Anya's touch was light, but it sent shivers down my spine. The way she cleaned my wound without a word felt more like a judgment. Then came another scoff. It was a familiar sound, one that she usually made any time she was around me, a reminder that Anya wasn't really a friend.
She was my confidante, yes, but not a friend in the truest sense. Not someone who would stand by me unconditionally. Maybe it is right to call her a mercenary, with loyalty measured in coins. She was someone who would sell me out for the right price. Yet, with the situation I was in, even that fleeting loyalty of hers felt precious to me.
As Anya finished and left the room, I sensed something else crossed her face – pity? Disgust? It was hard to tell. Didn't matter, because at that moment I craved the satisfaction of not knowing.
Suddenly, a loud clopping sound came from outside. I walked towards the window and saw my father getting into a carriage with a deep frown etched on his face. An expression I'm all too used to. Soon enough, the carriage lurched forward, disappearing down the dusty path.
"Where is he going?" I thought, my hands crossed under my breast as I leaned on the window. The thought of my rejection causing him even a flicker of inconvenience made me feel a weird kind of good, but of course that feeling didn't last; reality has a way of shoving the truth down my throat. Even if I messed up his plans a little, it wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't see it as a rebellion, just more proof that I'm a screw-up. A tear traced a salty path down my cheek, landing with a soft plop on the cold stone floor.
I sank to my knees, burying my face in my hands. I was a prisoner, trapped not by bars and chains, but of my own failures and a father who only saw me as a useless tool.
Wiping my stinging eyes with the heel of my hand, I walked towards the stables hoping riding would help me cool off some steam.
The usual whispers and side-eyes from the workers followed me and as always, I ignored them.
When I reached the stables, the familiar scent of hay and leather calmed me a little. My gaze fell on Midnight and a smile cracked through my lips, she was my sleek black mare. Her dark eyes seemed to hold a silent understanding, it felt like she understood how I was feeling at the moment. Like she was trying to console me with her dark gaze.
I ruffled her hair as I climbed onto her back. "Let's go for a ride," I mumbled.
We raced out of the stables and into the fields, Ignoring the judgmental stares we were receiving. The wind blew through my hair, clearing my head a bit. With every gallop, my anger and frustration melted away. My horse moving up and down felt calming, like a rocking chair for my emotions.
Time flew by. I only noticed because the sun was getting lower and my muscles were sore. I was so lost in the ride that I almost missed Maya's sharp voice calling my name. "Dinner, now!" She barked across the field.
I clenched my jaw and steered Midnight back towards the stables, a fresh wave of frustration washing over me. There was no escape from that hell of an household. Back at the stables, I got off Midnight. My body ached in a good way, and my mind felt a little better. I took a quick shower which didn't wash away the lingering tension, but it did provide a temporary shield.
Dinner was a tense affair which wasn't something new. I entered the grand dining room to find my Father already seated, a deep scowl on his face. Surprise flooded my gut. I wasn't expecting him to be back so soon. The air crackled with tension as I forced myself to meet his gaze. It felt like we were about to have a battle, even though nobody said anything.
The air in the dining room was thick enough to chew on as I forced a swallow, trying to ignore the accusatory glare from my father. "Good evening, Father," I greeted. He didn't respond, just grunted in acknowledgement.
Across from me, Chloe—or should I say Chloerendia—my annoying elder stepsister, sat… quietly. Which was unusual. Her eyes clouded with worry. Was she...nervous about something? The thought died before it fully formed as my father cleared his throat.
"There's been an incident," he began, his voice clipped and cold. A knot of dread formed in my stomach. Incidents in our family rarely meant good things.
He paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air, before continuing. "Your brother, Edgar, he's..." his voice cracked for a split second, then hardened, "...dead."
My breath hitched in my throat. Dead? Edgar? It couldn't be. That arrogant, stupid and loud, pain-in-the-neck of a step brother? There was no way. One minute he was alive and the next… A wave of nausea hit me, followed by confusion.
"He... how?" I managed to croak out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Father's jaw clenched tight. "He challenged the Lycan King to a duel," he spat out the words like a bitter pill. "And unsurprisingly, he lost." For a second, I thought I saw anger in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a deep furrow of his brow.
The dread in my stomach turned into pure terror. The Lycan King. Just thinking about him sent chills down my spine. Everyone knew he was ruthless. The talk about his fearsome power and insatiable temper was all the rage in our pack. And now we have angered him.
"This," Father continued, his voice low and husky, "has put us in a precarious position."
Chloe, who had been silent throughout the conversation, finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "What do we do?"
The room got quiet again, but this time it was a different kind of quiet. A quiet that meant everyone knew what was to be done. My jerk of a stepbrother wasn't the first to anger the Lycan king and would probably not be the last. There was only one way, the age-old, horrifying way, the one that had bound different packs to the Lycan King for generations.
My father finally broke the silence, his words heavy with dread. "We appease him."
My heart pounded in my chest. Appease him? Appease him how? I already knew the answer. The truth hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Bride.
The Lycan King would be given a bride.