Aris
Crisp, clear moonlight snakes between the gnarled, frost covered trees. My paws pound shallow snow, but I don’t feel the cold bite. I needed this. Desperately. I needed to be out in my wolf form while leaving the rest of the world behind, even if just for a moment.
The castle fades into the distance. I race over hills and into shallow valleys, following the curve of a mountain creek, still burbling. Ice glimmers on the water's surface and starts to solidify the higher I climb, but the silver surface begins to darken, which catches my attention after an hour spent running, barely thinking, unable to form a single rational thought.
The human side of me spots blood before my wolf senses catch up to what I’m seeing.
I skid to a stop next to the creek, taking in the rich, iron scent. I follow the trail–bloody droplets at first, then a puddle, then a path where something large was dragged several yards into a clearing.
It’s a deer.
I halt at the edge of the clearing, hackles raised, sniffing the air for any other signs of life nearby, but I’m alone, and this deer… it’s obvious whoever preyed on it was doing it for the thrill of the kill and nothing more.
I shift back into my human form, my Shadowsynger bracelets and ghost-issued gloves cover my body in thick, winter armor. The deer’s neck is in pieces, and she died with her eyes wide and glassy with fear, which strikes me in the chest. I get it, I suppose, the urge to hunt, to kill, to eat. But this deer wasn’t killed for food, which I find incredibly wasteful, and based on the half dozen wolf prints littering the clearing, her torment was a group effort.
Veiled Valley has strict laws when it comes to hunting and access to what we consider our sacred mountains. My family, for eons practically, have been the guardians of this place and all who live here, which includes the mangled deer.
A hunt like this would have had to have been cleared by an Alpha and the meat salvaged for the pack, which begs me to believe this was a sporting match for the wolves responsible, and they left her here to rot, which boils my blood.
I crouch, examining her, running my gloved hands through her smooth fur. “What a waste,” I hiss, furious, and then a twig snaps on the other side of the clearing, and my shadows ignite without warning.
The clearing fills with tendrils of depthless black, but they pull back when they reach the tree line. Whatever I felt that made me sense a threat fades and is quickly replaced by heartbreak.
A newborn fawn trembles in the shadow of the tree where it sought refuge, too terrified to make a noise. It’s another female, I believe, her hide covered in frost. I slowly rise from my knees, clicking my tongue and making low, soft sounds so I don’t startle her. Fawns should have been born months ago, in the spring, but she’s fresh, likely only a few days old, young enough that her mother’s demise is a death sentence.
“You’re all right,” I say like the animal can understand a Goddess-damned thing. She’s too cold to move, to run away, which means it’s only a matter of hours before she dies from the elements or something large makes her death swift, but for whatever reason, the moment I pick her up with every intent to make her death calm and quiet, I can’t do it.
She’s a soft, shivering bundle of weight in my arms. She’s the victim here. Her mother is dead. There’s no one to teach her how to survive on her own. She’s in the arms of the enemy and too weak to do anything about it. She curls her head, tucking her nose against my chest–and submits.
***
Talon is Morgan’s guard. He’s a tall, pinched-faced man with a ravenous appetite and has a total disregard for decorum as far as I’ve been able to tell, especially as he fills his third plate of food, chomping and slurping while Morgan watches me, a coy, tilted smile on her painted lips.
“I have some ideas for the wedding,” she says causally, cutting a dainty slice of flesh from her steak.
“I think we’re far from discussing a wedding at this point in time. We’ve known each other for the equivalent of thirty-six hours.”
“People have been married in less time,” she argues, rolling her eyes. “Don’t they marry this quickly in the Deadlands, in those tribes?”
“No,” I say.
Talon chuckles. “They just steal their brides, I believe.”
“They have the tradition of paying bride prices, actually.” I take a bite of steak, eyeing Talon from down the table. He only has eyes for his food.
“Anyway, I thought it would be best to have a wedding in Moonrise, at the palace.”
I laugh under my breath. “Uh, why?”
“Well, it would be a royal wedding. You’re the queen’s brother.”
“Exactly. I have my own kingdom. We’ll hold the wedding here.”
She frowns and glances at Talon, who shrugs and goes back to his trough.
Morgan chews her lower lip in distaste and stares at me. I want to ask why she rushed the news of the engagement before an engagement was even discussed between us, but footsteps echo in the corridor beyond the dining room and a shadow appears before its owner does.
When Posey steps into the room, I suddenly find myself standing and walking in her direction before my dog brain catches up to my body. Curves. All of them. All of them on display in a deep, gorgeous, emerald silk dress that makes her rosy, alabaster skin gleam like moonlight on rose petals.
Her expression, however, when I pull out a seat near the head of the long table, is tight and uncomfortable. She wordlessly sinks into the chair and doesn’t meet my gaze, but Morgan stares at us with venom swirling behind her eyes, and her gaze follows me to my seat and doesn’t break until I’m seated and back to eating my dinner.
She rests her chin on her fist and smiles at Posey, but it’s cruel, lifted in more of a grimace than anything sincere. “So, our resident church mouse takes dinner in our formal dining room,” she muses, her eyes flicking to mine.
“Our?” I say before Posey’s cheeks can color. “I wasn’t aware we were married yet, but perhaps I’m wrong, seeing as I was also unaware of an engagement?”
Morgan frowns, but when I discreetly look in Posey’s direction, I notice the deep breath she takes and the way her muscles relax.
“Anyway,” Morgan damn near growls, her eyes rolling to mine. “If we’re holding the wedding here, everything is going to need to be redone. This castle is just… too dark. I can barely see a foot in front of me.”
She goes on and on, which is exactly what the past two days of her week-long stay have been like. Morgan talking about how ugly the castle is. Morgan talking about dresses and shoes. Morgan frowning at the idea of introducing herself to the leading ladies of Veiled Valley society. Morgan wanting to see the family vault and jewels.
I zone out and wonder if she knows I’ve stopped listening, and before long, Morgan and Talon leave the dining room altogether, and the air seems to return to the space, warming, like the house was purposefully keeping it so chilled my fiancee and her guard would be forced to leave eventually.
“You look nice,” I say before my brain can catch up with my tongue.
Posey is several seats away on the opposite side of the table and once again not even touching her food. Her collarbone is on display, and I hate it. I want to cover it with my hands and bury my face in the side of her neck, just once, just to feel that warmth and comfort again.
She flexes her jaw before replying, “The spirit chose it. She wouldn’t let me leave the room until I put it on. She’s rather persuasive.”
“Did she dangle her precious books over the bathtub?”
Her eyes flick in my direction before landing on her plate again. “No. Out the window.”
I sigh, feeling some of the tension leave my chest, making room for the ever growing gaping void spreading there since this summer.
I rise, bracing my hands on the table for several seconds in thought, then ask, “Can I show you something?”
Her mouth twitches, but she hesitates before asking, “Are you giving me my ring back?”
“Never.”
Her nostrils flare. She inhales, her eyes locking on mine–sharp and serious. “What do you want to show me?”
“Come.” I tilt my head toward a side door, an idea striking me. She rises and follows but stays several steps behind as we move into the older part of the castle, where maids and servants used to live. Now, these rooms are mostly used for storage, but there is one room my grandparents renovated even though the spirits, somehow, keep us fed without it.
The kitchen is grand and opulent in shades of deep blue, gray, and black stone. A center island of black granite separates the kitchen into two parts, and I watch Posey walk around it, examining shelves and appliances, before she rounds the island and stops in her tracks.
The oven is on, blasting heat, and she stares at the ground, just out of my line of sight for several long, silent seconds before her eyes meet mine again, wide and unsure.
She kneels and disappears from sight behind the island.
I take several restorative breaths before walking around it from the other side.
“Where did you find it?”
“In the woods about ten miles north of here.” I kneel on the other side of the cushion where the fawn is still asleep, thawing out. “I came across its mother first. She was dead. The fawn was born way late in the year, obviously, and couldn’t survive without her mother.”
Posey smooths her hand over the fawn's soft, short hide. Her stunning green eyes meet mine.
“I couldn’t kill her. I thought about it. It would have probably been the merciful thing to do–”
“She’s just a baby. I don’t blame you.” Her gaze holds firm for several seconds more before the fawn grunts, and she pets her some more. “What are you going to do with her now?”
I shrug, stretching my legs out in front of me. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought far ahead, but I couldn’t leave her in the cold, and whatever group hunted her mother for blood sport might return, or something else would have taken her. I just… I know how it feels to be alone.”
Posey purses her lips and tucks the fawn in tight.
“She’s just a deer. Just a baby. It isn’t fair, what happened to her.”
“Its kind of you to care.”
“She can’t help what she is.”
Posey looks right at me, her cheeks dusted pink as she toys with a loose thread on the blanket the fawn lies on.
I grind my jaw, trying to loosen the tension there. “Anyway, I notice you haven’t been eating. You’re thin. If you want to cook, this place is yours. No one will bother you here, and whatever ingredients you need, the spirits can bring you. Just ask, and it’s yours.”
“I–I don’t need to do that. It would just be me eating.”
“I would…” I taper off, take another breath, and continue, “I miss it. Having you cook for me like you did this summer.”
Her smile is wistful. “Really?”
“Of course.”
I don’t think I’ve been able to bring myself to look at her this closely since she arrived. It hurts. It hurts in a way I didn’t expect but probably should have anticipated after I kissed her for the first time and felt like my life was never going to be the same.
I walk her out of the kitchen after ten minutes spent convincing her that the fawn will be all right down here and that the female spirit has it covered, but when we walk through the old servants’ quarters, she asks about the closed doors and winding, narrow staircases splitting off in multiple directions.
“This place is an actual maze, and most of the rooms in this area of the house are rotting. Stay out of them, please. I don’t want you falling through the floor. That’s the last thing I need.”
She smiles again. It’s faint, but gods, it kills me. I’ve been such a fucking dick, and I should say something about that, try to explain why but…
She asks, “Why are you doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Marrying Morgan?”
I grit my teeth. “This was just supposed to be a visit. I was unprepared for the engagement announcement.”
“But you’re going through with it?”
“I guess so.”
“Why?”
“Why not? Obviously I’m not attached to the idea of marrying for love.”
“But you… hate her.” Posey sounds so incredulous it almost makes me laugh. “And she hates the castle. I wanted to stab her with my fork when she started talking about replacing the stained glass in the foyer!”
“I need a wife.” I catch her gaze on the staircase leading back to the dining room. It could have been you. Probably should have been you, if I’m being honest.
“You could have anyone, Aris, and you’re choosing someone so vastly outside of what you actually need.”
“I can’t have anyone I want,” I tell her, my voice low and gravelly.
“Of course you can–”
“Posey,” I breathe, my hand gripping the doorknob. “Did you hear a single word I said to you this summer? I wanted you, and you didn’t want me. Not like this.” I open the door but can’t bring myself to step into the light just yet. She looks radiant in my shadows, like she was meant for this, for moonlight and dark stone. For stained glass and magic in the air.
“I can’t give you what you need,” she says, her voice breaking. “And I hate that you hate me for it.”
“I don’t hate you. I could never hate–”
“There you are. I was looking all over for you!” Morgan’s voice is thick with frustration as she rushes into the dining room.
Posey steps back into the shadows, turning to walk down to the kitchen, and I want nothing more than to go with her.
But I close the door.