The gown clung too tight around mera's ribs, as if it knew how suffocated she felt. She tugged at the lace binding her waist, her fingers trembling. The mirror before her was cracked, splitting her reflection into jagged fragments. It seemed fitting. She no longer recognized the woman staring back at her ashen-faced, heavy-eyed, a stranger trapped in a nightmare. Her sister's perfume still lingered in the room, a sweet but sharp reminder of the betrayal. Mera's jaw clenched. Shani was supposed to stand here, not her. But Shani had feigned illness, flashing a sly grin as their parents ordered take her place. For the family, they'd said. For honor. As if honor was anything more than a polished dagger held at her throat.
A knock at the door made her jump. It was the old maid tasked with preparing her for the ceremony. "It's time, Miss Mera," she murmured. The sympathy in her eyes only made mera's resolve waver.
She nodded numbly. The gown felt heavier as she straightened it, her heart pounding like a drumbeat in her chest. Today, she was to marry a man she didn't love, all because the one she did love had cast her aside like nothing more than a passing fancy. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms, but she forced herself to breathe. One step at a time. Survive this day. Survive the night. Stone corridors stretched endlessly before her, cold and unforgiving under the flickering torches. Mera's footsteps echoed as she walked, two guards flanking her like silent specters. The walls bore ancient tapestries depicting scenes of war—wolves tearing into flesh, a reminder of the brutal history of the Lycan kingdom. Each stitch seemed to hum with the violence woven into the bones of this place. The air grew thicker as they neared the ceremonial hall. She could feel the weight of every gaze on her, whispers curling through the air like tendrils of smoke. *Is that the Falkmoor girl?* someone murmured from a shadowed alcove.
Mera lowered her head, her cheeks burning under the scrutiny. Her name was a curse in this court—everyone knew she was the substitute bride, the lesser sister. And they made no effort to hide their contempt. Her throat tightened, but she kept moving. She couldn't falter now.
The scent of pine and leather hit her like a punch. She knew that scent—knew it as intimately as her own breath. She looked up, and there he was, standing just within the crowd. Dian . His emerald-green eyes locked onto hers, unreadable and distant. She tried to look away, but her gaze betrayed her, lingering on the man who had ruined her.
"mera." His voice was low, rough like gravel underfoot. He stepped closer, cutting through the crowd without care for the stars.
She stiffened, her pulse quickening. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet, here I am." His gaze flickered, something regretful passing through his expression. "I didn't think they'd force you to go through with this."
meragave a bitter laugh, the sound foreign in her throat. "Don't pretend to care now, Dian . You made your choice."
His hand brushed against hers—so light, so brief, it was almost as if it hadn't happened. But it did, and the touch sent a shiver through her. "I made a mistake," he whispered. "I know that now."
Her heart wavered, but she clenched her fists tighter. "Too late," she bit out, yanking her hand away. "I'm marrying the king. You lost your chance."
He opened his mouth to say something, but a guard stepped between them, clearing his throat. "The ceremony is about to begin."
meratore her gaze from Dian 's, her heart a storm of anger, pain, and something far too dangerous to name. She turned sharply and followed the guard, leaving Dian standing in the corridor, his hand clenched at his side. The hall was a vast cavern of stone and shadow, with high ceilings that seemed to swallow sound. Mera stood beside Lerius Dravenmoor, the Lycan King, beneath a towering arch draped with silver banners. The scent of incense coiled through the air, thick and suffocating.
Lerius was an imposing figure, his black hair brushing his shoulders, golden eyes glinting with a predatory edge. His expression was unreadable, but there was a coldness in the way he stood—distant, calculated. Mera felt like a lamb led to slaughter.
The murmurs of the court ceased as the officiant stepped forward, a wizened elder draped in ceremonial robes. The ancient words of the binding ritual filled the air, each syllable heavy with tradition and power. Mera's breath hitched as the elder spoke of loyalty, unity, and sacrifice—words that felt like chains tightening around her soul.
Lerius 's gaze flicked toward her, sharp and assessing. "Say the words," he murmured under his breath, low enough for only her to hear.
Her throat constricted. For a moment, she stood frozen, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. But there was no way out. Not now. Not ever.
The moment stretched, tension thick as fog. Mera's pulse thundered in her ears. The crowd shifted impatiently, whispers buzzing like restless insects. She glanced around the hall—at the indifferent faces, at Lerius ' expectant gaze, and then, finally, at Dian , standing at the back of the room, watching her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.
She swallowed hard, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. "I, mera Falkmoor, take you, Darius Draven Moor..." The rest of the vow escaped her in a breathless murmur, each word feeling like a nail driven into her coffin.
Lerius gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. He reached for her hand, his touch cold as iron. The officiant proclaimed them bonded, and a cheer rose from the gathered Lycans—a cheer that sounded more like a death knell in mera's ears.
As the crowd surged forward to offer their congratulations, Meracaught Dian 's gaze one last time. His green eyes burned with something dark—something dangerous. And in that moment, she knew with chilling certainty that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.