Elias Thorne had not wanted a wife just as Rhea had not wanted a husband.
For three hundred years, Elias Thorne, Prince of the Night Court, had ruled with the same cold precision that had kept his bloodline alive through wars, battles, and the slow rot of immortality.
He had watched allies turn to ash, lovers age and die, enemies rise and fall. Marriage was a tool for mortals-something to secure land, heirs, alliances. For vampires, it was rarely more than a political performance, and Elias Thorne had never seen the need to perform shit! Until the council forced his hand.
It happened in the lower chamber of the citadel, few days before the wedding. The elders had gathered at midnight, their faces pale and unchanging under the torchlight. Marcus Veyron, his advisor since the 1700s, stood at the head of the table with a scroll in his hands, it was the treaty draft. "The wolves are dying," Marcus Veyron said.
"Well I would've asked what our business was but this concerns us badly." Elias said dryly. Marcus stayed silent for a moment before he continued. "Their numbers are down by half in the last decade.
They cannot sustain another season of raids. They need an alliance as much as we do." Elias Thorne leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "We do not need them. We've survived without their forests and their stupid moon-howling for centuries."
Elder Vesper Thorne, leaned forward. "We survive, We do not thrive my lord. The rogues are multiplying on our borders and also theirs. Human hunters grow bolder everyday. The old pacts are crumbling.
If we do not secure the northern territories, we lose the hunting grounds that feed more than half our court." Elias Thorne felt the weight of their stares. They were not asking him at all, They were telling him and he had to listen. Marcus Veyron unrolled the parchment.
"The terms are simple. Marriage. A blood bond is very important to seal you two together. Their strongest enforcer-the alpha's daughter, Rhea Blackridge-comes to us. You take her as wife. The packs swear fealty to the Night Court. We gain the forests.
They gain our strong protection and the war ends. The rogues have no business there if we station strong vampires warriors to protect them." The elder finished in anticipation of his lord's reply. "A fucking marriage!" Elias almost scoffed.
He hadn't taken a wife in a long time and now it was going to be a werewolf princess, not even a spoilt daughter but a strong enforcer? Damn, he was kinda curious! He stared at the name written in elegant script: Rhea Blackridge. He had heard of her. Gossips from scouts. Very Fierce and Unyielding.
The wolf who had led raids that cost his court some good soldiers thinking they were going to harm them. The little girl who had dragged wounded packmates through snow while vampires closed in. She was no delicate court flower material. He had expected the council to offer a softer choice-some younger sister, some compliant daughter. Not the fighter. Not the one who would rather die than kneel to him, he was a Leader and he needed a soft wife beside him. "Why her?" he asked.
They answered without hesitation. "Because if we take a weaker link, the packs will not honor it. They will see it as surrender. Rhea Blackridge is their pride. If she bends, the rest follow." Elias felt a flicker if curiousity. He pictured her: tall, dark-haired, eyes like storm clouds, claws ready and mouth set on strictness.
A wolf in human skin. Marcus Veyron watched him closely. "You hesitate my lord." "I do not hesitate," Elias Thorne said looking deep into his eyes. "I calculate Marcus." Marcus swallowed and looked down. Elias stood up and Walked to the narrow window overlooking the valley.
The moon hung low. Somewhere out there, in the pine forests or wherever, Rhea Blackridge was probably fighting and surviving-just as he had for centuries. He thought of the emptiness of his days. The endless council meetings. The lovers who came and went like smoke.
The throne that felt heavier every year. A wife would change that. A defiant one would change it more, he was going to try something new and that made him smile.
He turned back to the council. "I will marry her then." The elders exhaled. Marcus Veyron rolled the scroll closed. Elias added one condition. "She comes willingly. No chains Nor threats. If she refuses, the treaty dies. Got it?" Vesper Thorne frowned. "She might refuse but..." "But nothing! Then we find another way," Elias cut through. "Or we don't."
He left the chamber without another word. Later, alone in his study, he opened the small dossier Marcus Veyron had prepared as per his request. A single rough sketch, from a scout's hand. A woman in leather armor, hair scattered, knife in hand, standing over a fallen vampire. Her face was fierce, beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with softness at all. Hmmm! He was really going to marry her? He could help but let out a chuckle. He stared at the drawing for a long time. He had agreed to the marriage for the court, for the peace and survival of his people, the werewolves had such good lands and it was helpful to them so this alliance just had to stick.
Elias was curious. He wanted to see if the fire in Rhea Blackridge's eyes would survive the citadel. For the first time in three hundred years, Elias felt hunger stir that was not for blood. He closed the dossier with care, the sketch of Rhea now hidden between the covers like a secret he was not yet ready to share with the light. He stood and crossed to the tall window that overlooked the eastern ridge, where the wolf territories began.
He had lived long enough to know that power came from control-control of blood, of territory, of emotion. He had not lied to the council. The alliance made strategic sense. The northern forests were rich with game that sustained the weaker members of his court, and the rogues... those feral vampire bastards who answered to no one-had grown bolder everyday, using the contested borderlands as hunting grounds. A blood bond with the Blackridge pack would seal the territory, end the skirmishes, and give him breathing room to deal with the growing human threat. Logic dictated the decision. Logic had always been his guide. But logic did not explain the strange heat that had stirred in his chest when he looked at the scout's drawing. It was not lust-at least not the shallow kind he had known with countless faceless partners and concubines over the years. Rhea looked like someone who had fought wars with her soul and still stood tall, that was special. Most of the princesses he knew of were soft and demure, they wore ball gowns for such a little thing as sitting at home but this little princess was a warrior. Fuck... he couldn't explain how excited and anticipated he was. He turned from the window and walked to the small table where a decanter of blood-wine waited.
He poured a glass and held it to the firelight, watching the liquid which crimson and black in a way. He raised the glass in a silent toast to the unknown. "To Rhea Blackridge, my beautiful future bride," he murmured.
"May you prove as difficult as your reputation promises and may You... survive me." He smirked before dranking slowly. The taste was rich and comforting in its predictability.
Tomorrow he would send the terms over to the vampires.