Faye's POV
I could see Hardy Brookhaven in my mind, standing over the corpses of his four wives. Did their screams echo through his castle halls? Did he savor their terror, or did he simply move on to hunt for the next victim?
"Faye, the council promised us this union serves only to placate the young lord. Nothing more than ceremony," my mother's words pulled me from my dark thoughts.
Marriage.
Yes. A union with Hardy Brookhaven himself.
I placed my palm against the bare skin above my heart, searching desperately for any hint of fur beneath the surface. Nothing. The same hollow emptiness that had haunted me since my sixteenth birthday.
Wolfless.
The word reverberated with each thunderclap against the council hall ceiling. Every boom felt like a judgment, a reminder of what I'd carried for four years:
worthless, powerless, disposable.
Had my wolf emerged that night, would they still be shipping me north as Hardy Brookhaven's fifth sacrifice?
I forced myself to look at my parents. They sat in silence, both waiting for my acceptance.
My father spoke first. "Refuse this, and the treaty crumbles. Duskwood stands defenseless. The Alpha King won't shield us when Deon Raven attacks."
Eileen, my mother, followed. "Consider your sister. Sally represents this pack's future. We cannot sacrifice her to that monster. The northern territories are too distant from our lands. How could she possibly travel there—" she stopped herself.
"Faye... you are different. You must take her place as his bride."
I studied the face that once beamed with maternal pride. "Lord Hardy has taken four wives," I stated without emotion. "Three perished on their wedding night. The fourth survived a week." Wedding Lord Hardy meant wedding my executioner. How could they deliver me to slaughter?
My mother remained unmoved. "He is a widower now," she responded swiftly. "The envoy guaranteed this marriage exists in title alone. You won't stay at his fortress. Following the ceremony, you may live wherever you wish. Away from him. Peace, Faye. Independence. This is what you desire."
Peace. The word felt meaningless.
Four years had elapsed since my sixteenth birthday, since my failure to transform, and each day afterward had demonstrated how little they cherished a daughter without a wolf.
Thunder crashed again.
My father hunched over documents, his pen scratching the final conditions. My mother leaned closer. "This arrangement protects Sally and strengthens the pack. You will finally escape all obligations. This is the independence you crave."
Independence. Perhaps a life near the borderlands. Somewhere no one would whisper the word "human."
But how could they speak of independence while pushing me toward Lord Hardy? Right.
Nothing screams 'independence' like signing myself over to a wife-killer.
But if I refuse? Who takes my place? Sally?
I imagined Sally in bridal white beside the Alpha King.
Yes, Sally deserved to stand beside the Alpha King, not the King's deranged brother.
If wedding Hardy Brookhaven protected Sally and strengthened Duskwood, I would accept it. Even a wolfless daughter could serve some purpose.
I would shield Sally, regardless of the cost to myself. My hand shook as I gripped the pen, then I steadied it and wrote in careful letters—Faye Eileen Stormhaven.
No celebration followed. Arrangements like this earned none.
Near the entrance, Sally met my gaze and silently mouthed two words. Thank you.
I offered her a simple nod. This wasn't her burden. This wasn't anyone's burden. I understood we were both prisoners of circumstance, and given a choice, Sally would never allow me to marry that monster.
"Hardy Brookhaven arrives tomorrow evening," my father announced. "He comes to claim his bride. Pack your belongings. We will ensure your dowry meets expectations. You need not worry about anything else."
I acknowledged him as rain pounded the roof more violently.
As the ink set, I straightened my spine. Then I departed the room without speaking.
A marriage to Hardy Brookhaven.
The Hardy Brookhaven. The Alpha's brother. The one who ignored the council, who answered to no King. The one who commanded the King's Army like a beast unleashed from chains. The man who murdered every bride they delivered to him. Perhaps my fantasy of border life was nothing but delusion. Maybe I wasn't meant for a life on the periphery after all.
Climbing to the top of the staircase, I turned right.
My chamber occupied the attic. It had once served as storage.
When Sally requested the larger room on the second floor, no one objected. I was quietly instructed to relocate upstairs. I never protested. Protests were futile when you lacked even a wolf.
Entering, I shut the door behind me.
The attic felt suffocating—its low, angled ceiling looming over a single wooden bed, a worn dresser, and a chest beneath the window. A fraying rug barely concealed warped floorboards, and spider webs decorated every corner.
Tonight, wind screamed, and rain hammered the glass, lightning carving sharp shadows through the forest. Unfortunately, I had no time to contemplate the tempest.
Lord Hardy arrives tomorrow. Perspiration dampened my palms as I dragged the leather chest from under the cot. With effort, I opened it, releasing cedar dust that revealed the same worn cotton dresses I'd owned since my seventeenth winter, nothing warmer than a thin shawl.
I slid my hand between the cotton layers. I could already sense drafts cutting through the attic walls. If this room chilled me, what would a northern fortress do?
The north is territory where sunlight rarely appears, where ice coats stones even at midday.
Yet here I sat, folding delicate lace into my chest as if it could withstand the cold.
I began searching for something that might provide warmth.
After considerable time, I discovered only one cloak substantial enough to qualify. It was Father's discarded hunting wrap, wool marked by thorns, carrying faint traces of pine smoke. I wrapped it around my shoulders while envisioning northern winds howling through castle passages and stuffed the cloak into the chest.
Then, I took Sally's blanket from my bed's foot instead. Deep blue, embroidered with silver thread forming tiny crescents. She'd promised it would banish nightmares. Last night proved her wrong.
Now, the chest was partially filled, partially vacant. Pressing the top down, I secured the brass clasp. The leather groaned, resisting the weight, as did my heart.
Had my wolf awakened, would I be here, preparing for my own execution?
Tomorrow, the Dread Lord would escort his bride to the northern boundaries, and I would arrive wearing garments designed for warm weather. Well, survival wasn't expected anyway. I would be fortunate to last weeks. No. Days.
Another lightning bolt split the sky.
Thunder exploded immediately after, loud enough to shake the window.
Then the curtain lifted dramatically as if something had swept through the space.
Startled, I rose and approached the window. The latch again, likely. It always came loose during storms.
My fingers reached toward it... then stopped mid-motion.
The atmosphere had changed.
The kind of change every wolf instinct recognized.
And I instantly knew it wasn't merely from the wind.
Someone else was present.
My chest constricted as the curtains flew apart. I dared not breathe, struggling to penetrate the darkness. Then I spotted him. A figure, positioned not far from me. And recognition came quickly.
It was him! A gasp lodged in my throat.
Hardy Brookhaven!
Lightning split the heavens, illuminating his massive shoulders and severe features. Clothed in black, he remained motionless at my bed's foot.
For an extended, tense moment, the room grew quiet as his steel-colored eyes felt like frost against my bones, yet I couldn't turn away.
I had glimpsed him before, once beside the King during coronation, once on a blood-drenched battlefield.
But this was different. This wasn't a man observed from afar. This was the tyrant lord standing in my chamber. In my solitude.
The Hardy Brookhaven.
The one mothers used to frighten their children.
And now he stood here as if this night—this storm—was his domain.
Then he smiled. "You signed your name like prey. It makes me wonder..." his gaze dropped to my throat. "Will your final scream echo like a wolf's howl or a lamb's cry?"