The wolves started howling before dawn.
Not the polite kind either.
The feral, omen-heavy, someone's-about-to-bleed kind.
I was still on the balcony when the gates opened.
Snow covered the courtyard in a soft, innocent blanket — the kind that hides blood really well. Torches flickered along the stone path, reflecting off the black war carriage waiting at the entrance like it already owned me.
"Princess," a servant called from behind my chamber door. "His Majesty requests you in the throne room."
I didn't turn around.
"Does he now?" I muttered. "How thoughtful. I was just deciding which shade of betrayal pairs best with white silk."
The seal on my wrist burned.
Hot. Restless.
It always did when something big was coming.
I flexed my fingers and watched frost spiderweb across the railing where I touched it.
Right.
Today was going to be one of those days.
—
The throne room was packed.
Nobles. Priests. Advisors.
All pretending they weren't about to witness something ugly.
My father sat at the top of the steps like he'd been sculpted from authority itself. Calm. Calculated. Dressed in black and gold like a man who never got blood on his own hands.
Prince Caelan stood below him — polished, obedient, heir apparent.
He didn't look at me.
Figures.
I walked forward, boots echoing sharply against marble. I didn't bow.
I never bowed unless I meant it.
"Seraphina," my father said evenly.
"Your Majesty," I replied sweetly. "I assume this isn't a social call."
A priest stepped forward holding a scroll sealed with black wax stamped by a wolf skull crowned in thorns.
Varkholme.
Our enemy.
Oh. Fantastic.
"By oath and blood," the priest began, because of course it had to sound dramatic, "Princess Seraphina Valewyn is hereby pledged in lawful union to High King Darian Varkholme for the term of two years—until the rise of the Blood Moon."
Silence swallowed the room.
I blinked once.
Then twice.
"You're joking."
No one laughed.
I looked up at my father slowly.
"You sold me."
"Language," he said calmly.
I barked out a humorless laugh. "Thanks a fucking lot for telling me beforehand."
Gasps rippled through the court.
I ignored them.
"You're sending me to a ruthless lycan warlord as a peace offering?" I continued. "What was the going price? Two harvests? A treaty clause? Did I at least come with a decorative ribbon?"
"Enough," Caelan snapped softly.
I shot him a look. "Oh, now you speak?"
My father stood.
The room seemed to shrink with it.
"War gathers at our borders," he said. "Darian Varkholme refuses negotiation. This marriage buys us two years."
"Two years," I repeated. "And then what? He kills you and keeps me as a souvenir?"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"He will not touch you."
"Comforting," I deadpanned. "I've always dreamed of being politically celibate."
A flicker of irritation crossed his face.
Good.
But then his expression shifted into something colder.
"You are not fragile, Seraphina."
Ah.
There it is.
That tone.
The one that meant he wasn't talking about marriage anymore.
He was talking about me.
"You think I don't know what you are?" he asked quietly.
The seal on my wrist flared violently.
Heat surged up my arm, licking at my collarbone.
A few nobles shifted uneasily.
They felt it.
They just didn't understand it.
"I know exactly what you are capable of," my father continued. "Which is why you will survive."
My pulse slowed.
So he did know.
Of course he did.
He always knew.
I tilted my head slightly. "You're awfully confident for a man throwing his daughter at an enemy."
His eyes flashed.
"Guards."
The word cracked like a whip.
One of the soldiers at the edge of the room stepped forward.
And then my father said it.
"Charge."
The room inhaled sharply.
The soldier hesitated only half a second before rushing me.
Steel flashed.
I didn't move at first.
Let him commit.
Let him believe it.
Then I stepped aside.
Elegant. Controlled.
His blade sliced air where my throat had been.
I pivoted, caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted hard enough to disarm him. The sword clattered to marble.
He swung with his free fist.
I ducked, drove my elbow into his ribs, swept his legs out from under him.
He hit the ground.
Hard.
Before he could breathe, I had the fallen blade at his throat.
The entire exchange took maybe four seconds.
Five if you were slow.
I didn't even break a sweat.
The court was dead silent.
I leaned down slightly, pressing the flat of the blade just enough to remind him who held it.
"Next time," I said softly, "commit faster."
I tossed the sword aside and stepped back.
The soldier scrambled away, shaken but alive.
My father descended one step.
"You see?" he addressed the court calmly. "She is not fragile."
No.
I'm not.
The seal on my wrist pulsed again.
And this time—
It slipped.
Just a little.
The torches along the walls flickered violently.
The air grew heavier.
Frost crept across the marble at my feet.
A few nobles stumbled backward.
Oops.
I inhaled slowly, dragging the power back under my skin like reins on a violent horse.
My father watched carefully.
Not afraid.
Evaluating.
"You think this is a punishment," he said quietly to me. "It is not."
"Oh?" I smirked. "Because it feels very 'daughter disposal' adjacent."
His voice dropped.
"You are the only one strong enough to stand beside him."
Beside him.
Not beneath.
Interesting wording.
"You need this," he continued. "The kingdom needs this. Two years. That is all."
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
His eyes hardened.
"Your mother's treatment ends."
Ah.
There it is.
The blade behind the words.
I felt something dark curl in my chest.
I wanted to lunge.
To snap.
To tear something apart just to feel better.
Instead, I smiled.
Slow.
Sharp.
"Fine," I said. "But if I'm going to be traded like livestock, at least admit I'm your most expensive weapon."
His gaze held mine.
"You are."
The honesty in it almost unsettled me more than the betrayal.
Then—
The throne room doors burst open.
A messenger stumbled in, pale and shaking.
"There's been a murder," he gasped. "Lady Rowenna. Throat torn in the eastern courtyard. The snow is red."
Murmurs exploded.
Inside the palace grounds?
Impossible.
Unless someone wanted chaos.
Unless someone wanted blame.
Heat surged through my veins.
And suddenly—
Snow.
Blood.
A body collapsing.
And behind it—
A shadow wearing a crown of thorns.
I staggered slightly.
My father noticed.
Of course he did.
His eyes sharpened with recognition.
He stepped closer, voice low enough that only I could hear.
"You felt it."
Not a question.
A statement.
I swallowed.
"Felt what?"
"The game beginning."
Oh.
Oh, this wasn't just politics.
This was positioning.
A murder on the day I'm shipped to the enemy king?
That wasn't coincidence.
That was orchestration.
"You knew this would happen," I whispered.
His silence answered for him.
Rage flared hot and violent inside me.
The seal burned brighter.
The torches cracked, flames bending toward me.
For a split second, I let it slip further.
The marble beneath my boots fractured in a thin spider line.
Gasps echoed.
Then I reeled it back in.
Smoothed my hair.
Rolled my shoulders.
"Two years," I said calmly. "And when the Blood Moon rises?"
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You will understand."
Cryptic bastard.
I stepped back, chin lifted.
"Fine," I said. "Send me to your lycan monster. Let's see which of us survives the other."
My father's eyes gleamed faintly.
"You will."
There was no doubt in his voice.
Because he knew.
He knew I wasn't fragile.
He knew I wasn't prey.
He knew exactly what I was.
As I turned toward the doors, the howling outside grew louder.
Wild.
Hungry.
Anticipating.
I smiled to myself.
"Well," I muttered under my breath, "if I'm going to be sold to a warlord… I might as well make it interesting."
And somewhere far beyond the snow-covered borders of Valewyn—
A lycan king waited.
Unaware that the princess he had purchased…
Wasn't the one in danger.