Chapter Eleven: The Hunt

The "Blood Feast" was held in the smaller dining hall.

I sat at the center of the long, dark table, surrounded by the Alphas of the Council. They didn't speak to me. They just watched, their eyes tracking the way my throat moved every time I swallowed a sip of water. I wore the most restrictive gown I had—a deep crimson silk that I hoped would hide any flush of nausea or heat.

Beneath the table, my hands were clamped together so tightly my knuckles were white.

A servant placed the plate in front of me.

My stomach recoiled. The meat was thick, barely seared on the outside, and swimming in a pool of its own warm juices. 

"The Prince's mate must share his hunger," the oldest councilor said, his voice cutting through the silence. "To deny the kill is to deny the wolf. Eat, Your Grace."

I picked up the knife. My hand trembled just a fraction, but I forced it still. I thought of Denis’s advice: Don't chew. Just swallow. I cut a small, dripping piece. 

Eilís was already seated to my right. 

 He hadn't touched his own food. His gaze was fixed on my plate, his eyes a darkening amber that signaled the wolf was dangerously close to the surface.

"Is there a problem, Raven?" the King asked from the head of the table. He wasn't looking at me; he was cutting a piece of his own steak with surgical precision. "You seem hesitant."

"It's just... a new experience, Sire," I managed. I kept my voice in that soft, practiced register, even though my heart was hammering against my ribs.

"Our ways are not the ways of the South," an Alpha across from me grunted, his eyes narrowed. "A wolf who cannot stomach blood cannot lead a pack. And a mate who turns her nose up at the kill is no mate at all."

Beside me, I heard the audible creak of wood. Eilís had gripped the edge of the table so hard the mahogany was groaning under his hand.

"This is unnecessary," Eilís said. "She has proven her constitution. This is nothing more than a petty attempt to see her fail."

"It is the Law, Eilís," the King replied calmly, finally looking up. "The Blood Sync requires proof of the gut as well as the heart. If she cannot share the feast, she cannot share the hunt."

Eilís started to rise, his jaw set in a way that told me he was about to flip the table and end the ritual right there. He looked ready to challenge the entire Council, logic be damned.

Denis, who was standing a few paces behind us, stepped forward. He leaned down, ostensibly to refill Eilís’s wine, but his voice was a sharp, focused whisper meant only for us.

"If you stop her now, you confirm their fears," Denis muttered. "They’ll say she’s too fragile. They’ll call for a replacement before the moon is up. Let her do it, let her win."

Eilís froze at Denis' words, he looked at me, his eyes searching mine, looking for the "weak" girl they all expected to see.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. I reached out, cut a piece of the meat, and thought of Denis’s advice. Don't chew. Just swallow.

It was cold. The texture was slippery and fibrous, and for a second, my throat locked. I felt the bile rise, a hot, I didn't chew, I just swallowed it whole.

I took another bite. And another.

I didn't stop until the plate was clear. I felt sick, my stomach churning in a way that made my head swim, but I didn't flinch. I wiped my mouth with the linen napkin, the white fabric coming away with a faint, pink stain.

"The meat was excellent," I said, my voice as cool as I could manage. "Though I admit, I prefer it with a bit more seasoning."

Eilís let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. He sank back into his chair.

 The Council members were silent. They had expected a scene, a fainting spell, or a human heaving on the floor. Instead, they got a girl who stared them down with blood on her lips.

"The hunt will begin in two days," the King said, his eyes fixed on me with a dangerous new curiosity. "Prepare yourselves.”

The Council dismissed us with a collective, silent nod that felt more like a stay of execution than a release. The moment the heavy doors of the dining hall clicked shut, I didn't wait for Eilís. I kept walking, my heels clicking a frantic tempo against the stone. I could still taste the iron of the meat coating my tongue, a slick, greasy film that made me want to scrub my mouth until it bled.

I heard his boots behind me—heavy, deliberate strides that caught up to me in seconds. He stepped into my path, forcing me to stop in the shadows of a drafty archway.

"Why?" he asked. "I was going to end it, I would have taken the plate."

"And then what?" I snapped, suddenly fed up with all the rubbish I'd been forced to endure. "You heard what Denis said. If you 'save' me from a meal, you prove to them I’m a liability. You’ve already exiled one noblewoman for me, Eilís. If you challenge the Council over a piece of meat, they won't just exile the next person. They'll remove the 'weakness' at the center of the problem."

 He looked like he wanted to shake me, or perhaps bite me again just to remind me who held the power.

"You don't understand the Ridge," he hissed, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. The heat radiating off his body was stifling. "The feast was a game for old men, the woods are different. Once we are under the New Moon, the 'Prince' doesn't lead the hunt. The Wolf does."

"I'm aware," I said, my jaw tight. "I remember the wedding night."

He flinched at that, his eyes flickering. The reminder of his own lack of control was the only weapon I had against him.

“Then you should remember I also lost control.” He voiced out. “Have you no fear it might happen again? What if he kills you this time?”

"If it does, then I suppose you'll finally get the 'proper' wolf bride the Council wants," I finished for him.

I stepped around him, not giving him the chance to answer. There was no comfort here. There was only the predator and the prey, and for the next few hours, the roles were officially assigned.