The great hall doors groaned shut behind us with the finality of a tomb sealing, cutting off the revelry that would continue long into the night. The pack would feast and drink and celebrate their Alpha's new alliance while I followed my husband—husband—up the twisting stone steps of Ironfang Keep like a lamb being led to slaughter.
The word tasted bitter on my tongue. Husband. As if the cold stranger climbing ahead of me, his broad shoulders rigid with tension, could ever be anything more than a beautiful prison I'd locked myself inside.
My silver train whispered against each stone step, the sound unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence between us. Jasper didn't look back, didn't offer his hand when my skirts caught on the worn edges of ancient stone. He climbed with the mechanical precision of a soldier marching to his death, each step calculated and emotionless.
The torches lining the spiral staircase threw dancing shadows across the walls, turning his profile into something carved from midnight and winter storms. Even angry, even cold, he was devastating to look at. The kind of male who could stop hearts with a glance, who commanded rooms without speaking a word.
And he was mine. Or I was his. The distinction felt crucial, though I couldn't say why.
Maybe tonight will be different, I told myself as we climbed higher, leaving the sounds of celebration far below. Maybe in private, away from the pack's watching eyes, he'll let his guard down. Maybe I'll finally see the man behind the Alpha's mask.
The thought fluttered in my chest like a caged bird, desperate and probably doomed.
By the time we reached the top floor, my lungs burned with more than exertion. The guards flanking the corridor—his personal wolves, handpicked for their loyalty and discretion—bowed low as Jasper passed. Their eyes found me briefly, and I caught the flash of something that might have been pity before they looked away.
My cheeks flamed. Even his own wolves saw what a mockery this marriage was.
Jasper pushed open the heavy oak door to what was now our chamber without ceremony. The hinges creaked like old bones, and I stepped inside on trembling legs.
The room was magnificent and terrifying in equal measure. Massive didn't begin to cover it—the space could have housed half a dozen wolves comfortably. A hearth dominated one wall, flames crackling and snapping as they devoured split logs the size of my torso. Candelabras cast golden light across polished stone floors covered in rich rugs that probably cost more than most pack members saw in a lifetime.
But it was the bed that made my breath catch.
It sat in the center of the room like a monument to power—draped in black silk that seemed to swallow light, posts carved with intricate wolf heads that watched with empty wooden eyes. The mattress was easily large enough for four people, piled high with furs and pillows that looked soft as clouds.
Our marriage bed. The place where we would... where he would...
Heat rushed up my neck and into my cheeks. I pressed my palms against my burning face, trying to steady my racing heart. I'd known this moment was coming from the second the betrothal was announced. Had spent weeks telling myself I was ready, that I could do this, that maybe—if I was very lucky—it might even be pleasant.
Now, standing in this overwhelming room with my cold, distant husband, I felt like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.
Jasper moved deeper into the chamber with those long, predatory strides that made every wolf step aside in the corridors. He shrugged out of his ceremonial cloak and let it fall carelessly over a chair carved from what looked like a single piece of black oak. The fabric crumpled like spilled ink against the dark wood.
Moonlight streamed through the tall arched windows, painting silver lines across his shoulders as he began working at the clasps of his armor. Each piece came away with practiced efficiency—breastplate, bracers, the ornamental gorget that had made him look like some ancient war god during the ceremony.
I stood frozen near the door, watching him disrobe with the clinical detachment of someone preparing for an unpleasant but necessary task. My stomach knotted tighter with each discarded piece of metal.
"Do you—" My voice cracked like thin ice. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Do you want some wine? The servants left a bottle on the table."
He didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge that I'd spoken. His hands moved to the buckles of his leather undervest, movements sharp and controlled.
The silence stretched between us like a chasm. I pressed my lips together and forced myself to cross the room, my slippered feet soundless on the thick rugs. The wine bottle sat on a small table near the windows—dark glass that caught the firelight like captured blood. My hands shook as I poured two goblets, the liquid sloshing against the silver rim.
"Here." I held one out to him, close enough that I could smell his scent—pine and steel and something wildly masculine that made my wolf-less body react in ways I didn't understand.
For a heartbeat, our eyes met. Storm-gray clashed with whatever pathetic hope still lived in mine. I saw myself reflected in his irises—small, trembling, desperate for even the smallest kindness.
Then he turned away.
The dismissal hit me like a physical blow. I lowered the goblet, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim as my hands shook. Heat flooded my cheeks, but this time it wasn't anticipation—it was humiliation, pure and burning.
He stripped off his vest and hung it carefully on the armor stand, revealing a chest that belonged in marble sculptures. Broad and powerful, marked with old scars that spoke of battles won and dominance earned. He moved to the fireplace and braced one hand against the mantel, staring into the flames as if I'd ceased to exist entirely.
The silence roared in my ears like rushing water.
Say something, I commanded myself. Do something. You're his wife now—his Luna. Act like it.
I forced my feet to carry me closer, each step feeling like walking through quicksand. The heat from the fire should have been comforting, but it only made the chill radiating from my husband more pronounced.
"Jasper." His name felt foreign on my tongue. "We're... we're married now."
"I'm aware." The words were flat, emotionless, delivered without him even turning to look at me.
They hit me like a slap across the face.
I stopped just behind him, close enough that I could have reached out and touched the rigid line of his shoulders if I'd dared. The firelight painted his profile in gold and shadow, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the cruel curve of his mouth. He was beautiful as a blade—and just as likely to cut me if I wasn't careful.
"I know this wasn't your choice," I whispered, the words scraping my throat raw. "But I thought... I hoped that maybe we could try to make this work. That maybe, in time, we could find something real between us."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his expression—surprise, maybe, or the faintest hint of regret.
Then he turned, and whatever I'd glimpsed vanished like smoke.
His storm-gray eyes raked over me from head to toe—taking in my silver gown with its intricate beadwork, my carefully arranged hair already coming loose from its pins, my hands clasped so tightly in front of me that my knuckles had gone white. When his gaze met mine again, his lip curled in something that might have been disgust.
"This bond," he said, his voice low and cutting, "is a chain I never wanted. You are a burden I accepted for the good of the pack, nothing more."
The words hit me like arrows, each one finding its mark with devastating precision. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment I couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there and bleed from wounds that wouldn't show on my skin.
"I don't know what foolish notions you've filled your head with," he continued, turning back to the fire, "but let me make this clear—there will be no 'finding something real' between us. This is politics, pure and simple. You'll serve your purpose as Luna, bear my heirs when the time comes, and otherwise stay out of my way."
Each word was a knife between my ribs, twisting deeper with every syllable.
He pushed away from the mantel and strode toward the door, every line of his body radiating dismissal. My heart hammered against my ribs as panic clawed up my throat.
"Wait—" I spun toward him, desperation making my voice crack. "Where are you going? Tonight is our wedding night. You can't just—"
He paused with his hand on the door latch, not bothering to turn around. "I'll be in my study. Don't wait up."
"But what about—what about the marriage bed? The consummation?" The words tumbled out in a mortifying rush. "The pack will expect—"
"The pack will expect what I tell them to expect." His voice was arctic, final as a grave. "And I'll tell them our marriage was consummated thoroughly and properly. No one will question the word of their Alpha."
The door opened with a groan of ancient hinges. His footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond—measured, unhurried, already moving away from me and this room and whatever pathetic hopes I'd been foolish enough to nurture.
The scent of him lingered in the air—storm and steel and winter mornings—but it was already fading, just like the sound of his boots on stone.
I stood there in the center of our marriage chamber, still wearing my wedding gown, still clutching a goblet of wine in my trembling hands, and listened to my husband walk away from me on our wedding night.
And with his footsteps, the last fragile threads of my hope unraveled completely.