"I'll find us some food before nightfall, Aurora." Claire whispered, patting her ten year old sister's head.
Aurora nestled closer, not uttering a word.
Tears burned behind Claire's eyes. Aurora always understood no matter what. She never complained and was never bitter.
She smoothed her sister's hair, looking up with foggy eyes.
"Maybe, we should let Uncle Jarren taken us in. He promised food and shelter."
Claire's shoulders stiffened.
She wasn't going to argue about her reasons for not accepting the hospitality of her uncle.
"We'll find a way on our own. We're strong girls, aren't we?"
Thunder rumbled outside. Her grip on her sister's shoulders tightened.
Another night of enduring a leaking roof.
She slowly pulled away from Aurora. The little girl shivered in fear. As she turned, tear tracks had stained her dirt-smeared cheeks.
"I don't want to stay here alone." She glanced around the ruined stone building that had once been a grand house.
"Take me with you. I… I promise I'll be good and I'll not wander off."
Claire shook her head. "No. We've talked about this before. I won't be long, I promise."
Aurora took Claire's hand in her little and frail one. "If you accept Uncle Jarren's offer, we won't have to bear with this anymore. We're never going to get back what they took from father."
Claire pulled her hand away.
"No more talk about Uncle Jarren, Aurora. I'll be off now."
She could feel her sister's tear-filled gaze as she walked away.
The west wing of the house was still habitable, but the other wings had been destroyed by the fire. That included the entrances.
She steadied herself over the windows's ledge and hauled herself to the ground on the other side.
She tucked her small parcel in the crook of her gown.
The gown was one of her finest that wasn't destroyed in the fire. Merchants would take her more seriously if she wasn't dressed like a beggar.
In her little pouch was her last treasured possessions - hair pins and brooches made of real gold.
Claire didn't want Aurora to know that she was selling the things she loved dearly just to feed them.
She turned into the bushy path, preferring not to attract the attention of the neighbours.
Claire refused to sell her father's watch, even though she was assured that it would give her enough money to rebuild the keep.
A wagon with two men passed by. One of them spat at the side of the road as they toggled on.
The markets weren't much further ahead.
She adjusted her dress and drew herself taller - she was the daughter of a powerful man afterall.
Her palms were moist with sweat despite the biting wind. Claire's shawl had been too threadbare for her to use it for such an outing.
Calls for customers filled the air.
She had arrived at last. Even in the familiar environment, the unease didn't go away.
It persisted like a nightmare at the back of her mind.
She gulped, heading for the pawn shops.
Wares were scattered on the stone path, carriages and horses wheedled by.
No one paid undue attention to her - she noticed.
She had become a nobody.
"What's a beauty like you doing out here, m'lady?" A bawdy man with a gruff voice asked, grabbing her by her arm.
Her eyes darted to his, fierce and unsmiling.
Claire didn't attempt to struggle, she just stared, daring him to do his worst in the midst of the crowd.
His gaze narrowed. "You're a feisty one, aye. When ten men spread you wide like the door of a carriage, you'd humble, I figure." He murmured by her ear.
She winced.
"Why ten men? Are you so unmanly that you can't do it yourself?"
The man spat on the ground. Saliva glistened in his matted beard when he looked down at her.
There was suddenly an uproar. Shouts erupted through the square.
Merchants rushed to clear their wares off the road.
People bumped into her, nearly knocking her down, but the tall man's grip was firm.
Horses neighed and thundered down the center of the path.
Claire tore her gaze away from her captor and glanced at the arriving party.
She saw the banner of the King - a howling Lycan.
It had to be him.
She expected him to be holed up in some dark carriage, drinking himself to stupor and laughing at the peasants that lined the streets.
Yet she was disappointed. Her shoulders tightened.
A white horse without blemish rode past. The man on it was wearing a long black cape.
It wasn't him, she noted as he shrugged off the helm. The man on the gelding was blonde and green-eyed. He was clearly enjoying being the center of the spectacle from the smirk on his face, she mused.
Yeren Stormhall, the King that had murdered her father and crushed her dreams of being the wife of some wealthy Lord.
Another horse rode by, a black stallion. The rider wore no armour or helmet. His hair fell in long black waves, the same colour as his mount.
The horse looked as dangerous as the rider.
She gulped.
It was him.
Her insides started heating up, her face burned.
His eyes roamed over the crowd.
She waited for him to meet her gaze so he would feel the weight of her glare - no matter how thin the hope seemed to be.
But her arm was yanked before she could accomplish her mission.
"I was talking to you, girl!" The cold snap sent a wave of panic through her.
His teeth were crooked and yellow, his breath sour as he spoke.
"You weren't saying anything of importance, if I recall properly, kind sir."
The man smirked.
Before she could see it coming, he smacked her across the face.
She stumbled from the impact, but his grip kept her from falling.
A gasp tore through the crowd.
She hated being the subject of attention.
"Smart mouth. I wonder how it will feel over my cock…"
The sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath pierced the silence.
Claire suddenly noticed that it had become very quiet, in contrast to the once-bubbling environment she had been swallowed in.
"Didn't your mother not teach you to never raise your hand on a woman?" A deep yet lazy voice called out.
She knew that voice - it was the same voice that condemned her as an heir two years ago.
The man immediately loosened his grip.
She stepped away, rubbing her bruised hand tenderly.
Her back ran into something hard.
Claire froze.
She didn't turn around. Neither did she move.
Gloved hands seized her shoulders and spun her around gently. She sucked in a deep and shaky breath.
The face before her wasn't smiling, nor kind.
His eyes ran over her, undressing her with his gaze as his eyes lingered at her chest before resting on her face.
She clenched her fists at her side to keep herself from slapping the King across the face.
Another man slid from his horse.
"Your Grace, the council awaits."
Claire's heart thumped louder, so loud she feared he could hear it.
Her father had once been part of the council they spoke about.
The man who spoke came forward, casting her an annoyed look.
"Wenches can come later, your…"
The King held up a hand to silence him. He was content to keep staring at her.
Then, she felt it. A strange pull.
The words lingered on her tongue, but she fought it back.
Mate.
Yeren's lazy gaze flicked over the gathered crowd.
"And who might you be?"
She hid her fists in the folds of her gown. The trimmed hem was dusty with dirt from the filthy ground she was walking upon.
"No one of consequence."
He narrowed his eyes.
"I'm no fool. Have we met before by any chance?"
The fact that he hadn't remembered her made her even more furious. She could barely see clearly through the haze of her rage.
'His memory is a poor as his judgement.' She thought to herself.
"You're not dressed as a peasant…"
Then his eyes suddenly darkened.
He must have felt it as well.
His scent enveloped her, but she only squared her shoulders.
"Mate." The words left his lips softer than a whisper.
Her glare hardened, her mouth pressing into a thin line.
"Over my dead body. I reject you, King Yeren Stormhall."
His brows furrowed.
"Why reject me? I can give you all the gold and silver you could ever want."
Her glare faltered, but she held his gaze.
"But you can't give me my father back, can you? Keep your gold for the whores, I'm not one of them!"
Saying that, she spun on her heel and left, forgeting the food she had promised her sister.
Yeren stared after her.
No one in the crowd met his gaze.
He had never been turned down by a woman before - especially in the presence of so many people.
He turned to his first man.
"Find out everything you can about her."
A firm nod greeted his instruction.
He looked back at the way she had gone. She had disappeared into the crowd.
He would find her.
Yeren mounted his horse in one smooth movement.
Running a hand through his hair, he kicked the fine horse into a gallop.
And she would be his.