The war chamber doors slammed shut behind me with a sound like breaking bones. My father’s strategists scrambled after me, their boots clicking against stone as they struggled to match my pace.
“Your Highness, if we might discuss the arrangements—”
“No.” I didn’t slow, didn’t turn. The corridor stretched ahead like a tunnel to hell.
“But the protocols, the gifts, the formal presentations—”
I stopped so suddenly that the lead advisor nearly collided with my back.
When I turned, the gold in my eyes must have been burning because he stumbled backward, his scent spiking with fear.
“Tell me about them.” My voice carried the edge of command that made even Alphas submit. “These prizes you’ve selected for me.”
The advisor’s Adam's apple bobbed. “Lilith of the Silver Moon Pack is… ethereal, Your Highness. A healer of exceptional gift. They say she can commune with the spirits of—”
“A mystic.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What else?”
“Astrid of the Northern Territories has led her pack’s war council since she was sixteen. Undefeated in single combat, she’s—”
“A warrior.” I took a step closer, and the man’s heartbeat thundered so loud I could hear it echoing off the walls. “And the third?”
“Nyx of the Eastern Cliffs already rules as Alpha in all but name. Her father’s illness has left her—”
“A lonely mother.” I turned away from their pale faces. “A mystic, a warrior, and a leader. How convenient that you’ve found me such perfectly categorized options.”
“Your Highness,” another advisor ventured, “each represents a strategic alliance that could—”
“Could what?” I spun back, and this time my wolf stirred close enough to the surface that my voice carried an inhuman growl. “Could chain me to a stranger? Could breed me like livestock for your political games?”
The advisors exchanged nervous glances. The youngest cleared his throat. “The bloodline must continue, Your Highness. The prophecies speak of—”
“Prophecies.” I laughed again, and the sound made them all flinch. “Tell me, which prophecy requires me to court three women I’ve never met? Which ancient text demands I choose a mate based on territorial advantages?”
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant howl of wind through the mountains.
“One moon cycle,” I said finally. “With each pack. Sixty days to find my perfect political match.” I let the words drip with venom.
I stared at them for a long moment, these men who spoke of women like chess pieces and marriage like a military strategy.
“Then pray to whatever gods you serve that one of them is worth the price of my freedom.”
I left them standing in the corridor, their protests dying in their throats.
The eastern terrace bit at my skin with winds sharp enough to cut stone. I welcomed the pain. Better than the numbness spreading through my chest like poison.
Below, the courtyard stretched white and empty under the moon’s cold eye. Snow fell without sound, each flake a tiny surrender to gravity. I gripped the stone ledge hard enough to leave cracks in the ancient marble.
“Brooding already?”
I didn’t turn. My younger brother’s scent had reached me long before his footsteps. “Shouldn’t you be in the war room, learning how to be a better spare heir?”
“Probably.” Damien moved to stand beside me, his presence warm against the bitter night. “But I thought you might need someone to talk you out of throwing yourself from the balcony.”
“The fall wouldn’t kill me.”
“No, but it would make a mess of the courtyard. And the staff just cleaned the stones.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitched toward a smile. Damien had always been able to do that—find light in the darkest moments. It was a gift I’d never possessed.
“Three women,” I said. “Three territories. Sixty days to choose my mate.”
“Could be worse,” Damien said mildly. “Could be three men.”
I shot him a look that would have sent most people running. He just grinned.
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m taking it exactly as seriously as it deserves.” He leaned against the ledge, his dark hair catching snowflakes. “You’re going to meet three powerful, intelligent women who could rule beside you. You might actually like one of them.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll marry her anyway and spend the rest of your life pretending.” His voice softened. “Same as every royal marriage in history.”
The truth of it hit like a physical blow. “How can you be so calm about this?”
“Because I’m not the one who has to do it.” He turned to face me fully, and I saw something serious in his usually playful expression. “But if I were… I’d try to find something worth fighting for in whatever choice I made.”
“Even if that choice was made for me?”
“Especially then.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I felt some of the tension ease from my muscles. “The bonds of fate work in mysterious ways, brother. Maybe this isn’t the trap you think it is.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that this was nothing but political calculation dressed up as destiny. But something in his words made my wolf stir restlessly.
“Get some sleep,” Damien said, pushing away from the ledge. “Tomorrow you begin your grand romantic adventure.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I’m calling it a chance to prove that fate has a sense of humor.” He paused at the doorway. “Don’t let father’s desperation poison this before it begins, Kieran. Sometimes the universe knows what it’s doing.”
He disappeared into the castle, leaving me alone with the wind and the snow and the growing certainty that everything was about to change.
Dawn came like a blade across the mountains, sharp and unforgiving. I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw three faces I’d never met, heard three voices I’d never heard, felt three pairs of hands I’d never touched.
The courtyard bustled with activity as servants loaded my travel pack. My father was nowhere to be seen—another message, loud and clear. This mission carried no honor, only necessity.
“Your Highness.” Captain Thorne approached, his weathered face grim. “The escort is ready.”
I nodded, shouldering my pack. The weight of it felt heavier than armor. “How long to Silver Moon?”
“Two days hard riding, Your Highness. Assuming the weather holds.”
Two days to prepare for a meeting that would determine the course of my life. Two days to steel myself for the first woman I was expected to court, claim, bond with.
“Sir?” One of the younger guards shifted nervously. “Is it true what they say about the Silver Moon Pack? That they can speak to the dead?”
“Superstition,” I said flatly. But even as the words left my mouth, something in my chest tightened. The wolf stirred, lifting its head as if scenting something on the wind.
We rode north through forests that seemed to swallow sound. The deeper we traveled into Silver Moon territory, the more my wolf paced restlessly. Not with anxiety—with something else. Something that made my skin prickle and my senses sharpen.
“Something’s different about this place,” one of the guards murmured as we crested a hill and saw the crystal spires of the Silver Moon stronghold rising through the mist.
He was right. The very air felt charged, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes. My wolf pressed against my consciousness, alert and focused in a way I’d never experienced.
The gates rose before us, carved from some pale stone that seemed to glow with its own inner light. As we approached, figures emerged from the shadows—Silver Moon wolves, their movements too fluid to be entirely human.
“Prince Kieran of the Mountain Throne,” the gate captain called out, his voice carrying an odd musical quality. “You are expected.”
Expected. The word sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
As we passed through the gates, I caught a scent on the wind—something that made my wolf go completely still.
Not the usual mix of pack scents, not the familiar blend of territory markers and individual signatures.
This was something else. Something that called to every instinct I possessed.