"You bitch!" Elowen screeched, her bandaged head whipping back as her fingers clawed at the doorway. "You absolute, pathetic bitch! You think because you slapped me, you’re suddenly some high and mighty queen? The Lycans will kill you over there! Do you hear me?! They hunt down useless, wolfless abominations like you for sport!"
Before Elowen could take another step forward, Elyra moved like a shadow, quick and silent, the fury inside her finally uncoiling after years of forced restraint.
She reached out, caught a handful of Elowen’s styled golden hair, and yanked her violently toward the marble vanity mirror. Elowen let out a sharp, pathetic squeal as her face was slammed inches from the reflective glass, her breath fogging the surface in frightened little bursts.
"Look at your face, Elowen," Elyra hissed, her voice dangerously close to her sister’s ear, cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of mercy. "Look at it. Cherish every soft, unblemished inch of it. Cherish the silk bandaging. Cherish the fact that you get to sit in a warm parlor tonight. Because this might be the absolute last time you ever see your face whole."
Elowen tried to pull away, her breath coming in frantic, high-pitched hitches, her manicured nails scrabbling uselessly against the porcelain sink. "Let go of me! Father will..."
"Father won’t do a damn thing," Elyra cut her off, tightening her grip on Elowen’s hair just enough to draw a whimper. "Yes, they might kill me up north. They might tear me apart the second they realize I have no wolf. But until that day comes, Elowen, I hold every single one of your lives in my hand. One word from me to Vaelric Draeven... one single mention that you were the golden heir he actually signed for, and his vanguard will flatten this pack house before sunrise. So be afraid, sister. Be very, very afraid of the girl you kept in the attic."
Elyra shoved her forward. Elowen stumbled against the edge of the sink, clutching her scalp, her eyes wild with tears and terror, her golden curls now disheveled and clinging to her damp cheeks.
"You bitch," Elowen spat, her voice trembling violently as she tried to gather the remnants of her dignity, straightening her spine despite the shake in her knees. "Bask in your little glory while you can! Bask in your fake title! But remember this, Elyra... I am the one mom and dad love! They chose me over you! They threw you to the meat grinder because you are nothing! You are completely worthless to this family! You are nothing but a sacrificial goat we handed over to save our own skins!"
Elowen turned, yanked the door open, and fled down the corridor, her heavy skirts rustling frantic against the stone, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing until they faded into silence.
Elyra stood in the center of the washroom, staring at her own reflection in the glass. Her chest heaved. Her hands shook so violently she had to press them against her thighs. Elowen’s words hung in the air like poison, sharp and cruel, cutting straight into the raw, buried places inside her heart, places she had spent years trying to seal shut.
They chose me over you.
You are nothing but a sacrifice.
She squeezed her eyes shut, a suffocating, terrible pain expanding in her throat until she couldn’t breathe. She gripped the edge of the marble sink, her head hanging low, her breathing coming in short, ragged gasps, each one scraping against the wound Elowen had just torn open.
The door creaked open again.
Elyra flinched, her shoulders tensing as she prepared to face her mother or her father. She rounded on the doorway, her dark eyes sharp and defensive, ready to fight, her whole body coiled like something cornered.
Instead, it was Kira.
Kira slipped through the door, shutting it behind her with a quiet click. She took one look at the red mark on the mirror, the water splashed across the counter, and the raw, unravelling look on Elyra’s face, and her expression crumpled with immediate concern.
"I just saw Elowen running down the hall holding her head," Kira whispered softly.
She looked at Elyra, her brown eyes filling with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness. Without another word, Kira opened her arms wide... widening them like a mother offering shelter to a heartbroken child.
"Oh, Lyra..." Kira breathed.
The invisible wall Elyra had built around her heart shattered into dust.
All the cold armor, all the fierce defiance she had displayed in front of Vaelric and Elowen simply melted away, leaving nothing behind but the exhausted, grieving girl underneath.
Elyra took a shaky, stumbling step forward and crashed directly into Kira’s arms, burying her face into Kira’s shoulder as though she might disappear into it entirely.
The tears finally spilled over her lashes. Hot, heavy, and uncontrollable, they soaked straight into the fabric of Kira’s dark dress.
Elyra sobbed... a deep, agonizing, body-wracking sound that she had been suffocating inside her chest all morning, one that seemed to come from somewhere far older than the events of that single day.
"I meant nothing to them, Kira," Elyra wept, her raspy voice breaking into pieces against Kira’s neck. "Twenty-two years... twenty-two years I stayed in this house! I cleaned their floors, I took their beatings, I stayed in the dark so Elowen could have the light! And to them... to them I’m nothing! Just a bargaining chip! Just a cheap piece of meat they traded away so they wouldn’t lose their silver mines!"
Kira wrapped her arms tighter around Elyra’s back, avoiding the fresh whip marks along her spine, holding her as firmly as she could without causing further pain. "Shh... let it out, Lyra. Let it out."
"They never loved me," Elyra choked out, her hands clutching the back of Kira’s dress like a drowning person clutching a rope. "Not for a single day. My father looked at the contract today, Kira... he didn’t even read my name. He didn’t check if I would be safe, or if I would be fed, or if I would survive the winter! He just stared at the silver trade route numbers! He traded his own blood for a fucking trade exemption!"
"They are monsters, Lyra," Kira whispered, her own tears blurring her eyes as she stroked Elyra’s dark hair, her voice trembling with quiet fury on her friend’s behalf. "Every single one of them in this house is a monster."
"It was always just Elowen," Elyra sobbed bitterly, her shoulders trembling under the heavy silk gown. "Always her. She got the warm blankets, she got the tutors, she got the praise... and I got the dungeon straw because I was born without a wolf. What did I do wrong, Kira? What is so wrong with me that my own father looks at me like trash?!"
"Nothing," Kira said fiercely, pulling back just enough to hold Elyra’s pale, tear-stained face between her hands. She wiped the wet tracks from Elyra’s cheeks with her thumbs, her gaze burning with absolute certainty. "Listen to me, Elyra Veyrith. Look at me!"
Elyra forced her bloodshot eyes to meet Kira’s, her chest still hitching with the aftershocks of her sobs.
"You are not a mistake," Kira said, her voice steady and ringing with deep affection. "You are not trash, and you are not a sacrifice. You are Elyra. You are my best friend, you are the smartest person I have ever known, and I love you. They are just too blind, too greedy, and too pathetic to see what you truly are."
Elyra stared at her best friend, searching her face for any trace of doubt and finding none. Slowly, a watery, trembling breath escaped her lips. The raw, burning pain in her chest softened just a fraction, anchored by the warmth in Kira’s eyes.
She let out a faint, shaky laugh, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, the sound somewhere between a sob and genuine relief.
"Well..." Elyra murmured, trying to force a tiny, fragile smile onto her cracked lips. "I’m officially a married woman now... Married to the man who hates our entire kind."
She swallowed hard, the reality settling back into her mind like a cold shadow, pressing down on her shoulders once more.
"What happens when he discovers I have no wolf, Kira?" Elyra whispered, her dark eyes wide with sudden, quiet fear. "Lycans revere pure wolf blood. When he realizes I can’t shift, when he realizes my father handed him an empty shell... he’ll kill me. He’ll execute me right in front of his court."
"Nothing is going to happen to you," Kira declared firmly, grabbing Elyra’s shaking hands and squeezing them hard, as if she could will her certainty directly into her friend’s skin. "You are strong, Lyra. You are ten times stronger than you think you are, and you will survive up there, with or without a wolf. You’ve survived twenty-two years in a house that hated you; a cold castle full of grumpy Lycans isn’t going to break you."
Kira gave her a small, mischievous nudge with her shoulder, trying to cut through the heavy gloom in the room, her eyes softening with the effort to coax one more smile out of her friend.
"Besides... look on the bright side," Kira whispered, leaning in closer. "You’re married to the most powerful man alive now. ’Daddy Dearest’ can’t lay a single finger on you anymore. You are completely out of his reach. If he even tries to raise a whip at you again, your husband’s vanguard will turn him into dog food."
Elyra let out a genuine, quiet chuckle, the sound rusty in her throat, as though laughter itself had grown unfamiliar. "I guess... I guess that’s a win for me."
Kira’s expression turned gentle again, her eyes dropping down to the back of Elyra’s dress, concern flickering back across her features. "How is the wound on your spine feeling? When you were standing out there talking to the Lycan King, I thought you were going to pass out from the pain. Your back was practically bleeding through the silk."
"It stings," Elyra admitted softly, reaching into the small hidden pocket of her dress skirt and pulling out a tiny glass jar filled with dark herbal salve. "It stings like crazy. But... it’s nothing I can’t endure."
"Don’t endure it, Elyra," Kira said sternly, taking the jar from her hands, opening it, and carefully dabbing a bit of the cooling green salve onto the exposed skin near Elyra’s neckline where the dress met her shoulder, her touch gentle despite the firmness in her voice.
"Don’t let anyone shove dirt down your throat anymore. You are no longer the cast-aside, forgotten daughter of the Bloodridge Pack. You are the wife of the Lycan King now. Act like it over there. When you step foot into his fortress, keep your chin up and don’t let a single one of those noble snobs bully you."
Kira capped the jar, stepped back, and let out a sudden, dramatic whistle, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, clearly determined to lighten the mood one more time.
"Though... I must say, babe," Kira smirked, a playful glint dancing in her brown eyes, "your husband is one hell of a catch!"
Elyra raised an eyebrow, her tear-stained face twisting into a look of absolute confusion. "What do you mean?"
Kira nudged her lightly with her elbow, giggling softly. "You heard me! Your husband is one fine-ass dude! I mean, come on, he’s tall, he’s built like a brick wall, those silver eyes... absolute handsome, dangerous eye candy."
Elyra stared at her in utter disbelief before letting out a soft gasp, a flush creeping up her neck despite herself. "Do you want him, Kira? Because I can happily transfer the marriage contract to you right now!"
"Hell no!" Kira laughed out loud, holding her hands up in surrender, backing away a step as if the very suggestion might summon him. "Keep your man! I like my head attached to my neck, thank you very much!"
A real, genuine laugh burst out of Elyra’s chest... a warm, bright sound that echoed off the cold washroom tiles. For a single second, the terrifying reality of her future vanished, replaced by the simple, easy joy of being with her best friend. She hadn’t laughed like that in weeks, maybe months, and the sensation felt almost foreign in her chest, like an old coat pulled from storage.
"In any other situation," Kira added, wiping a tear of laughter from her own eye, "if he wasn’t a terrifying monarch who threatened to burn our pack down, I’d probably be rooting for the two of you as a couple. But seriously..."
Kira’s playful demeanor softened, her face turning dead serious as she grabbed both of Elyra’s hands once more, her thumbs tracing small, reassuring circles over her friend’s knuckles.
The humor drained from the room as quickly as it had arrived, leaving only the quiet hum of the washroom’s flickering candlelight and the weight of what was coming.
"If this is too much, Lyra... we can run. Right now. There’s a narrow drainage tunnel behind the old timber mill. We can slip out through the woods, cross the southern border, and never look back."
Elyra looked at her, her heart swelling with deep, overwhelming affection for the girl standing in front of her, someone willing to throw away everything just to spare her this fate. She studied Kira’s face, memorizing the stubborn set of her jaw, the fierce loyalty burning behind her damp eyes, and felt a lump rise in her throat. "Kira, you can’t be serious. They’ll find us in ten minutes. Vaelric’s vanguard is sitting right on the ridge."
Kira let out a loud, airy laugh, shaking her head, though her eyes remained damp. "I know, I know. It was a terrible plan. But I had to offer!"
Elyra smiled, a quiet, dangerous spark returning to her dark eyes as she smoothed down the front of her silver-laced wedding dress, feeling something inside her steady and settle back into place. The fear that had gripped her only minutes before receded, replaced by something harder, something that felt almost like resolve.
"Don’t worry about me, Kira," Elyra said softly, her voice dropping into a steady, confident cadence. "I’m going to survive this. And just because I agreed to marry King Vaelric Draeven... doesn’t mean I’m going to make his life easy."
Kira’s face broke into a fierce, proud smile, her eyes sparkling with sharp affection as she squeezed Elyra’s hands one last time, as though sealing a promise between them. There was a fire in that grip, something unspoken but understood between two girls who had grown up sharing everything from secrets to scraped knees, and now, apparently, wedding-day terror.
"Good," Kira whispered, her voice laced with quiet triumph. "Then go up north and show that ice king what happens when he drags a fire into his frozen castle. Drag him off his high horse, Lyra, and don’t you dare give him a single second of peace."