CHAPTER 4: Price Of Blood

Thorne

My command hung in the stale air. The grand throne room remained completely silent. The southern King sat frozen on his elevated chair, staring at me in sheer panic.

"Go," the King finally ordered, waving a frantic hand at the guards stationed near the doors. "Bring whoever is up there down here. Now."

Two armored guards broke rank and hurried up the narrow stone steps toward the hidden corridors.

A minute later, the muffled sound of a physical struggle echoed through the walls. A boot scraped loudly against the floorboards. I heard a sharp gasp, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting wood.

My jaw clenched. I heard the distinct sound of fabric tearing and one of the guards cursing sharply. She was actively fighting them.

As a military commander, I respected the instinct to fight an armed captor, but my patience for the southern guards was already non-existent.

It took rigid discipline to remain standing in the center of the hall instead of walking up those stairs to deal with the men for their incompetence. But I was the Alpha of the North. I did not show impatience, and I did not react to the noise.

The doors swung open and the two guards dragged her into the grand hall. She twisted her shoulders violently to break their tight grip on her arms.

She did not cry, and she did not plead. She fought them every step of the way until they forced her to stand directly between the two trembling princesses. They released her arms and quickly stepped back, breathing heavily.

I looked at her.

The contrast was immediate. The two other daughters wore expensive crimson silk, their bright blonde hair braided perfectly with jewels.

The struggling girl standing between them wore a simple, ash-stained dress. Her skin was a natural, striking pale color. Her hair was a dusty ashen shade that fell around her shoulders in a chaotic tangle. They shared no resemblance at all.

She stopped fighting the moment the guards let her go. She stood perfectly straight and tilted her chin up. Her hazel eyes locked directly onto mine.

Then, her scent hit me.

The scent rushed straight into my lungs, and the beast inside my chest violently slammed against my ribs.

Mate.

My wolf did not just recognize the scent; it demanded it. The biological imperative was absolute. My beast snarled internally, demanding I kill the two southern guards immediately for daring to put their hands on her.

I forced the feral urge down and buried it under years of cold, ruthless control. I did not let a single trace of the bond show on my face. I had marched my army into this rotting territory to assess a dying border, not to find a bride, but the reality of the situation was now permanently altered.

I studied her posture.

Despite being surrounded by armed men and standing in front of an invading Alpha, she did not lower her gaze. Her chest heaved from the struggle, but she remained completely defiant. Her hazel eyes rapidly analyzed my face, calculating my stance and my weapons.

A cold urge rose in my blood. I wanted to break that defiance. I wanted to apply pressure and see exactly what it took to make this stubborn girl finally break.

I took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us. The two blonde princesses shrieked quietly and shrank back. The girl with the ashen hair did not move a single inch.

"What is your name?" I asked.

She stared back at me. She pressed her pale lips together into a hard line. The silence stretched heavily between us.

I saw the defiance danced in her eyes. She wanted to ignore me. She looked into my eyes and whatever she had seen must have told her I was not a force to reckon with. I would not tolerate silence.

"Earlene," she muttered. Her voice was quiet, but it did not shake.

Earlene. The name settled into my mind.

Women always ran from me. My reputation for sheer brutality preceded me across the entire continent. I ruled the frozen North through absolute, uncompromising control.

Rival alphas sent trained assassins in the night, they never offered me brides. Women cowered in corners and wept loudly whenever I walked into a room. No one stood their ground in front of me.

But Earlene just watched me. I could smell her fear underneath the scent of rain and pine, but she outright refused to show it. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and it only made my beast more possessive.

"Alpha, you cannot be serious," the King interrupted, pushing himself out of his heavy chair. "You do not want her. I swear it to you."

I did not look at the King. I kept my eyes on Earlene. "Why do you say so?"

"She is illegitimate," the King stammered quickly, stepping down to the first marble step of the dais. "Her mother was a lowly servant. She possesses absolutely no value to a pack. I am offering you royal blood. Take Lecia or Leith. I beg of you. They are true princesses of the South. They will secure your borders."

Earlene did not flinch at her father's words. Her expression remained entirely guarded. She was completely used to this treatment.

I finally turned my head and looked at the King. He was a weak, pathetic man trying to bargain with things he no longer controlled.

He thought he had a choice in this matter. He did not realize that the moment Earlene’s scent hit my lungs, his entire kingdom became irrelevant to me. I was leaving with her, regardless of his answer.

I stepped closer to the dais. The guards gripped their swords tighter, but no one dared to move. They just watched me.

"I am not negotiating," I told the King. My voice was low, cold, and entirely lethal. "I will take the one with the ashen hair. You will give her to me right now, or let the beasts burn the South to ash today."

The throne room fell dead silent. The King stared at me. He opened and closed his mouth, searching for a counteroffer that did not exist. He looked at Earlene, then back at me. The reality of his situation crushed whatever remaining pride he had left.

The King slowly lowered his head. He nodded frantically, his shoulders slumping in total defeat. He waved a trembling hand in Earlene's direction, surrendering her completely.

The pact was sealed. She belonged to me.

"Pack her belongings," I commanded the room, turning my attention away from the broken King. "We leave in an hour."

My wolf roared in pure, unadulterated triumph. It demanded that I claim her immediately. It wanted me to cross the floor and mark her as mine in front of the entire court so that no man would ever look at her again. The violent urge was a sharp, agonizing pain in my blood.

I turned my back on her abruptly and walked toward the oak doors. I dug my sharp claws so deeply into the palms of my hands as I forced myself to walk out of the hall without touching her.