Elyra watched her mother holding Elowen as they both visibly relaxed. The tight, terrified set of Luna Mirela’s shoulders smoothed out, and Elowen let out a soft, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning her head against her mother’s arm.
A bitter, burning feeling spread through Elyra’s chest, sharp as swallowed glass. They didn’t care that a daughter was being led off to an executioner. They were just thrilled it wasn’t the daughter they actually loved.
Vaelric didn’t look at either of them. His blank, unreadable gaze shifted slightly toward the tall, sharp-jawed warrior standing half a step behind his left shoulder.
"Kaelen," Vaelric commanded, his low baritone cutting through the silent room like a heavy blade. "Give the contract to Lord Veyrith."
The Lycan Beta, Kaelen, stepped forward with quiet, heavy boots. His face was a mirror of his King’s cold detachment as he held out a thick leather portfolio bound in silver thread.
Elyra watched as her father snatched the documents. Lord Veyrith glanced through it with a careless, frantic speed. He flipped the heavy parchment pages without reading the lines, his eyes darting down the margins, not bothering to see what conditions had been set, not bothering to check what kind of life was being mapped out for the girl standing three feet away. He didn’t care what sealed her fate.
Elyra’s lips twitched. She almost let out a raspy, dark laugh right there in front of the court. It was almost funny. Twenty-two years of existence, and her own father couldn’t even be bothered to read the fine print of her execution.
Then it got to the last page.
Elyra watched as her father’s eyes lit up, his fingers gripping the edge of the leather folder so hard the paper creaked.
"Your Majesty..." Veyrith gasped, his voice suddenly breathless with greed. "Bloodridge will get all of this? The trade route exemptions? The northern silver concessions? The territorial immunity?"
Vaelric stared down at him, raising a single dark eyebrow. His face remained entirely expressionless, but his silver eyes narrowed just a fraction. It was bizarre. Vaelric had spent weeks reviewing intelligence reports on the golden heir of Bloodridge.
The reports described Alpha Veyrith as an overprotective, fiercely proud patriarch who treasured his precious bloodline daughter above his own life. Yet here the man stood, greedily devouring the financial kickbacks and territory terms while completely bypassing his daughter’s personal fate.
Did Vaelric receive the wrong information? Because the pathetic, groveling man standing before him looked nothing like a doting father.
"Pass it over to my bride to read," Vaelric ordered flatly.
The word bride made the blood clot in Elyra’s brain. A sudden, violent surge of panic hit her, the urge to scream the truth rattling against her ribs.
"My name is Ely-Elowen, and I’m not your bri..." She cut herself off mid-word, her teeth snapping down so hard on her lower lip that she tasted the sharp, copper tang of her own blood. She swallowed down the rest of the name with a painful gulp.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a microsecond, forcing the frantic pulse in her throat to slow down. If she spoke up now, if she admitted the fraud in front of Vaelric’s guards, her father would execute Kira before the sun went down, and Vaelric would burn the valley to the ground.
Vaelric only looked past her, completely ignoring her near-stumble as Kaelen retrieved the folder from Veyrith and handed it to her.
Elyra let out a slow, shaky breath. Her hands trembled as she took the heavy parchment, the cool leather smooth against her calloused fingers. She opened the folder and forced her eyes to focus on the sharp, black calligraphy spanning the pages.
Her eyes scanned the clauses, searching for the duration. There.
Clause IV: Duration of Binding. The martial alliance shall remain legally binding for a term of twelve months from the date of ratification.
One year. That was twelve months.
Elyra let out a visible, ragged sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping an inch. Twelve months. That sounded... survivable. A year was a long time, but twelve months made it feel finite. It meant there was an end to the nightmare.
She wouldn’t be trapped in his freezing fortress until she grew old and died. She just had to survive three hundred and sixty-five days, and then she could walk away. They would live. Kira would live.
She turned the page, her eyes reading the specific terms of the union. They were completely different from any standard treaty marriage she had ever heard of.
There was no requirement for public court appearances. No obligation to attend Lycan holy festivals or swear fealty to the Northern council. She would be granted private quarters in the high spire of the Citadel, completely separate from the King’s personal wing.
She was forbidden from meddling in the politics of the Northern court, and he was forbidden from forcing her into public displays of union. It was cold, functional, and almost completely severed from standard royal traditions.
Then her eyes hit the bottom of the third page.
Her breath caught in her throat. The relief that had just filled her chest dissolved into immediate, icy horror. She read the lines once. Then twice. Then a third time, her dark eyes darting across the ink in absolute disbelief.
Clause VIII: Lineage Fulfillment. The bride shall be required to conceive and bear a healthy male heir within the twelve-month duration of the binding. Upon the birth of a male child, all obligations of the bride shall be rendered fully satisfied, the treaty shall achieve permanent binding status, the marriage shall be dissolved, and both parties shall return to their separate lives.
"A son?!" Elyra choked out, snapping her head up to stare at the Lycan King, her raw voice echoing sharply against the stone. "What do you mean by a son?!"
Vaelric looked down at her. His expression did not shift. Not a single line on his face softened.
"Do you need an explanation on how the biological process works, or do you want a practical demonstration, Miss Veyrith?" Vaelric asked, his voice a low, flat rumble that carried no trace of humor or heat. "I could show you."
Elyra’s face burned with a sudden, furious rush of heat, her pale cheeks turning dark red.
"I understand what the word means!" she snapped, her fists tightening on the edges of the contract so hard the thick parchment crumpled in her grip. "But no one told me about this! I am not a baby factory you can just order a child from whenever it suits your political schedule!"
"An heir is the only essence of this marriage," Vaelric replied calmly, his tone as cold and detached as a court magistrate reading a property deed. "My council requires a secured bloodline to finalize the northern border integration. If you cannot fulfill that singular function, then I think the Bloodridge Pack has long passed its due date on the regional map."
Lord Veyrith stepped forward instantly, his face flushing a deep, mottled red as he glared at her with pure venom.
"Elowen!" her father barked, his voice laced with frantic, quiet rage. "What are you doing?! Keep your mouth shut and sign the paper! Consider the lives of the people in this territory! Consider your family! Are you really going to throw away the entire pack over a single clause?!"
Elyra looked at her father, her stomach churning with disgust. Consider the family? He didn’t care about the family. He cared about the silver concessions on page two.
For a wild, chaotic second, Elyra wanted more than anything to say fuck it all. She wanted to spit on the floor, throw the folder directly into Vaelric’s blank face, and tell them all to go straight to hell.
She didn’t give a damn about her father’s territory. She didn’t give a damn if Lord Veyrith and Luna Mirela lost their titles, their wealth, or their lives. If it were just them on the line, she would have walked out of the room without looking back.
But it wasn’t just them.
The image of the young kitchen girls flashed in her mind. The lower village families who had never harmed her. The innocent children playing near the timber mills. And Kira... Kira, who was probably standing in the narrow hallway right now, waiting in terror to see if she would be executed before nightfall.
The guilt of letting all of them be slaughtered would be too heavy for her to bear. It would kill her faster than any Lycan blade.
She was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
Elyra stared at the pregnancy clause again, her chest heaving as she swallowed back the bitter, salty moisture stinging the back of her eyes. She refused to cry in front of them. She refused to give her father or this emotionless King the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
"Before I give my life away," Elyra said, her raspy voice steadying as she squared her shoulders and looked Vaelric dead in the eye, "I have conditions of my own."
Luna Mirela gasped loudly, her hand clutching her throat in dramatic horror. "What is wrong with you?!" her mother hissed, stepping forward with a terrified, furious glare. "Are you trying to get us all killed?! You do not make demands of the Lycan King!"
Vaelric raised one gloved hand.
The simple, subtle movement instantly silenced Luna Mirela mid-sentence. She snapped her jaw shut, stepping back in fear.
"Let us hear her," Vaelric said quietly.
Elyra took a deep breath, fighting through the sharp throb in her back.
"First," she stated, her dark eyes locking onto Vaelric’s silver ones, "you will not meddle in my personal life inside your fortress. You will give me my own space, and I will be allowed to continue my education. I spent four years studying ancient texts and territorial cartography, and I will not give up my books or my studies just because I am living in your castle."
Vaelric watched her, his face a carved mask of stone. "Your studies are irrelevant to me, provided they do not interfere with your primary obligation."
"Second," Elyra continued, her voice rising with quiet strength, "you will keep your word. The moment I step foot over your border, all hostiles along the Bloodridge perimeter will stand down. Your troops will not touch this valley, your commanders will not raid the lower villages, and you will never use the lives of these people as a bargaining chip against me again."
"Granted," Vaelric replied without hesitation. "My word as King is absolute. If you fulfill your side of the contract, Bloodridge remains untouched."
"And third..." Elyra paused, her throat tightening as she forced herself to utter the next words. "The pregnancy will affect my studies and my physical freedom. I will not be locked in a sickbay or treated like a prisoner while carrying your child. I will have full access to the fortress grounds, the library, and the outer courtyards."
Vaelric stared down at her for a long, heavy moment. The silence in the room grew thick enough to choke on. Lord Veyrith was sweating profusely, his hands twitching by his sides as he waited for the King to snap her neck for daring to dictate terms.
Vaelric didn’t look angry. He didn’t look impressed, either. He simply checked his watch once more, his tone dripping with a cold, brutal detachment that cut deeper than any insult.
"If that is all," Vaelric said flatly, "then let the ceremony continue. I have spent enough time listening to useless conditions."