Chapter 2 — Chains in the Courtyard

The great hall dazzled beneath crystal chandeliers, but every sparkle struck Ophelia like gravel. She slipped along the wall with a tray of goblets, head bowed, while nobles in silver-embroidered cloaks swooped past.

At the dais, Beta Hawthorne raised his voice. “Witness, Moonfang Pack, the bond between our Alpha and my daughter!”

Applause thundered. Ophelia’s fingers twitched around the tray.

Caroline descended the marble stairs in a gown of moon-white silk. She caught Dylan’s arm, whispering loud enough for half the room, “Ready to make me yours?”

Dylan’s smile gleamed. “Let the moon and the pack bear witness.”

Beside the banquet table, maid Maeve hissed, “Ophie, drink?” She nudged a glass toward Ophelia’s pale lips.

Ophelia shook her head. “If I taste wine, I’ll spill it.”

The reverend elder began the binding rite. Incense curled upward; silver braid wound around Dylan and Caroline’s joined wrists.

Ophelia’s vision swam. *That braid should be mine… no, it should never have been anyone’s.* She pivoted to retreat—then a shrill voice blocked her.

“Well, if it isn’t our little dreamer.” Lila, the head seamstress, smirked with two other maids at her back. “Still think Alphas marry scullery girls?”

“I never thought that,” Ophelia muttered.

“Tell that to the sheets you warmed.” Another maid, Briony, snickered. “We heard him visit your attic more nights than the mice.”

“You lie.” Lila’s grin spread. “She *invited* him. Climbing higher than your station always ends with a fall.”

Ophelia’s cheeks burned. She stepped away—straight into Caroline, who had finished the rite and now glowed with triumph.

“Spying on private vows, Ophelia?” Caroline’s voice dripped honey. “Or plotting to sour my celebration?”

Ophelia curtsied. “I serve the wine, my lady. Nothing more.”

Caroline’s smile turned thin. “Nothing more—that’s the first truth you’ve spoken.” Her gaze landed on the bruises Ophelia tried to hide beneath her sleeve. “Perhaps a lesson is due. You… and you,” she pointed at Lila and Briony, “escort our maid to the courtyard post. Ten lashes for insolence.”

Gasps rippled. Maeve blurted, “My lady, the engagement feast—”

“Will be sweeter with discipline,” Caroline snapped.

---

Night air bit Ophelia’s skin as she was dragged outside. Snowflakes swirled, settling on the courtyard like quiet judges.

Briony tied Ophelia’s wrists to the whipping post. “Sorry,” she whispered, but pulled the knot tight.

Caroline stood before the assembled staff, lashes coiled in her hand. “Since our dear Alpha is occupied greeting allies, I’ll administer justice.”

A hush fell. Ophelia faced the cold stone wall, chin high.

Caroline’s first strike cracked like frozen branches. Pain flared across Ophelia’s back; she bit her lip, determined not to scream.

Second. Third. Voices around her merged with the rush in her ears.

On the fourth lash a deep voice cut through: “Enough.”

Dylan strode into the circle, cloak billowing. His gaze swept over Caroline, the whip, the blood trickling down Ophelia’s dress. For a heartbeat, regret flickered in his eyes—then vanished.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Caroline presented the whip like a trophy. “Discipline, my love. She insulted the Luna.”

Ophelia dared a whisper. “I spoke no insult.”

Caroline’s laugh rang. “Silence, maid.”

Dylan’s jaw clenched. “Finish it quickly. The ambassadors await.”

Hope died in Ophelia’s chest. She bowed her head, bracing—

Caroline kissed Dylan softly—right there, inches from Ophelia’s tethered hands—before delivering the final strokes herself. Ten. Eleven, for good measure.

The crowd dispersed; snowflakes buried the crimson drops. Briony cut Ophelia free, guilt heavy in her eyes.

Maeve rushed forward with a cloak. “Lean on me.”

Ophelia swayed. “Has he truly forgotten every promise?”

“He’s blind,” Maeve whispered. “Not heartless—just blind.”

---

Hours later Ophelia sat by the infirmary hearth, shirt stripped, wounds salved with stingwort. Maeve poured warm broth.

A horn blast split the hush. Lieutenant Griff burst in, armor rattling. “War drums on the frontier! Ironclaw banners sighted.”

Dylan appeared behind him, eyes blazing. “Summon the council. Ready every spear.”

Ophelia flinched, forgetting the salve; pain seared.

Dylan’s gaze flicked to her bandaged back, then away. “Can you walk?”

“I can serve,” she answered, voice steady despite the throbbing.

“Good,” he muttered, already turning. “The pack needs every able hand.”

The door slammed. Maeve sighed. “He can’t see past the fire he started.”

Ophelia tightened the cloak around her shoulders. *If battle comes, wounds won’t matter. Only courage will.* She rose. “Let’s prepare the war room.”

---

In the strategy chamber, tension snapped like bowstrings. Dylan marked maps. “Ironclaw numbers exceed ours two to one.”

Beta Hawthorne advised, “Request reinforcements from Silverpine.”

“No time,” Dylan growled. “We hold the river passes ourselves.”

Caroline glided in, cloak of white fox whenever Dylan faltered. “Remember the poison arrows they favor. Keep shield lines tight.” She cast Ophelia a smirk. “Fetch ink, *maid*.”

Ophelia set the inkwell beside Dylan’s hand. His knuckles brushed hers—an accidental spark. He didn’t look up.

Caroline linked her arm through his. “Come, love, rest before dawn. Even Alphas need sleep.”

Dylan relented, exhaustion shadowing his face. “Council adjourned until first light.”

As they exited, Caroline’s satisfied whisper drifted back: “Once Ironclaw falls, nothing will threaten us—or our little secret.”

Ophelia’s breath caught. *Secret?* Before she could ponder, thunder rattled the windows… no, not thunder—war drums echoing over distant hills.

Lieutenant Griff barked orders. “Archers to the ramparts! Healers prep triage!”

Maeve tugged Ophelia’s sleeve. “To the infirmary. We’ll need bandages.”

Ophelia followed—but paused at the doorway, staring after Dylan’s retreating form. Beneath the cloak that still warmed her bruised shoulders, a smaller heartbeat fluttered.

She whispered to the unseen child, “Hold on. I’ll protect you, even if the world ends tonight.”

Outside, the first Ironclaw horns howled. Inside, Ophelia clenched her fists, resolve hardening like steel in winter.

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