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I pictured Cassian Valemont stepping over the bodies of his four wives. Did they scream? Did he linger to relish the sound, or stride on, already hunting bride number five?
“Atasha, the council assured us that this marriage is done to appease the young lord. It is nothing but formalities,” my mother’s voice brought me back from my stupor.
Marriage.
Yes. A marriage with Cassian Valemont himself.
I pressed two fingers against the unmarked skin over my heart and tried, one last futile time, to feel even a flicker of fur beneath. Nothing. Empty, the same as yesterday, the same as every day since my sixteenth birthday.
Wolfless.
The word echoed with the thunder hammering the council–hall roof. Each rumble felt like the place chanting the verdict I’d lived with for four years: useless, weak, expendable.
If my wolf had awakened that night, would they still send me north as Cassian Valemont’s fifth bride?
I dragged my eyes back to my parents. Both of them were silent, both waiting for me to say yes.
My father broke the silence first. “If you refuse, the treaty dissolves. Nightfall will stand alone. The Alpha King will not protect us when Fang Demon marches.”
Genevieve, my mother, spoke next. “Think of your sister. Celeste is the future of this pack. We cannot let her marry that man. The north is too far away from our pack. How could she travel—” she paused. “Atasha… you are different. You must marry the lord in her stead.”
I looked at the face that used to glow with pride. “Lord Cassian has been married four times,” I said flatly. “Three of them died on the wedding night. The fourth lasted a week.” Marrying Lord Cassian would be marrying my own killer. How could they send me to my death?
My mother didn’t flinch. “He is widowed now,” she replied quickly. “The envoy swore this union is in name only. You will not remain at his castle. After the ceremony, you can live where you choose. Far from him. Peace, Atasha. Freedom. This is what you want.”
Peace. The word rang hollow.
Four years had passed since my sixteenth birthday, since I failed to awaken, and every day since had proven how little they valued a daughter without a wolf.
Now, thunder rolled again.
My father bent over parchment, quill scratching out the final terms. My mother leaned close. “This bargain saves Celeste and secures the pack. You will finally be free of any duties. This is the freedom that you want.”
Freedom. A life near the border, maybe. Somewhere no one would bother whispering the word “human.” But
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how could they use the word freedom after trying to convince me to marry Lord Cassian? Right. Nothing says ‘freedom‘ like signing myself over to a bride–killer.
But if I don’t marry him? Who will? Celeste?
I pictured Celeste in white beside the Alpha King. Yes, Celeste should be the one standing next to the Alpha King, not to the King’s crazed brother.
If marrying Cassian Valemont meant protecting Celeste and securing Nightfall, I’d do it. Even a wolfless daughter could still be of use.
I would save Celeste, even if it cost my life. My hand trembled on the quill, then I willed it still and signed in neat strokes–Atasha Genevieve Black.
No applause followed. Deals like this didn’t deserve it.
Near the doors, Celeste caught my eye as she mouthed two words. Thank you.
I simply gave her a nod. This wasn’t her fault. This wasn’t anyone’s fault. I knew that we were both victims of the circumstances and that, if given a choice, Celeste would never let me marry that beast.
“Cassian Valemont will arrive tomorrow night,” my father said. “He will come to get the bride. Prepare your things. We will ensure that your dowry is sufficient. You do not need to think of anything else.”
I nodded as the rain slammed the roof harder.
As the ink dried, I straightened my back. Then I left the room without another word.
A marriage to Cassian Valemont.
The Cassian Valemont. The Alpha’s brother. The one who didn’t follow the council, didn’t answer to the King. The one who led the King’s Army like a warhound let off the leash. The man who killed every bride they gave him. Perhaps my dream of living by the borders was nothing but a fairytale. So maybe I wasn’t destined for a life on the border after all.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I turned right.
My room was in the attic. It used to be a storage space.
When Celeste asked for the larger room on the second floor, no one argued. I was quietly told to move upstairs. I never complained, Complaining was pointless when you didn’t even have a wolf.
Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me.
The attic felt claustrophobic–its low, sloping ceiling pressing down on a single wooden bed, a battered dresser, and a trunk by the window. A threadbare rug barely hid warped floorboards, and cobwebs clung to
every corner.
Tonight, the wind howled, and rain lashed the panes, lightning carving jagged shadows through the trees. Sadly, I had no time to linger on the storm.
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Lord Cassian arrives tomorrow. Sweat prickled my palms as I hauled the leather trunk from beneath the cot. With a groan, I flipped it open, and a cloud of cedar–dust revealed the same faded cotton dresses I’d worn since my seventeenth winter, nothing more substantial than a shawl.
I slipped a hand between the cotton layers. I could already feel draughts knifing through the attic boards. If this room chilled me, what would a northern keep do?
The north is a land where the sun seldom rises, a place where frost slicks the stones even at noon. And yet here I was, folding lace into my trunk as if it stood a chance against the cold.
I started looking for something that would at least keep me warm.
After what felt like forever, I found only one cloak thick enough to call a cloak. It was Father’s cast–off hunting wrap, wool scarred by burrs, smelling faintly of pine smoke. I pulled it around my shoulders as I pictured northern wind howling through castle corridors and shoved the cloak into the trunk.
Then, I took Celeste’s quilt from the foot of my bed instead. Midnight blue, stitched with silver thread in tiny moons. She’d sworn it would keep nightmares out. Last night proved otherwise.
Now, the trunk was half–full, half–empty. Pressing the lid down, I fastened the brass latch. The leather creaked, protesting the weight, and so did my heart.
If my wolf had awakened, would I even be here, packing for my own funeral?
Tomorrow, the Tyrant Lord would take his bride to the northern walls, and I would arrive wearing clothes meant for summer. Well, it’s not like I would survive this marriage. I would be lucky if I lasted a month. No. A week.
Another flash of lightning cut across the sky. Thunder cracked close behind it, loud enough to rattle the window.
Then the curtain lifted violently as if something had surged through the room.
Startled, I stood and moved to the window. The latch again, probably. It always slipped loose in storms.
My fingers reached for it… then froze mid–air.
The air had shifted.
The kind of shift every wolf’s instinct recognized. And I immediately knew it wasn’t just because of the wind.
Someone else was here.
My chest seized as the curtains whipped aside. I dared not blink, straining to read the darkness. Then I saw him. A man, standing not too far away from me. And it didn’t take too long for me to recognize that face.
It was him! A gasp caught in my throat.
Cassian Valemont!
Lightning fractured the sky, etching his broad shoulders and hard features. Dressed in black, he stood
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unmoving at the foot of my bed.
For a long, tense moment, the room fell silent as his burnished–steel eyes felt like ice against my bones, yet I could not look away.
I had seen him before, once beside the King during a coronation, once on a blood–soaked battlefield. But this was different. This was not a man glimpsed from a distance. This was the tyrant lord standing in my room. In my silence.
The Cassian Valemont.
The one mothers warned their children about.
And now he was here as if this night–this storm–belonged to him.
Then he smiled. “You signed your name like a lamb. It makes me curious…” his gaze slid to my throat. “Will your last scream sound like a wolf’s roar or a lamb’s bleat?”
I
