Chapter 2:The Last Night
The moment the papers leave my hands, I don't wait.
I don't look at my parents or the elders watching from the corners like silent judges.
I turn and walk straight down the corridor, each step measured to hide the shaking in my hands.
My chest feels tight, heavy, unmoving. The air grows thinner with every step away from the life I just signed away.
I push open my door and press my back against the wood. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at nothing, listening to my own breathing.
I need to pack.
The thought lands strangely—pack, as if I'm leaving for a journey I'll return from. As if this isn't a quiet march toward the fate Kael Cinderclaw's wives never survived.
Still, my body moves. Stopping would mean thinking too hard.
My room is small, tucked at the far end of the house where sunlight only reaches in the mornings if the clouds are kind.
Far enough not to inconvenience anyone important. Close enough to be called when needed.
One of the many consequences of being wolfless.
Ivy's room is nothing like this.
Near the heart of the house, wide windows, warm colors, soft carpets imported from allied packs.
Protected. Cherished. Prepared. I never resented her for it. If anything, I was relieved it wasn't me.
I kneel beside the old wooden chest at the foot of my bed. The hinges creak as I open it, revealing things no one else would bother to look through. Memories.
A faded dress from my younger years.
A ribbon Ivy tied around my wrist after my first public humiliation.
A small wooden pendant my father carved himself.
Happy memories. That's what I'm packing.
Not clothes. Not jewelry. Not things a bride is supposed to bring. Proof that, at some point, I was loved without conditions.
I fold a few simple dresses and place them carefully into the bag, ignoring the voice in my head whispering how pointless it is.
None of Kael Cinderclaw's wives lasted long enough to unpack. Some didn't even last long enough to scream.
I push the thought away. Stopping now might mean breaking entirely.
A knock sounds at the door. Soft. Hesitant.
My heart stutters. I already know who it is.
"Liora?" Ivy's voice, quiet. "Can I come in?"
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. "Yes."
She slips inside, closing the door carefully. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then she wraps her arms around me.
"I don't want you to go," she says, voice cracking. "I don't care what anyone says. I want you here."
The words hit harder than anything else today.
I hug her back, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. "Hey," I murmur, brushing my fingers through it. "Look at me."
Tears spill freely. "You're going to be fine," I tell her, even though the lie tastes bitter. "You're strong. You always have been."
"But what about you?"
I force a smile, the kind that convinces people I'm braver than I feel. "I'll manage. I always do."
She shakes her head, disbelief clear.
She pulls a small silver charm from her pocket, the one she's worn since her wolf awakened and presses it into my palm.
"Take this," she says. "So you won't be alone."
I close my fingers around it, feeling the cool weight.
I don't tell her that no charm can protect me from the man I'm being married to, or that nine women already wore rings into that fortress and never walked out.
Instead, I nod.
Ivy hugs me again, tighter this time.
As I hold her, I realize something that makes my chest ache more than before.
This might be the last safe moment of my life. And I don't know if I'll get another.
She settles into my bed, legs tucked beneath her, fingers knotted in her lap, eyes tracking my every move as I pretend to rearrange things.
The lamp casts a warm glow over her face. For a moment, the world feels almost normal. Too normal.
"I'm sleeping here," she says, firmer now. "I don't care what Mother says."
"Ivy," I start.
"No," she interrupts. "You're leaving tomorrow. I won't let this be the last night we sleep apart like strangers."
The words hit harder than she knows. I walk over and sit beside her. "You're not a stranger to me. You never have been."
"Then don't send me away."
My chest tightens. "You know I can't let you stay."
"Why?" Her voice cracks. "Why do you always give everything up?"
Because someone has to. Because it's easier when it's me.
I cup her face gently. "You belong in your room tonight," I say softly. "Surrounded by things that remind you you're safe."
She swallows. "And you?"
"I'll be fine."
She doesn't believe me. But after a long moment, she nods. "I'll come see you in the morning," she whispers.
I hug her tightly, memorizing the weight of her.
When she finally leaves, the door closing behind her sounds louder than it should.
The silence that follows is unbearable.
Then I hear it. Footsteps, which stopped outside my door.
A voice I didn't recognize whispers quietly:
"She's awake."
A pause, then a low chuckle.
"Not for much longer."