Amia's POV
I was dragged down the aisle with an aching heart, the sound of low, mocking laughter echoing behind me. I risked a glance over my shoulder. Dozens of serpents stood there, their slit-pupil eyes glinting in the torchlight. At the very front were my father and the Luna, both wearing smug, triumphant smiles.
The hall fell into silence as a loud announcement rang out: "The Lord approaches."
I instantly lowered my gaze to the floor, my arms wrapping around myself in a pitiful attempt to hide the clothes they'd put me in, which were meant to humiliate me. The closed, flat shoes pinched my feet. The long white skirt was slashed with two daring slits that climbed all the way to my thighs. Across my chest was nothing more than a strip of silk embroidered with a pattern of scales, leaving my skin far too bare for my liking.
I kept my head down, my breathing uneven, even as I felt another presence stop beside me. My instincts screamed who it was before I dared to confirm it.
A throat cleared directly in front of me, forcing my eyes up—enough to meet the gaze of the elder who had ridden with me in the carriage. His clothing hadn't changed; the same rich fabrics draped across his narrow frame.
"My lord," the elder said, bowing slightly toward the figure next to me, "we will begin the ceremony."
The words hit like a final nail in the coffin.
I barely heard the rest—the chants, the formal phrases—because my mind was drowning in one truth: I wasn't going back. Not to the pack. Not even to the small corner of hell I had learned to survive in. Whatever this was… it would be worse.
The elder stepped forward, holding a golden cup. He placed it in my trembling hands.
"Drink," he ordered.
I swallowed hard. Smile, even if you're about to break, I told myself. I lifted the cup, my arms shaking so badly I feared I'd spill it. My vision blurred with tears that clung stubbornly to my lashes.
Drop the cup and run, my wolf snarled inside me.
If we run now, we die, I whispered back, my eyes darting sideways toward the towering figure beside me — my soon-to-be husband.
I kept my gaze low, not daring to look past the sleek, scaled tail that coiled behind him.
"Miss," the elder's voice snapped coldly, jerking me back to the moment.
I looked at him with a silent plea, my eyes screaming for someone — anyone — to stop this.
"You haven't taken a sip. Everyone is waiting," he hissed under his breath, his tone carrying the weight of a threat.
Before I could muster the will, my father's voice tore into my mind through the pack's link. "What are you waiting for, you stupid bitch? Do you want to die?"
His dominance pressed against me like a crushing weight.
I squeezed my eyes shut and drank. The bitter liquid slid down my throat, my wolf's whimpers rising inside me, raw and desperate.
When I opened my eyes, the elder's mouth curved into a wicked smile. He snatched the cup from me and turned, offering it to the lord.
The moment those scaled hands wrapped around it, my stomach lurched.
"I'll kill her if you mess this up," my father growled again, and this time his tone was laced with truth. I knew he wasn't talking about me—not directly. He meant Cassidy, my sweet, innocent sister.
The cup passed back to the elder.
"Please hold hands," the elder instructed.
I hesitated before turning toward the lord, my head still bowed. Slowly, I extended my shaking hands, waiting for him to take them. Seconds dragged into an eternity.
"Lord Ezra," the elder prompted softly.
My heart slammed against my ribs. So that was his name.
A sharp hiss cut through the silence, and then cold, scaled fingers seized mine. The unexpected jolt of mating tingles surged up my arms, so strong they almost knocked the nausea from me.
The elder wound a red ribbon tightly around our joined hands, binding us in a symbolic knot. I stared at that ribbon with a hollow ache. When it faded away into nothing, the truth settled deep in my bones: it was done. I was married — to the creature I feared most.
Cheers erupted around us, but they sounded far away. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart and the quiet, merciless voice inside my head blaming me for everything — for never shifting, for being weak, for existing at all.
I hated the moon goddess for pairing me with a half-serpent, half-man. But more than that, I hated myself.
A soft movement behind me made me stiffen. A hand landed on my shoulder.
"Come with me. We have to prepare you for your first night with the lord," one of the female serpents who had dragged me earlier said.
I swallowed hard, forcing my legs to follow. The palace corridor was cold and lined with flickering lanterns, the shadows stretching. My mind was a swirl of dread and questions I didn't want answered.
"Amia."
The sound of my father's voice froze me mid-step.
The serpent woman stopped as well but didn't turn.
Sweat prickled down my back.
His hand clamped onto my shoulder with a painful grip. I bit my lip hard to keep from making a sound.
"I came to congratulate you," he said warmly, leaning down so his breath would press against my ear.
"But if you mess this up, your little sister will lose her fingers. Then her tongue. Then her eyes. And you… you'll be beaten until you're nothing but meat for the rats."
He stepped back, smiling broadly as if he'd just given me a fatherly blessing. "Make me proud," he called out cheerfully.
"Ye… yes, Alpha," I whispered, my voice cracking.
The serpent woman began moving again, and I followed, tears streaming down my cheeks. Every step felt like walking barefoot over broken glass.
The serpent woman stopped in front of two massive wooden doors and pushed them open.
"This will be your room," she said curtly. "No one will attend to you tonight. We're busy with the guests. Change into something suitable and wait for the lord."
The doors shut behind me with a heavy thud.
Moonlight poured in from a wide balcony window, casting silver over the neglected space. My kind could see perfectly in the dark, so the details hit me immediately.
The walls were stained and cracked. The floor bore chips and old scratches. The fireplace was cold and coated in dust.
A massive bed dominated the center, but the sheets were wrinkled and unwashed. The open wardrobe held only a handful of worn-out gowns. A small table sat opposite the bed, with a single battered chair tucked beside it, and a book lying abandoned on the surface.
It was obvious this room was chosen to insult me.
But as I stood there, breathing in the scent of stale air and dust, a strange, quiet relief filled my chest.
They didn't understand. To them, this was an insult.
But to me… this was luxury.