Caspian’s POV
Silence stretched across the ceremonial grounds like a held breath.
Then the whispers began, spreading through the crowd like wildfire.
“She refused him?”
“A wolfless reject turning down an Alpha?”
“Impossible!”
“The audacity!”
The murmurs of disbelief rippled through the assembled werewolves, their voices climbing with each shocked utterance.
Council members shifted uneasily in their seats, faces twisted between scandal and fascination.
Some guests scoffed at my choice, questioning my judgment in selecting such a woman.
Others simply stared, hungry to witness my response to this unprecedented defiance.
Their voices faded to background noise.
My attention remained fixed entirely on her.
Talia stood before me with her spine rigid, chin lifted in quiet rebellion.
Through the delicate white veil, I caught the flash of violet fire in her eyes.
No trembling.
No cowering.
No submission.
She was challenging me.
Her refusal hung in the air like a battle cry, spitting in the face of centuries-old tradition, mocking the werewolf hierarchy, rejecting me.
My jaw tightened.
Heat coiled in my chest as Beowulf, my wolf, stirred with dangerous interest.
“She is ours,” he growled low in my mind.
“She cannot refuse.”
“She believes she can,” I replied silently.
Beowulf’s snarl vibrated through my consciousness.
“Correct her.”
I would.
Turning from Talia, I addressed the priest directly.
“Yes.”
The word detonated through the crowd.
Fresh gasps erupted, louder than before.
New waves of whispered shock rippled across the gathering as guests struggled to process what had just occurred.
The priest blinked rapidly, his weathered features contorting in bewilderment.
His gaze darted between Talia and me.
“Alpha Caspian,” he stammered, uncertainty coloring his voice, “the ceremony does not—”
“I accept Talia Blackwood as my wife.” My declaration cut through his protest.
“Continue the ceremony.”
The priest’s mouth opened, perhaps to object, but I shifted my head slightly, fixing him with a stare that promised consequences for further delays.
His throat worked as he swallowed his arguments.
Understanding dawned across the crowd.
The guests began to grasp the reality unfolding before them.
I was not requesting Talia’s hand.
I was claiming it.
Talia went rigid beside me.
I heard her sharp inhale beneath the veil.
Her glare burned against my profile.
“This is insanity,” she hissed, her voice barely audible.
“You have no right.”
I angled my head just enough to meet her defiant stare.
“I have every right.”
Her hands clenched into fists.
Beowulf rumbled his satisfaction.
“Excellent.
Keep her close.”
The priest cleared his throat nervously.
“The sacred bonds require mutual consent, my Lord.
The ancient laws—”
“Proceed with the ceremony.” My voice carried the weight of absolute authority.
The priest froze.
The future king had spoken.
After a moment of tense hesitation, he exhaled slowly and reached for the ceremonial binding cloth.
Talia was not finished fighting.
“You cannot compel this union,” she whispered fiercely.
“I reject you.”
I leaned closer, my voice dropping to reach her ears alone.
“Little wolf, submit.”
Her breath caught.
I tilted my head toward the crowd, directing her attention to the hundreds of wolves observing her with cold disdain, their expressions dripping contempt.
Her father sat among them, his face murderous, his knuckles white with rage.
Talia followed my gaze.
I felt the exact moment her body tensed with recognition.
A grave miscalculation.
I smiled slightly.
Foolish little wolf.
She should understand by now that no one denies me.
“Much better,” I murmured, straightening.
Then I nodded to the priest.
He glanced desperately toward the Council of Elders, seeking intervention that never came.
With a defeated sigh, he surrendered to inevitability.
The priest raised the ceremonial cloth, his voice steady despite the surrounding tension.
“Caspian Vanderbilt, do you pledge upon this union, upon the spirits of your forebears and the laws of our people, to accept Talia Blackwood as your mate and wife?”
“I do,” I answered without pause.
The priest turned to Talia.
He hesitated briefly before continuing, “Talia Blackwood, do you pledge upon this union to accept Alpha Caspian Vanderbilt as your mate and husband?”
Silence stretched.
A long, perilous silence.
Talia’s fingers twisted in her dress fabric.
The crowd leaned forward expectantly.
Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she breathed, “Yes.”
Relief swept through the gathered witnesses.
Even she recognizes when to yield.
Wise little wolf.
For the moment.
The priest wasted no time, as though fearing Talia might reconsider.
He rushed through the remaining ritual, wrapping the cloth around our joined hands, reciting the ancient vows of werewolf matrimony.
“Before the Moon, before the Blood, before the Spirit, the bond is forged.
By oath and destiny, may the union endure.”
Then, with finality, he raised his voice and declared, “You are now bound as husband and wife.”
Thunder rolled across the heavens at that precise moment.
The guests flinched collectively.
For one brief instant, the moon above us wavered, its silver glow shifting to an unnatural crimson before returning to normal.
An eerie stillness followed.
Had I imagined that?
I had not.
From the way Talia’s fingers trembled beneath mine, neither had she.
Talia’s POV
The ceremony was finished.
I was now the wife of Alpha Caspian Vanderbilt.
I had never felt more imprisoned.
The wedding feast was an elaborate spectacle.
Crystal chandeliers illuminated the great dining hall from above.
Long tables groaned under golden chalices filled with expensive wine and platters heaped with lavish delicacies.
Gentle music drifted through the air as nobles and Alphas lifted their cups in celebration.
Guest after guest approached Caspian, offering congratulations, flattery, and recognition of his power.
I sat beside him at the head table, my posture rigid and my hands folded tensely in my lap, while laughter and conversation filled the hall.
This was their celebration of Caspian’s triumph and my defeat.
Yet no one acknowledged my existence.
Servants filled Caspian’s cup repeatedly and presented him with the choicest portions of food.
They ignored me completely.
My plate remained empty.
My chalice, dry.
In their eyes, I was unworthy of basic courtesy.
And Caspian?
He said nothing.
He made no demands for my proper treatment.
He did not even glance in my direction.
Because I had dared to look him in the eyes and speak words no one expected to hear.
Now I was paying the price.
But ultimately, Caspian had crushed my refusal.
Just like that, it was finished.
I had been defeated.
The entire kingdom had witnessed my humiliation.
I pressed my nails into my palms beneath the table, fighting to maintain composure.
Fine.
If they would not acknowledge me, I would not acknowledge them.
So I remained motionless.
Silent.
Unyielding.
Refusing to let them witness my pain.
Eventually, a servant approached.
Without speaking or looking at me, she lifted a pitcher and began pouring wine into my chalice.
My relief was brief because the next moment, she deliberately spilled the entire contents across my gown.
I gasped involuntarily.
My hands flew up instinctively as the deep red liquid soaked into the delicate silk.
Stunned silence followed.
Then laughter began.
Soft initially, then spreading, flowing through the banquet hall like poison.
Cruel whispers slithered between the guests.
“She cannot even sit properly without causing disaster.”
“Caspian deserves a more capable Luna.”
“How pitiful.”
I caught the spark of amusement in Caspian’s eyes.
Heat blazed across my cheeks, my breathing quickening.
Then a voice echoed in my thoughts.
“Refuse to endure this.”
My vision blurred momentarily.
My fingers began to twitch.
“Overturn the table.”
A strange compulsion surged within me, unfamiliar and commanding.
What was happening to me?
But the force inside me would not be denied.
Before I could stop myself, my hands were gripping the table’s edge, preparing to flip it entirely.