Chapter Twelve: The Letter

The next morning, Denis didn't give me the luxury of a slow recovery. I could still feel the meat turning in my stomach.

He arrived at my chambers while the mist was still thick against the glass, carrying a wooden practice stave. He didn't look like a playful attendant today, I didn't know Denis could look this serious.

"The Council thinks you're spending these two days praying," Denis said, kicking the door shut. "In reality, you’re going to learn how not to die. They're going to starve Eilís, make sure he is incoherent before the hunt.”

So it'd be easier to kill me. I finished in my mind. Whatever way they could get rid of the human bride.

“Eilís isn't the only thing in the Black Ridge. There are younger wolves, scavengers, and guards who might 'accidentally' lose their way. If you look like an easy kill, someone will take it."

"What am I supposed to do against a wolf with a stick?" I asked, hefting the stave. It felt light.

"You aren't fighting them, Raven. You’re redirecting them," Denis said. He moved toward me, the stave a blur as he swung at my ribs. I parried, the wood vibrating up my arms. "The Ridge is full of narrow passes. If Eilís catches your scent, he’ll move like a landslide. You have to be the wind. If he pins you before the moon hits the peak, the Council wins. They’ll say the bond was too weak to hold his beast, and they'll execute you for failing the Prince."

"So I run until my lungs burst."

"You run until he claims you," Denis corrected, his eyes hard. "If he finds you and his wolf recognizes you as his, the hunt ends. But if he’s too far gone... if the hunger takes him... you use that stick to keep his throat away from yours until he remembers who you are."

By noon, my muscles were screaming. The ache in my lower back had returned.

“You have to make sure you're not reeking of fear, that's like saying, I'm over here everyone, come get me.”

I couldn't promise that, not when just the thought of being hunted soaked my armpits.

Denis eventually left, saying he had somewhere to be.

I was sitting in my shift when Calani entered. She had a single, crumpled envelope with her. "This came with the merchant caravan from the South, Raven. It bears your father's seal."

My stomach turned. My father hadn't had the need to talk to me apart from the time he told me about my wedding, talk less of writing to me.

I snatched the parchment and broke the wax.

Raven,

I trust the 'Lady' is playing her part. The King’s gold has arrived, and the debts of the estate are being settled. I knew you'd be perfect, considering I'm hearing news of you surviving the claiming. If you are found out, do not expect a place to return to. I have already told the village you died of a fever on the road. You are dead to the South, boy. Make sure you stay 'alive' in the North, or the Dierna name will be the last thing you ever see.

I stared at the letter until the ink felt like it was burning through the paper.

"Raven?" Calani’s voice was small, hesitant. She was watching me with a look that made me realize I had stopped breathing. "Is it bad news?"

I didn't answer. I slowly walked to the hearth and dropped the parchment into the dying embers. Suppressing the tears that wanted to fall, I watched the word boy curl and blacken, the edges glowing orange before turning to gray flake.

"My father is merely reminding me of my duty," I said, my voice returning to that soft, practiced feminine register. It felt like a lie that was becoming harder to tell.

I turned back to the room. The wooden stave Denis had left behind was leaning against the velvet settee. It looked pathetic—a toy meant for a child—but it was the only thing standing between me and a prince who was currently being starved into a frenzy.

"Calani," I said, my jaw tight. "The cosmetics. Bring the heavy lead-white and the rose-water. And the binders."

"But Raven, you just finished the drills. You should rest."

"There is no rest," I snapped, then softened my tone as she flinched. "The hunt is a test of the bond, but it’s also a test of the mask. If I sweat, the makeup runs. If I fall, the binders might shift. I need to know exactly how much tension my body can take before the disguise breaks."

She nodded solemnly and went to fetch the kits. As she worked, painting the pale mask back onto my face and tightening the silk wraps around my chest until every breath was a shallow struggle, I thought about the Black Ridge.

Denis was right. I couldn't fight a wolf, but I could move through the stone. I had forty-eight hours to transform from a "Lady" into a ghost.

By evening, the castle felt even colder. I stood by the window, watching the sun dip behind the jagged peaks of the North.

Somewhere out there, Eilís was in a cell or a cave, his stomach empty and his wolf screaming for the kill.

I gripped the wooden stave, my knuckles white. My father thought I was dead to the South. The Council wanted me dead in the North.

They were all going to be disappointed.

The rest of the evening was a slow, agonizing preparation. Every time Calani tightened the stays of my corset over the fresh binders, the air in my lungs became a luxury. 

I moved through the chambers, testing the range of my arms, feeling the way the silk dragged against the floor. I would have to hike the skirts up to my knees the second I hit the tree line, or I’d be dead within the first hundred yards.