The great hall doors shut behind us with a heavy thud, cutting off the celebration that would last until dawn. The pack would feast and drink while I followed my husband up the stone steps of Ironfang Keep.
Husband. The word sat wrong in my mouth. The man climbing ahead of me, shoulders rigid with tension, felt more like a stranger than anything else.
My silver train scraped against each step, loud in the silence between us. Jasper didn't look back or offer his hand when my skirts caught on the worn stone. He climbed like he was marching to his execution, each step precise and cold.
Torches lined the spiral staircase, throwing shadows across the walls and turning his profile sharp as winter. Even angry, he was beautiful to look at. The kind of man who commanded attention without saying a word.
And he was mine. Or I was his. The difference felt important, though I wasn't sure why.
Maybe tonight will be different, I thought as we climbed higher, leaving the sounds of the feast behind. Maybe in private he'll let his guard down. Maybe I'll see the man behind the Alpha mask.
The hope felt fragile, like it might shatter if I breathed wrong.
By the time we reached the top floor, my chest burned. The guards in the corridor bowed as Jasper passed. Their eyes found me briefly, and I caught something that looked like pity before they looked away.
Heat flooded my cheeks. Even his own wolves saw what a joke this marriage was.
Jasper pushed open the heavy door without ceremony. The hinges creaked as I stepped inside on shaking legs.
The room was massive. A hearth dominated one wall, flames crackling as they ate through logs the size of my arm. Candles cast golden light across stone floors covered in thick rugs.
But it was the bed that made my breath catch.
It sat in the center like a monument to power, draped in black silk, posts carved with wolf heads that watched with empty eyes. The mattress was huge, piled with furs and pillows that looked cloud-soft.
Our marriage bed. The place where we would... where he would...
Heat rushed up my neck. I pressed my palms to my burning cheeks, trying to steady my racing heart. I'd known this moment was coming since the betrothal was announced. Had spent weeks telling myself I was ready, that I could do this, that maybe it might even be pleasant.
Now, standing in this overwhelming room with my cold husband, I felt like a child playing dress-up.
Jasper moved deeper into the chamber with those long strides that made other wolves step aside in hallways. He shrugged out of his ceremonial cloak and dropped it over a chair. The fabric crumpled against the dark wood.
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, painting silver lines across his shoulders as he worked at his armor clasps. Each piece came away with practiced efficiency—breastplate, bracers, the ornamental collar that had made him look like a war god during the ceremony.
I stood frozen near the door, watching him undress with the detachment of someone preparing for surgery. My stomach knotted tighter with each piece of discarded metal.
"Do you want some wine?" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "The servants left a bottle."
He didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge I'd spoken. His hands moved to his leather vest, movements sharp and controlled.
The silence stretched like a canyon between us. I forced myself to cross the room, my feet soundless on the thick rugs. The wine bottle sat near the windows, dark glass catching firelight. My hands shook as I poured two goblets, liquid sloshing against silver.
"Here." I held one out to him, close enough to smell his scent—pine and steel and something wild that made my body react in ways I didn't understand.
For a heartbeat, our eyes met. Storm-gray clashed with whatever hope still lived in mine. I saw myself reflected there—small, trembling, desperate for the smallest kindness.
Then he turned away.
The dismissal hit like a slap. I lowered the goblet, wine nearly spilling as my hands shook. This time the heat in my cheeks wasn't anticipation—it was pure humiliation.
He stripped off his vest and hung it on the armor stand, revealing a chest that belonged in sculptures. Broad and powerful, marked with old scars that spoke of battles won. He moved to the fireplace and braced one hand against the mantel, staring into the flames like I'd stopped existing.
The silence roared in my ears.
Say something, I told myself. Do something. You're his wife now, his Luna. Act like it.
I forced my feet to carry me closer, each step like walking through mud. The fire's heat should have been comforting, but it only made the chill from my husband more obvious.
"Jasper." His name felt strange on my tongue. "We're married now."
"I'm aware." The words were flat, emotionless, delivered without him turning to look at me.
They hit like a slap across the face.
I stopped just behind him, close enough that I could have touched the rigid line of his shoulders if I'd dared. Firelight painted his profile in gold and shadow, highlighting his sharp jaw, the cruel curve of his mouth. He was beautiful as a blade—and just as likely to cut me.
"I know this wasn't your choice," I whispered, the words scraping my throat. "But I thought maybe we could try to make this work. That maybe, in time, we could find something real."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker—surprise, maybe, or the faintest hint of regret.
Then he turned, and whatever I'd glimpsed vanished.
His storm-gray eyes looked me over from head to toe—taking in my silver gown with its beadwork, my hair already coming loose from its pins, my hands clasped so tight my knuckles had gone white. When his gaze met mine again, his lip curled in what might have been disgust.
"This bond," he said, 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 like arrows, each one finding its mark. My breath caught, 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.
"I don't know what foolish ideas you've filled your head with," he continued, turning back to the fire, "but let me be 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 stay out of my way."
Each word was a knife between my ribs, twisting deeper.
He pushed away from the mantel and walked toward the door, every line of his body screaming dismissal. My heart hammered as panic clawed up my throat.
"Wait." I spun toward him, desperation cracking my voice. "Where are you going? Tonight is our wedding night. You can't just—"
He paused with his hand on the latch, not bothering to turn around. "I'll be in my study. Don't wait up."
"But 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. "And I'll tell them our marriage was consummated thoroughly. No one will question their Alpha's word."
The door opened with a groan. His footsteps echoed in the corridor—measured, unhurried, already moving away from me and this room and whatever pathetic hopes I'd been stupid enough to have.
The scent of him lingered—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 in my wedding gown, still holding a goblet of wine in my shaking hands, and listened to my husband walk away from me on our wedding night.
And with his footsteps, the last threads of my hope unraveled completely.