The wrong bride

Serafine’s back scraped against the cold cellar wall as heavy boots thudded above her head. Her heart pounded hard, but she kept her breathing slow and quiet. She had lived down here for years. Darkness was her friend. Silence kept her alive.

The trapdoor flew open with a loud creak. Torchlight poured in, bright and painful.

“Bring her up!” Darius shouted. “Now!”

Rough hands grabbed her arms. Her twin stepbrothers, Darius and Kaelen, hauled her out like a sack of grain. They looked scared. Good. They should be.

“Diacina ran off last night,” Kaelen said, shoving a bundle of red fabric at her. “You’re taking her place. Put this on.”

Serafine stood there in her thin shift, staring at the expensive silk. “You want me to marry the monster in her name?”

Darius grabbed her chin hard. “You do this or the whole family dies. Lucian Draven will kill every last one of us if the treaty falls through. Play the part. Keep your mouth shut. Buy us time to run.”

She didn’t fight them. Fighting never worked. Instead, she let them dress her in the tight red gown that was meant for her sister. The fabric felt too smooth, too rich against her skin. They pinned her dark hair up, smeared red on her lips, and dropped a thick veil over her face.

Through the thin material, everything looked like a blurry nightmare.

They pushed her into a carriage. The ride to the border felt endless. Serafine sat stiff and quiet, counting the turns in the road, noting how many guards rode beside them. Twelve. All armed with silver blades. She memorized the sharp mountain peaks in the distance. If she got a chance to run later, she would need to know the land.

The carriage stopped outside a massive stone cathedral. Cold wind whipped at her veil as they dragged her inside. Whispers followed her down the long aisle. Hundreds of eyes watched. Powerful wolves from the Ashmoor Kingdom. Their heavy scents filled the air—strong, wild, and dangerous.

At the end of the aisle stood Lucian Draven.

He was bigger than she expected. Tall, wide-shouldered, dressed in black armor with silver marks. His face was hard and sharp, like it had been cut from stone. His eyes tracked her every step.

Serafine’s legs felt weak, but she kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Stay calm. Watch everything. Survive.

She stopped in front of him. His scent hit her hard—pine, blood, and something rotten underneath. Like his wolf was slowly eating him alive.

The old High Priestess started speaking the binding words. Serafine repeated the vows in a flat, steady voice. Lucian spoke his own vows like he was making a threat. His deep voice sent a chill down her spine.

Then he reached out.

His big hands lifted her veil.

Their eyes locked.

Lucian froze. He took a slow, deep breath, smelling her. Really smelling her. His eyes narrowed. He could tell. She wasn’t Diacina. She was the wrong sister. The weak one from the cellar.

For a second, pure terror flooded her chest.

A dark smile slowly spread across his face. It was cold. Cruel.

“If you kill me here, the treaty dies,” Serafine whispered, her voice barely reaching his ear. “Your own lords are watching.”

Lucian leaned in closer, his breath warm against her jaw. “I am not going to kill you, little mistake. I am going to do something much worse.”

Her stomach dropped.

The High Priestess finished the ceremony. Cheers rose from the crowd, but they sounded forced. Lucian’s hand closed around hers like a metal trap. His grip was tight. Possessive. He turned and pulled her down the aisle, out into the freezing mountain air.

Serafine stumbled after him. Her mind raced. She had come here to be a shield for her family. Now this king knew the truth, and he wasn’t letting her go. He was taking her home with him.

To Blackthorn.

The carriage door slammed shut behind them. Lucian sat across from her, watching her with those cold, calculating eyes. The horses started moving, carrying her deeper into enemy land.

She kept her face blank, but inside she was already planning. Counting guards. Looking for weak spots. Finding a way out.

Because the beast beside her didn’t just want revenge.

He wanted to keep her.

The carriage wheels bounced hard over the rocky mountain road. Serafine gripped the edge of the seat to keep from sliding. Cold air leaked through the cracks and bit at her bare arms. Across from her, Lucian sat like a statue, his eyes never leaving her face.

No one spoke for the entire ride.

When the carriage finally stopped, Lucian kicked the door open and stepped out. Snow crunched under his boots. He reached in, grabbed Serafine’s wrist, and yanked her into the freezing night.

“Welcome to Blackthorn,” he said. His voice was low and rough.

The estate loomed above them—tall black stone walls, sharp towers, and flickering torches that barely fought off the darkness. Guards lined the path, their armor clinking as they snapped to attention. None of them looked at her with kindness.

Lucian pulled her forward so fast she nearly tripped on the long red gown. Her silk slippers soaked through with snow in seconds. He didn’t slow down. They marched through heavy wooden doors into a huge hall. The warmth inside felt shocking after the cold.

Servants froze mid-step when they saw them. A tall woman in a plain black dress stepped forward.

“My king,” she said carefully. “Shall I prepare the queen’s chambers?”

“No.” Lucian’s grip tightened on Serafine’s wrist. “She doesn’t get chambers. Take that dress off her. Burn it. Put her in servant gray. She works in the kitchens and armory starting tomorrow.”

The woman’s eyes widened but she nodded quickly. “Yes, my king.”

Lucian finally let go of Serafine’s wrist. He looked down at her, that same dark smile playing on his lips. “You wanted to play princess? Game’s over. Now you learn what real life feels like in my house.”

Before Serafine could answer, two guards stepped up beside her. They didn’t grab her roughly, but their hands stayed close, ready. The woman in black led her down a narrow side hallway. Lucian watched them go, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

In a small stone room, the woman helped her out of the red gown. Serafine stood shivering in her thin shift as the fine silk was taken away. A rough gray dress dropped over her head. It was scratchy, too big, and smelled like old soap. The woman tied a plain apron around her waist and handed her worn leather shoes.

“Keep your head down,” the woman whispered. “Don’t make him angry. He’s been… worse lately.”

Serafine nodded once. She was already studying the room—the one small window too high to reach, the thick wooden door, the heavy iron latch. No easy way out.

They led her back to the main hall. Lucian was still there, talking quietly to a scarred man who looked like a soldier. When he saw her in the servant gray, something flashed in his eyes. Not just anger. Something hungrier.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Serafine walked forward, keeping her steps steady. Her new shoes squeaked on the stone floor. She stopped two feet away from him.

Lucian reached out and tilted her chin up with one finger. His touch was surprisingly warm. “You smell like fear and lies. Tell me, little mistake—what’s your real name?”

“Serafine,” she answered quietly. “Serafine Vale.”

He laughed once, short and cold. “The family secret. They threw you to me like scraps. Pathetic.”

A loud crash suddenly echoed from outside. Shouts followed. Lucian’s head snapped toward the sound. His body went tight like a wolf ready to attack.

“Stay here,” he growled at her, then stormed toward the doors with the scarred soldier right behind him.

Serafine didn’t stay.

The moment he turned his back, she slipped sideways into a dark hallway. Her heart hammered as she moved fast but quiet. She needed to see the layout. Count exits. Find weapons. Anything useful.

She turned a corner and pressed herself against the wall. Through an open doorway, she saw the kitchen—huge fires, steaming pots, servants rushing around. A side door led out to what looked like the armory yard. Guards moved in patterns. She counted their steps. Noted when they turned.

A hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind.

Serafine froze.

“Quiet,” Lucian’s voice hissed in her ear. He had moved like a ghost. “You think you can run on your first night?”

He spun her around and pinned her against the cold stone wall. His big body blocked everything else. Up close, she could see the strange silver flecks in his eyes and the tightness in his jaw. He looked like he was in pain but trying to hide it.

“I should break you right now,” he said, voice low. “But killing you would be too easy. You’re going to suffer here. You’re going to work until your hands bleed. And every time you look at me, you’ll remember who owns you now.”

Serafine stared straight into his eyes, refusing to look away. Her breath came fast against his fingers.

Lucian’s thumb brushed her bottom lip. For a split second, something shifted in his face—like her closeness surprised him. Then the hard mask slammed back down.

A loud bell rang somewhere in the distance. More shouts outside. An attack?

Lucian cursed and stepped back. “You stay in the servant quarters tonight. Try to run again and I’ll chain you to the wall myself.”

He turned and marched away, shouting orders to his guards. The scarred soldier gave Serafine one last warning look before following his king.

Serafine stayed pressed against the wall for a long moment, catching her breath. Her wrist still ached where he had grabbed her. Her lip tingled from his touch.

She looked down the dark hallway toward the armory yard, then back toward the kitchens.

This place was a cage.

But cages had cracks. She just needed to find them.