Chapter five: Secrets

RAVEN

I groaned as I tried to stretch, a sharp pain flaring through my lower back. It wasn’t sudden—it bloomed slowly, like fire spreading under my skin, settling deep where I couldn’t escape it. When I forced myself upright, the ache followed, dragging through muscle and bone until even sitting felt like a mistake.

My breath came shallow.

The sheets slid against my legs, heavy, warm, carrying a scent that made my stomach twist. Wolf, faint but unmistakable. My own body reacted before my mind caught up, tension snapping through me as if I were bracing for impact.

That was when I felt it, a gaze.

My spine stiffened, every instinct screaming. Slowly, carefully, I turned my head.

Ellis was kneeling on the floor beside the bed.

Not standing over me, not pacing like a caged animal. Kneeling—back straight, hands loose at his sides, head bowed slightly as if he’d been there a long time. His hair was unbound, falling into his eyes, his expression tight with something that didn’t look like hunger.

Memory hit me all at once.

My throat closed, and I gathered the sheets around myself instinctively, clutching them to my chest as though cloth could protect me now.

I braced myself.

“You’re awake,” he said.

The restraint in his voice felt deliberate, carved out of effort rather than calm.

I didn’t answer. I just stared.

“I remember,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “I remember what you are.”

My fingers tightened in the fabric until my knuckles ached.

“I don’t remember anything after,” he said. “After I realized. After the wolf—”

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

“There’s a hole,” Eilís said quietly. “Hours long. I know something happened. I can smell it—on you. On me.”

He shifted, barely an inch.

I jerked back before I could stop myself, pain flaring sharp enough to steal my breath.

“I won’t touch you,” he said immediately. “Not unless you ask. Not ever, if you don’t.”

The words came fast, like he’d rehearsed them. Like he was afraid silence might undo them.

“You don’t owe me words,” he added after a pause. “Or forgiveness. I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

Shock flickered through me, brittle and disbelieving.

He really had lost control.

The man kneeling before me felt…separate. Distinct from the presence that still clung to my skin, to my bones. I refused to finish the thought, refused to name what that difference meant.

As if he could see the realization crossing my face, he exhaled slowly.

“The wolf doesn’t ask permission,” he said. He pressed his lips together, like it physically hurt to admit it. “And when he surfaces, I lose time.”

I said nothing.

“You didn’t choose to be here,” he continued. “And you didn’t choose to lie.”

A pause stretched between us.

“So we help each other,” he said at last. “You keep my secret. I keep yours.”

Silence settled into the room, thick and suffocating.

I could feel his eyes on me—not hungry this time, not cruel. Heavy, burdened, as if he were afraid that if he looked too long, something buried might claw its way back to the surface.

“You should hate me,” he said quietly.

I didn’t respond.

Hatred would have been easier. Hatred would have meant clarity, direction. Hatred would mean I still had the luxury of choosing how I felt.

“I don’t know what the wolf did,” he went on. “But I know it wasn’t gentle.” His jaw tightened. “If it were, you wouldn’t be holding yourself like that.”

I stiffened despite myself, pain answering the movement.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me,” he said. “And I won’t pretend this can be undone.”

He shifted slightly—then stilled, as if even the idea of moving closer might shatter something fragile between us.

“But I need you alive.”

That caught my attention.

“My father will not tolerate scandal,” he said. “A human bride turning out to be male is already a death sentence. If it becomes known that the wolf acted without restraint…”

His mouth twisted.

“The pack won’t hesitate to put me down like a rabid animal.”

So that was it.

Not kindness, Survival.

“If anyone finds out,” he said softly, “you die. Publicly. Painfully.” A beat. “And I lose what little control I still have.”

I swallowed hard.

Outside the chamber, the castle was already awake. Footsteps echoed down stone corridors. Murmured voices carried through the door. The quiet hum of a court that had decided, without question, that the night had been a success.

“You will be expected to appear,” Eilís said. “They’ll look for marks, signs.” He paused. “You won’t be handled.”

I frowned faintly.

“Claiming protocol,” he explained. “After a feral bond, servants are forbidden to touch the bride. The wolf reacts poorly to interference.”

The words were flat, Law, not excuse.

“I’ve already given the order,” he added. “Water will be brought, clothes laid out, then they’ll leave.”

Relief warred with dread in my chest.

“Why help me?” I asked.

My voice barely carried.

He was quiet for a long moment.

“Because the wolf already took enough,” he said.

That was the closest thing to remorse I would ever receive.

He rose at last, careful and deliberate, as though standing too quickly might frighten me. At the door, he paused without turning back.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, not meeting my eyes, “I will never let him touch you again.”

The door closed.

I stayed where I was long after, the silence pressing in. When the knock finally came, servants entered only long enough to set down steaming water and folded garments.

Their eyes stayed lowered, their hands stayed distant.

No one touched me.

No one asked questions.

I bathed myself slowly, the water stung where my skin was tender, but I welcomed the pain—it was something I could understand, something that belonged to me.

I dressed with shaking hands, binding what I must, smoothing fabric into place. I stood before the mirror and practiced stillness until my face betrayed nothing at all.

I am still alive.

Still married.

Still lying.

And for the first time, I understood something with terrifying clarity— The lie did not end last night.

It had only just begun.