I’ve been waiting to host you again. You should come more often — though, I know your hands are full in your own territory.”

Rowland smirked. “Full would be an understatement.”

The exchange was warm, familiar. Baron’s wife, Liora, appeared from behind him, her dress a soft blue that matched the clear morning sky. She moved with the grace of someone who had long learned how to balance formality with warmth.

“Alpha Rowland,” she greeted, inclining her head slightly. “Welcome. You’ll find your old room just as you left it — though I couldn’t resist adding a few touches.”

“I’m certain your touches have made it better,” Rowland replied with a faint bow of respect.

The three of them made their way into the packhouse, the air inside filled with the subtle aroma of freshly baked bread and herbs. Servants moved about quietly, their gazes respectful yet curious — it wasn’t every day that two prominent Alphas were seen together under one roof.

They settled into the sitting room first, a spacious area with large windows that overlooked the back gardens. Baron poured Rowland a glass of aged whiskey, the kind they both appreciated during long discussions.

“I hear the wedding is coming up in just under two weeks,” Rowland began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Baron nodded, a proud smile touching his lips. “Yes. My daughter deserves the very best, and I intend to make sure it’s the event of the year. We’ve been finalizing the guest list and preparing the main hall for the ceremony. You know how these things are — every detail is scrutinized.”

Liora leaned forward slightly, her tone laced with warmth. “We’d appreciate your insight as well, Rowland. You’ve hosted events of this magnitude before. Your perspective could help smooth out any rough edges.”

Rowland took a sip, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ll help however I can. But tell me — how’s she handling all of this?”

“Like the poised young woman she is,” Baron said, though there was an unmistakable softness in his tone when speaking of his daughter. “Still, there are moments I catch her slipping away into the gardens, just to breathe. It’s a lot for her.”

“That’s natural,” Rowland replied. “Marriage is no small step, especially when it’s as public as this will be.”

Their conversation drifted to the guest list, the seating arrangements, and the political implications of certain invitations. In their world, weddings were not merely personal milestones — they were strategic opportunities, moments where alliances could be reinforced or subtly shifted.

Baron tapped his fingers on the armrest. “We’ve invited Alpha Hadrian and his family. I’m not blind to the tension between him and some of our allies, but his presence could signal that we’re open to bridging gaps.”

Rowland arched a brow. “Or it could be taken as a show of favor. You’ll need to balance that carefully.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Baron said with a grin. “Your ability to read the undercurrents is unmatched.”

Later in the day, Rowland was taken on a tour of the preparations. The main hall was already partially decorated — silken drapes in shades of cream and gold hung from the high beams, while long tables were arranged along the walls for the feast. The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the air as florists worked quickly, their hands moving with precision.

In the kitchens, there was a flurry of activity. Chefs moved between counters, preparing samples for the menu. Baron insisted Rowland try a few — delicate pastries filled with spiced berries, roasted meats seasoned with herbs that grew only in this region, and sweet honey wine that left a warm trail down the throat.

“These are meant to represent abundance,” Liora explained as Rowland sampled another dish. “We want every guest to leave feeling they were truly part of something joyous.”

Rowland nodded approvingly. “You’re succeeding.”

By afternoon, the two Alphas retreated to Baron’s study to finalize certain arrangements in private. Maps of the seating layout were spread across the desk, alongside lists of dignitaries and family members. They debated the positioning of certain rival factions, ensuring that no two volatile personalities would end up seated beside one another.

“It’s like arranging a battlefield,” Baron muttered.

Rowland smirked. “The stakes are just as high. A misplaced guest could cause more trouble than an open challenge.”

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Baron’s daughter, a young woman with her father’s piercing eyes and her mother’s refined grace. She greeted Rowland politely before handing her father a parchment containing updates from the seamstress.

“Everything is on schedule,” she said, though her tone hinted at the strain she felt. Rowland could see the tension in her shoulders — the weight of expectation pressing down.

“You’ll do beautifully,” Rowland said, his voice steady but kind.

Her lips curved into a faint smile before she excused herself, leaving the two men to their plans.

As night fell, a formal dinner was held in Rowland’s honor. The long table gleamed with polished silverware, and candlelight danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, toasts, and the hum of conversations in every corner. Rowland found himself thinking — not for the first time — that the bonds between packs were fragile things, easily strengthened by moments like this but just as easily fractured.

When the evening drew to a close, Baron walked Rowland to his quarters. “Tomorrow, we’ll go over the security measures for the wedding,” he said. “I want nothing left to chance.”

Rowland inclined his head. “I’ll be ready.”

As he stepped into his room, the distant sound of music still drifting through the halls, Rowland knew this trip was more than just about a wedding. It was about alliances, trust, and the quiet calculations that shaped the balance of power in their world. And for that, he intended to remain as sharp as ever.