7 The Decision of the Chief

First of all — what kind of “situation with Miko” are we talking about?

And second — what does he mean, “untouched”?!

But I don’t dare to voice either question when I notice how the chief’s gaze changes. He no longer looks hostile — there’s curiosity in his eyes now, almost interest.

“You’re right, Dil,” the leader says thoughtfully, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “She’ll be perfect!”

“For what exactly will I be perfect?” I finally find my voice.

“As a candidate to become our king’s bride,” the ruler announces, and my jaw nearly drops. “Each year, from every settlement across the kingdom’s lands, one maiden is chosen as a potential queen for our ruler. For many years now, our king, Karadeylis, has failed to find himself a wife. This time, the scouts of brides chose my daughter, Miko. But you’ll replace her. You’re young, beautiful, and pure — there should be no problem with the substitution.”

“And what’s wrong with your daughter becoming queen?” I ask, completely failing to grasp the panic in his voice. I mean, any girl would dream of such an opportunity, and here they act like it’s a tragedy.

I notice Dil tense up, letting out a displeased growl, but Manar cuts him off.

“I love my daughters dearly,” he says, his tone softening. “And Miko does not wish to share the fate of a queen. She and Dildan are in love — their wedding was already planned before the king’s scouts arrived and chose her.”

“Well then,” I suggest reasonably, “maybe the king won’t like her. Maybe they won’t have anything in common, and Miko will come back home. I assume there are several candidates, right? So why all the panic?”

“That’s for you to deal with now,” Manar snaps sharply, his tone rising with authority. “Miko stays here and will be married in a month. Dil, take Naziza to Alaya and assign guards so she doesn’t run away. If the werewolves get wind of her, they’ll snatch her — and our whole plan will be ruined.”

“Werewolves?!” I stare at the men, wide-eyed, certain I’ve misheard them — but they continue their discussion as if my horrified outburst never happened.

“Let Alaya take care of our guest and make her presentable,” the pack leader said with a grimace, his eyes flicking with clear disdain to my short Minnie Mouse pajama set.

“Hey! Does anyone plan to ask me whether I want this?!” I burst out, my voice trembling with outrage. “This is literally a crime — a violation of my rights!”

Both men stared at me in stunned silence for a second, then exchanged glances — and suddenly burst out laughing like a pair of wild horses.

Great. Just great. So much for human rights. Clearly, this place has never even heard of them. A bunch of savages!

The only small comfort was that, for now, they seemed to need me alive and intact — no one was going to attack or kill me. But the future… that was another story. Something was definitely off, and I didn’t have to be a genius to realize they weren’t telling me everything.

If only I could run… but where to? I didn’t know this world at all — its people, its customs, or even which way was safe.

Dil led me out of the chief’s house and down the street to a small, cozy-looking home. In front of it, a dark-haired woman in her fifties was busy tending to a flower bed.

“Alaya, this is Naziza,” Dil announced in his usual curt tone. “Manar ordered you to get her ready for the king’s scouts’ arrival. Until then, she’ll stay with you. Keep an eye on her — the guards will be here soon.”

He said it sharply, leaving no room for discussion. The woman — with the most stunningly blue eyes — looked me over with a mix of curiosity and sympathy.

“All right, Dildan. I understand,” she replied quietly, brushing the dirt off her hands and offering me a kind smile. She gestured toward the house. I followed her obediently, while Dil whispered something to her before leaving.

As soon as we stepped inside, a warm, homey smell of baking and something delicious reached my nose, making my stomach growl in betrayal. The interior was cozy and comforting — it actually felt like home.

“My name is Alaya,” the woman said with a gentle smile. “And you must be starving. Let’s fix that first.”

She guided me to a big wooden table in the kitchen and began bustling around. I couldn’t help but notice something that looked suspiciously like a refrigerator. It turned out to be a small chamber — when Alaya opened it, a chill breeze brushed my legs. So maybe this world wasn’t as primitive as it looked. I wondered… did they have electricity too?

A few minutes later, she placed before me a meal that smelled heavenly — though I had no idea what it was made of — and a steaming cup of what looked like tea.

“You’re definitely not from around here,” Alaya said kindly, sitting across from me and watching my cautious curiosity.

“No, I’m not,” I admitted, deciding it was better not to go into detail that I wasn’t just from another region… but from another world. Who knows, maybe they’d burn me at the stake for that.