CHAPTER 2

LYRA

A crackling sound surrounds me.

It feels warm. Too warm for the middle of winter.

Everything aches. I have no idea where I am, but it’s far too comfortable to be my bed at the orphanage.

My head feels fuzzy. I blink, and a roaring fireplace comes into focus beside me. I’m lying on a couch in a small cabin furnished with another sofa, a chair, and a large red rug.

I’m alone. How did I get here?

The door opens and I jump up, ready to strike.

“Stay down,” a man’s voice orders. “You’re safe.”

I swallow hard. I won’t be at a stranger’s mercy. I size him up: he’s nearly a head taller than me, lean, gathering firewood.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I demand.

He meets my glare. “I want you to live.”

Live?

I don’t move.

“If I’d meant you harm, I could’ve left you in the snow.” He cocks an eyebrow. “I brought you here to save you.”

Slowly, I lower myself onto the couch. The man disappears and returns with a glass of water and a small bundle of herbs, setting them gently beside me. He leans against the hearth, arms crossed.

“My name is Dorian, former Beta to the Alpha King. Retired now.”

In this wasteland our world has become, those packs who survived joined together under the Alpha King’s rule. While the Alpha rules, the Council of Elders holds vast power. They are the ones overseeing the more practical decisions, like how the hierarchies are arranged, who has the most power and much-needed supplies, and who suffers for the greater good.

My pulse races. The Alpha King’s Beta—one of the most powerful men in our world—saved me. Why?

When I don’t sit up, he adds, “On my way back from training new soldiers, I found you unconscious. Do you believe in fate?”

“I—” I hesitate. “I’m not sure.”

He nods. “My daughter, Elena, was meant to attend Prince Zachary’s Luna Selection next week. But she ran away.”

Pain flashes in his eyes. I tighten my grip on the couch’s armrest. 

In spite of myself, I’m impressed by her conviction. If she’s caught, she’ll be killed for refusing.

He walks away again, reappearing with a framed portrait. Under the flickering firelight, Elena’s face mirrors mine—right down to the birthmark above her left eye, matching my scar. I gasp.

I got that scar in a fight years ago. For a long time, it gave the bullies in the orphanage an excuse to come after me.

“You could be her twin,” he says softly.

My mouth goes dry.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “What is your name?”

“Lyra,” I whisper. “Thank you for saving me. I—”

“You’re from the orphanage, yes?”

I nod.

“You can repay me by surviving the Selection,” he says. “Learn to be Elena, and you’ll rise above your station.”

I swallow.

The Luna Selection is the ceremony where the Alpha Prince chooses his bride. Though part of what Dorian says is true, he is omitting the danger I will be in.

Even cooped up in the orphanage, I heard about the rumor that he killed his first wife, just because she had displeased him.

Prince Zachary is as brutal as he is strong. He is cruel, cold and ruthless. Many call him a tyrant. If I do this, I could be walking to my own execution.

But returning to any orphanage means certain death too. This—this is my only chance.

I force the question out: “What happened to Prince Zachary’s last bride, Heather?”

Dorian’s eyes narrow. “She died of a rogue attack. We all mourned her.”

The official explanation given by the elders. Everyone knows that, yet many choose to believe the rumors.

That reminds me, there are also rumors that the king is sick. Maybe dying.

Is that why the Alpha Prince wants to get married again? The prince needs a Luna to be able to rule. Is Prince Zachary planning to ascend the throne so quickly?

I sigh, exhausted. Risk or not, I have to accept. I have no other choice.

When I meet Dorian’s eye, he smiles. He knows exactly what I’m going to do.

***

The next morning, Dorian and I discuss Elena’s favorites: foods, books, dances. Despite my injuries, I have to work quickly—the ceremony is in only two weeks.

Dorian hands me a mug. “She loves green tea with milk, but detests coffee.”

“I love coffee,” I grumble.

“At least give it a try.”

The next days are a flurry as we return to his household. We spend nearly every waking moment together, cramming for this final exam that is the Selection. For both Elena’s and my sakes, I need to be her. People need to be completely convinced. Otherwise, I will be punished, most likely executed, and they will hunt Elena down.

As we walk out to the large carriage that will take me to the Selection, Dorian says, “Thank you, Lyra. Truly. And take care of yourself.”

Summoning the soft-spoken way Elena talks, I reply, “I will.” I notice the approving glint in his eyes.

As I ride away, I think maybe I should have thanked him too. In some way, he is doing me a favor. I probably would already be dead if he didn't save me, but I still might wind up being Prince Zachary’s next victim.

It wasn’t a long journey. Wind tore at my cloak, and I steeled myself before stepping forward.

Theron, Zachary’s new Beta, escorts me personally. He didn’t speak as he effortlessly cleared our path. My muscles coiled and I fought the urge to bolt.

When we reach the palace, he nods to the guards. Their iron gauntlets clank as they push open the grand doors.

Flames dance along aged beams overhead, and the scent of aged wood mingles with the smoke from the roaring fire as we move through the hall. In the center, a cluster of girls in silks and satins swarm beneath golden chandeliers.

Theron drops his gaze and retreats, leaving me alone at the circle’s edge. 

I stand ramrod‑straight, loaned boots cold on the marble. Every pair of eyes sweeps over me. I force my shoulders back and steady my breath against rising panic.

As I walk inside the palace, I try to slow down and match my gait to the way Dorian taught me, the way Elena walks.

A harsh voice brings me back. “You must be joking.”

Looking around to see whom I have displeased, I realize the comment is not directed at me.

A young woman about my age in a striking red dress and large grey hat looms over another woman in a plain gray dress.

“Get out!” The woman in the red dress screams.

As I stride across the room, I know I’m going to intervene—I can’t allow another Jack to torment someone helpless.