ISKERA
The High Priest is almost frothing at the mouth, as he points a quivering, accusatory finger at me. "Get that curse! She is blocking the Goddess's answers! Her very presence is a wall between us and our salvation!"
I'm too shocked to even show the ring, my plan to be "showy" forgotten in the face of their sheer, illogical hatred. How in the hell did they come to these conclusions?
But Vane is already speaking, his voice cutting through the hysteria, carrying effortlessly over the strange, sudden wind that begins to whistle through the ceremonial grounds.
"I don't think the princess did something wrong. I think the Goddess simply rejected a false heir."
"False heir?" The Luna's voice is loud and incredulous after my father looks at her with a sudden, dark suspicion that makes her blanch. I would have laughed at the irony if the situation weren't so precarious.
"That's my daughter! Your daughter!" she screams, clutching at my father's arm as if to anchor her words. My father swallows hard, his brow furrowed in a deep, troubled V, then he turns his glare back to Vane.
"You are only a messenger. What would you know about the lineage of the Blood-Claw pack, or this cursed thing?"
"Enough," Vane responds, the word flat and final. He shifts his silver gaze to the priest, a silent command in his eyes. "Check if the blood of the princess will work."
I shudder before I can help it when all those heavy, hateful gazes fall on me again. What is the Prince doing? I wonder as the shouts of "abomination" and "sacrilege" begin to rent the air.
Move forward. Nox.
Nox, what the hell? Does it mean… My eyes widen as I shake my head, instinctively taking a step back toward the exit. This is not the plan, I shout at her in the silence of my mind.
But she is merely amused, her presence expanding within me until I feel like I'm glowing from the inside out. Isn't this better, vessel? You will become the savior of the pack that hates you.
It sounds good—beautiful, even—but I don't know if I want that kind of power. Such things come with unnecessary attention.
"My time is precious, people of the Blood-Claw pack," Vane's voice sounds tired, the boredom in his tone more insulting than anger. "Or do I leave and inform the King that your pack has been marked cancerous and rejected by the Goddess herself?"
"Iskera," the Priest says, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. "Step forward."
I glance at Vane. His face is as blank as it had been at the club. I let out a long, shaky sigh and walk toward the altar, toward the silver basin.
I stretch my hand out to receive the ritual dagger from Seren, but she is reluctant to let it go, her knuckles white as she grips the hilt, her eyes burning with annoyance, with confusion, with hatred.
"Seren, dear, let her have it… for the sake of the delegate watching," the Luna says, her voice strained. "She is still the curse; he just has to see the failure for himself."
Seren hands me the dagger, her lips pressed into a firm, bitter line. She watches me steadfastly as I take the cold steel, bring up my ringed hand, and slice my palm. It should hurt, it should sting, but the shadow in my mind is… singing?
As my blood—darker than it should be—hits the basin, the silence in the grounds disintegrates as a pillar of black fire shoots from the basin toward the sky. The silver basin glows, so much that it vibrates and cracks under the sheer pressure. The air suddenly smells of wet earth and metal.
With my mouth open in shock, I feel a shift in the atmosphere. The heavy, stagnant weight of the plague begins to lift. The sickness is retreating… because of my darkness?
"Redo it!" my father screams, getting my attention, his voice cracking as he lunges forward and grabs the Priest's collar. "This is a trick! She's a curse! Redo the ritual! The Goddess can't possibly choose her over my pure-blooded heir!"
I do it again, my fingers trembling now, watching as my blood stains the cracked bowl. The result repeats itself with even more violence.
I stagger away from the altar, away from a gaping Seren and her mother, away from the terrified priest, and away from Rian, who watches me with entirely new, hungry eyes. I hurry down the short flight of stone stairs toward Vane.
"We're done here," I say when I reach his side, my voice breathless. "Let's leave."
"Wait!" a woman cries from the crowd, falling to her knees. Her skin is mottled with the black veins of the plague. This makes me frown; I thought the plague was over.
"Please... Iskera... help us. Don't leave us like this. We are sorry for everything we said and did…"
The plea is a domino. One by one, the people who threw me trash, the people who wore gloves to touch me, the people who called me rot... they all fall to the dirt. They beg. And for the first time in my life, I feel vindicated.
"Get up!" my father roars at his people, his pride shattering.
I don't even see him move, but suddenly he is off the altar and marching toward me, his claws already extending. "You aren't going anywhere! You belong to this pack, you little—"
Vane steps between us before my father can even close the distance. He simply holds up his hand, revealing the royal crest on his cuff. A needle could have been heard dropping in the stunned silence that follows.
"Kneel, Alpha Liamq," Vane says, his voice sounding like a mountain cracking. "Unless you wish to see your entire bloodline extinguished for treason against the Alpha King's son. Well… except for the princess, of course."
The silence is absolute. My father's face goes from a vivid red to a deathly white as his knees hit the dirt with a sickening thud, followed instantly by the rest of the pack. Followed instantly by his pale wife and 'pure' daughter.
The Alpha of the Blood-Claws and his people, reduced to trembling dogs in the presence of a predator they didn't see coming.
I look at them all—the pack that wanted me dead an hour ago. I don't feel pity. I don't even feel the need to offer forgiveness. I feel nothing but a cold, hard vacuum where my heart for them used to be.
"Let's go," I tell Vane, my voice firm.
But before we can move, Seren calls out, her voice a fragile, broken thing. "Why… why are you leaving… with her?"
I flash a smile as I raise my hand, the gold ring catching the dying sunlight. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as my family blanches for the hundredth time today.
"We are to be married, sister…"
"No, that's not right…" Rian gets to his feet, stepping away from Seren and toward me with a desperate look of realization.
I raise my hand before he can get any closer. "Where are you going, Rian?"
"You are my mate," he says, as if the word itself could erase a rejection.
I look at him like he has lost his mind. Because obviously he has. "You rejected me."
"I'm sor…"
"What? You think you can come back because—newsflash—the Goddess doesn't hate me? Or because I'm with the Prince now?"
He swallows, stretching a hand toward me. I look at the flimsy, pathetic gesture and retreat into Vane's side. The Prince plays along, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"You are the Beta, right? I'll spare your life this once for your insolence. Now kneel."
Rian hesitates, but the weight of Vane's authority is a physical force. He falls to his knees before me. I almost moan at the dark pleasure it gives me to see him there.
"Let's leave, princess… I think my father needs to know some things."
To my father: "No one follows us. The princess will return if she wants, after our deliberations are complete."
Seren gasps, tears finally filling her eyes and spilling over.
Good. Suck that up, sucker.
I follow Vane out of the grounds to a sleek, black car waiting outside the iron gates.
Some of my people follow us to the car, pleading for the lives of their sick relatives. I don't turn back.
—
The interior of the car is unnervingly quiet. The adrenaline is fading now, replaced by the reality of my new life. I look at Vane, waiting for a kind word, or even just a glance that acknowledges what we just did.
When he finally speaks, he doesn't look at me; he stares straight ahead at the road.
"You are interesting, Iskera… it seems the Goddess really did mark you for a reason. But don't get comfortable because of this little display. You're only alive because you're useful to me."
A pause. "This is a business arrangement. You provide the political leverage I need to burn a treaty, and I provide the protection you need to keep your head on your shoulders. Nothing more."
I open my mouth to argue—to say that everything has changed, that my pack wouldn't dare kill the savior of their people—but he beats me to it, his voice like ice.
"Don't think your family won't plan to kill you the moment my back is turned… especially your sister. You are only safe with me. And I will guarantee that safety, so long as our arrangement holds. Do you understand?"
The coldness in his voice is a different kind of pain than my father's belt, but it's one I can handle.
"Yes," I mutter, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the woods of my childhood disappear into the night. He doesn't need to know that the only reason I'm not arguing is because Nox thinks I'm actually only truly safe with him.
So, it doesn't matter that he treats me like a contract or an object, I will survive that, and I will live.
I close my eyes, and the shadow in my mind purrs, curling around my soul like a protective shroud.
It's okay, she whispers. He will know soon enough that you are not a bird in a cage.