chapter Two

The first rays of dawn kissed the sky, yet the palace remained soaked in suffocating darkness—a reflection of Elara's heart. She hadn’t slept. How could she? The cold, nothing good exists room she'd been shoved into after signing her life away was more prison than safe place. The sharp edges of stone pressed into her as she sat huddled on the floor, the weight of her decision suffocating her like an iron chain.

The heavy iron door creaked open, breaking the oppressive silence. A servant entered, carrying a silken gown of blood-red and gold that shimmered in the faint torchlight.

“The Alpha commands you to wear this for the special event,” the servant said, her gaze fixed on the floor as though meeting Elara’s eyes would shatter her composure.

Elara stared at the gown, its rich fabric and intricate embroidery mocking her poorness and pain. Every thread screamed of wealth and power, a stark contrast to the tattered dress she had been forced to abandon. She raised her head, her voice low but biting. “And if I refuse?”

The servant flinched, her hands trembling slightly. “Then the Alpha will have your father’s head brought to you on a platter.”

Elara’s heart clenched, her fingers curling into tight fists. Her nails bit into her palms, but she barely noticed the sting. “Leave it there,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

The servant quickly obeyed, retreating as though the room itself might collapse. The moment the door closed, Elara sank to her knees, her body trembling. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, each drop carving a path of despair. This wasn’t a wedding. It was a funeral—her own.

The grand hall was unrecognizable. Gold and crimson banners draped the towering columns, and the heady scent of exotic flowers hung thick in the air. Nobles, adorned in their finery, filled the room, their eyes glittering with curiosity and malice. At the center of it all stood Kaelen Blackthorn, the Alpha, his figure draped in ceremonial armor that gleamed like molten steel under the flickering torches. Beside him, Maria and Lyria flanked him like predatory shadows, their smiles thin and cold.

Elara was dragged into the hall, her gown a cage of silk and jewels that weighed her down with every step. The whispers of the crowd slashed at her like knives.

“She’s nothing but a villager,” someone sneered.

“What could she possibly offer?” another scoffed.

Kaelen’s eyes locked on her as she approached, his stormy gaze cutting through the haze of voices. “Step forward,” he commanded, his tone brooking no defiance.

Elara’s legs felt as though they were weighed with lead, but she forced herself to move, her chin lifting in a defiant gesture despite the fear clawing at her insides.

“You kneel before me as a debt-ridden peasant,” Kaelen said, his voice echoing through the hall, “but today, you rise as my bride and the mother of my heir.”

Before Elara could process his words, a sudden noise and craziness suddenly became visible at the far end of the hall. The grand doors burst open, their hinges making a deep, long sound of suffering under the force. sudden, short breaths in rippled through the crowd as an old man, covered and hid in beat-up robes, limped inside. He leaned heavily on a knotty and twisted-up staff, his milky-white eyes scanning the room like they could see through flesh and bone.

“The seer,” Maria whispered sharply to Lyria, her suspicion laced with fear.

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “Why have you come unbidden?” he demanded, his voice cold and sharp.

The seer’s bony finger extended, pointing directly at Elara. “The girl you claim as your bride carries the mark of fate,” he rasped, his voice a haunting whisper that seemed to pierce the very air. “Her union with you will either save this pack or doom it to ruin.”

A heavy silence descended upon the hall. Kaelen’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering to Elara as though searching for something hidden. “Speak plainly, old man,” he growled. “What mark?”

The seer’s lips curled into a cryptic smile. He moved closer, his frail form trembling with each step, until he stood before Elara. “Show him,” he commanded, his voice low but unyielding.

Elara’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively moving to her shoulder. “I… I don’t—”

“Show him!” the seer thundered, his voice reverberating through the hall like a crack of lightning.

Kaelen stepped forward, his impatience clear. “What is this nonsense?”

Before Elara could react, the seer reached out with surprising strength, pulling the delicate fabric of her gown aside to tell about a rough and sharp scar etched across her upper back. The room suddenly became shot matter up and out into sudden, short breaths in and whispers.

Kaelen's eyes darkened as he studied the scar, its twisted shape looking like a very old sigil. "What is this?" he demanded, his tone laced with feeling that something is wrong or bad, but without proof

The seer’s gaze remained fixed on the scar, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “It is no mere wound. It is a key—a curse and a blessing intertwined. The darkness it hides will test the strength of her soul and yours, Alpha.”

Kaelen’s expression hardened. “You speak in riddles, old man. Enough of this madness.”

The seer turned his gaze back to Elara, his milky eyes unnerving. “You are more than you know, child. Your scar is tied to the prophecy. A child born of fire and shadow, blood of the cursed and the chosen, will rise to claim what is theirs. But beware, for the path to salvation is paved with betrayal and pain.”

Kaelen’s patience snapped. “Guards, remove him!”

Two warriors stepped forward, but the seer raised his staff, and they froze in place, their faces pale with fear. “You cannot silence fate, Kaelen Blackthorn,” the seer said, his voice a foreboding growl. “You may chain her, but destiny cannot be caged.”

With that, he turned and shuffled out of the hall, leaving a heavy sense of foreboding in his wake.

The ceremony continued, but the seer’s words lingered like a storm cloud over the proceedings. Elara felt the weight of every gaze as she repeated the vows forced upon her, her voice hollow. When Kaelen slipped a ring of black obsidian onto her finger, its icy touch sent a shiver through her.

“From this day forward,” he declared, his voice resonating through the hall, “you are mine, in body and blood.”

The crowd erupted into applause, but Maria and Lyria remained silent, their expressions dark with fury.

As Elara passed them, Maria leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “Enjoy your victory while it lasts.”

That night, Elara was escorted to her new rooms The room was fancy, decorated with silks and gold, but it felt more like a gold-covered, showy cage than a safe place. She paced without much sleep and without being tired, her mind a confusing mixture of feelings of love, hate, fear, etc.

The door creaked open, and Kaelen entered, his presence filling the room. "You will begin your duties as my wife tomorrow," he said directly in an upsetting way

Elara turned to him, her eyes blazing with defiance. “I am not your property.”

Kaelen smirked, his expression infuriatingly calm. “No, you’re my responsibility. And I always ensure my responsibilities are fulfilled.”

Before she could respond, a knock interrupted them. A guard entered, his face pale. “My lord, there’s been an attack on the eastern border. The rogues are advancing.”

Kaelen’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a scowl. “Prepare the warriors,” he ordered. “I’ll join you shortly.”

He turned back to Elara, his expression hard. “Stay here. Do not leave this room.”

As he stormed out, Elara sank onto the bed, her mind racing. The seer’s words echoed in her ears, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life was no longer her own.

In the distance, a wolf howled, its mournful cry a chilling reminder of the dangers lurking beyond the palace walls. Elara’s fingers brushed against the scar on her back, her mind a whirlwind of questions. What did the seer mean? And why did Kaelen seem so desperate for an heir?

As the moon climbed higher, Elara made a silent promise: she would uncover the truth—about Kaelen, the prophecy, and the darkness threatening to consume them all.