The Trade

My father sold me for peace. I went to my wedding with a blade in my gown.

The dress was white silk, Northern-made, the kind Northern seamstresses spent whole seasons crafting. My mother's seamstresses had worked through the night to finish it. They'd woven silver thread through the bodice and sewn tiny crystals along the hem, a bride fit for a king.

None of them knew about the blade strapped to my thigh.

"It's time." My father's voice came from the doorway. Alpha Aldric Ravencrest, leader of the Northern territories, looked at me with something that might have been regret. Or might have been relief.

I couldn't tell anymore.

"I'm ready."

He stepped into the room, adjusting the ceremonial cloak over his shoulders. Silver embroidery on black wool, our house colors, our history, generations of teeth and territory stitched into every thread. All of it, traded away.

"Freya..."

"Don't." I turned back to the mirror, checking my hair one final time. Braided tight against my skull, the way I wore it for battle. "We both know why you're doing this."

"To end the war."

"To save yourself." I met his reflection's gaze. "The Blackmoor army broke through our eastern line three weeks ago. Another month, and they'd be at our gates."

"That's exactly why..."

"I understand the strategy." I rose, smoothed the silk over my hips. The blade sat cold against my inner thigh, invisible under the dress's flowing layers. "I just don't have to like it."

He had the grace not to argue.

The Great Hall of Blackmoor Keep was everything the stories promised. Massive stone walls draped in black and gold banners. Torches that cast dancing shadows across a crowd of wolves in human form. The scent of power, of dominance, of barely contained violence.

And at the far end, on a throne carved from a single piece of obsidian, sat the Alpha King himself.

Darius Blackmoor.

I'd heard descriptions. Brutal, they said. Merciless. A king who'd overthrown his own father and united the warring packs under one rule. The monster of the mountains, the terror of the territories.

The descriptions hadn't mentioned how still he was. How his gold eyes, rare, marking royal bloodline, tracked my approach like a predator watching prey. How his presence filled the hall even though he hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, hadn't done anything but exist.

He was massive. Even seated, I could tell he'd tower over me standing. Broad shoulders, muscled arms, battle scars visible on his forearms where his sleeves were rolled back. Black hair cut close to his skull, sharp jaw, and those eyes, gold and ancient and seeing too much.

I walked toward him alone. My father remained at the door, his part in this transaction complete.

The crowd parted. Whispers followed.

That's her. The Ravencrest girl.

She has her brother's look. The one who died.

Does she know what she's walking into?

I knew. I'd always known.

Kael had died in this war. My older brother, the one who should have inherited, the one who'd taught me to fight, who'd told me I was worth more than a bride-price, he'd died on a Blackmoor blade. And now I was walking toward the man who commanded those blades, silk against my skin and murder in my bones.

I stopped at the base of the throne.

Darius rose.

He was even larger than I'd estimated. Six and a half feet of wolf king, close enough now that I could smell him, woodsmoke and iron and the musk of a wolf who'd killed more than he could count. My wolf pressed against my ribs, restless.

Down, I told her. Not now.

His voice came out low, scraped raw. "Freya Ravencrest."

"Alpha King."

"You know why you're here."

"I know what my father traded me for."

His gold eyes narrowed, just barely. "And yet you came willingly."

"Define willingly." I didn't drop my eyes. Most wolves would have, buckled under the sheer weight of an alpha this powerful. I wasn't most wolves. "I came because the alternative was more war. More death. More of my people dying for a conflict that should have ended years ago."

"Pragmatic."

"Practical."

"The ceremony begins in an hour." He stepped closer. His scent thickened, woodsmoke filling the space between us until I could taste it. "I'm told Northern brides have certain... traditions. Is there anything you require?"

A blade in your throat, I thought. Ten minutes alone with you.

"Just one thing," I said aloud.

"Name it."

I smiled. It wasn't a friendly expression.

"Don't expect me to love you."

The ceremony was brief, brutal, and binding.

Wolf weddings weren't like human ones. No vows of love or devotion, no pretty words about partnership. Just blood and bite and the weight of tradition.

The officiant, an ancient she-wolf with white hair and scarred hands, spoke the words in the old language. I understood enough to follow. Pack to pack. Blood to blood. Alpha to mate.

Mate. The word sat wrong in my mouth.

Darius's hand enveloped mine. Warm, callused, strong enough to crush every bone if he chose. He made the cut across his palm without flinching, drew the blade across mine with surprising gentleness.

Our blood mingled.

The bond didn't snap into place. Not the true one, not the mate bond, that couldn't be forced, couldn't be created by ceremony alone. But I felt something. A thread. A connection. The beginning of a chain I'd spend the rest of my life trying to break.

"Sealed," the officiant pronounced.

The crowd erupted in howls.

I looked at the man who was now my husband, my enemy, my captor, the king I'd sworn to destroy. I felt nothing. Just cold, clean emptiness.

The wedding feast lasted for hours. I sat at the high table beside Darius, barely touching the food, watching the celebration with the detachment of a general surveying a battlefield.

His council sat nearby. Lords and ladies of the Blackmoor court, wolves who'd fought in the war, who'd likely celebrated when my brother died. Lord Varen, an older male with gray in his hair and cunning in his smile, watched me with particular interest.

"The Ravencrest girl seems unhappy," I heard him murmur to his companion. "Perhaps she expected more... enthusiasm... from her new king."

I filed his name away. Enemy.

When the feast finally ended, when the last toast was made and the crowd began to disperse, Darius turned to me for the first time in hours.

"My quarters are in the east tower. Guards will escort you."

"And where will you be?"

"Giving you space." He rose, towering over me even with me standing. "I know what this is, Freya. I don't expect your surrender."

"Good. Because you won't get it."

"We'll see." He reached out, almost touched my cheek, then withdrew. "Sleep well, wife."

He left me standing in the empty hall.

I watched him go, calculating distances, counting guards, mapping every exit I'd identified during the feast.I'd considered bolting during the celebration, when the wolves were drunk and distracted. But the gates had been sealed for the ceremony, and the wall patrols had doubled. They'd expected a runner. Then I turned to the escort waiting to take me to my cage.

The blade was still cold against my thigh.

Until death do us part.

I intended to make it his.