Chapter 2

Vira's POV 

The iron ring around my wrist felt less like an Alpha’s grip and more like a heavy shackle binding me to a sentence I had not earned. Gryfyn did not speak another word as he dragged me down the chapel steps. 

He moved with a broad, relentless stride that forced me to take two quick, breathless steps for every one of his, my borrowed satin skirts tangling violently around my knees until the seam near my left hip let out a sharp, audible tear.

A few gathered nobles gasped, but Gryfyn did not even slow down. He dragged me across the courtyard’s frozen cobblestones, his heavy leather cloak snapping in the mountain wind like a black banner.

"Slow down," I forced out, my lungs burning as the tight whalebone stays of the corset crushed my ribs. I dug my heels into the frosted mud, trying to pull against his grip. "I cannot keep pace with you in this dress."

Gryfyn halted so abruptly that I nearly slammed into the broad, iron-clad wall of his back.

 He turned slowly, his tall frame blocking out the pale winter sun, casting me entirely in his dark shadow. 

His golden eyes were flat, cold, and devoid of a single drop of warmth as he looked down at my disheveled hair and the pale, powdered skin of my trembling face.

"You are not a guest on a stroll, substitute," Gryfyn said, his voice dropping into a harsh, gravelly rasp that cut through the whistling mountain wind. "You are a hostage taken from a lying house. You will keep up, or I will drag you."

"I am a human being, not a dog on a leash," I spat back, my hazel eyes flashing with a sudden, bitter heat that defied the icy fear rattling my spine. I lifted my chin, holding his terrifying glare despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. 

"If you want to parade me across your border as a trophy of your anger, at least have the decency to let me breathe."

Gryfyn’s eyebrows pulled together into a sharp, dangerous line. He stepped closer, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, controlled beats that contrasted sharply with my ragged breathing. 

He did not look at me with curiosity or intrigue; he looked at me like an unwelcome debt he was forced to collect.

"Decency is reserved for honorable allies," Gryfyn growled low in his chest, his large, calloused hand reaching out to grab my shoulder with an iron grip that held me completely still. His golden eyes raked over the deep, painful red indentations where the tight lace collar was cutting into my neck. 

"Your father traded my pack's honor for a cheap lie. You wear the gown of a runaway coward, and until I drag your sister back to answer for her insult, you carry the weight of her deceit."

"I had nothing to do with her escape!" I demanded, my voice raw as I tried to twist my shoulder out of his hold, but his broad fingers remained locked into my skin like granite.

 "I spent my morning in the back gardens! My parents forced me into this room, jammed their knees into my spine, and forced this dress over my body because they were terrified of your temper!"

"And yet here you stand, wearing the silver ring," Gryfyn retorted flatly, his dark gaze dropping to my left hand where the heavy gold-and-silver wedding band sat loosely on my finger. He reached down, his thick fingers grabbing my wrist again, turning my palm upward.

The moment his bare skin touched mine, the sacred mate bond flared through my blood like a drop of oil hitting a hot ember.

 A sharp, agonizing shock wave of heat tore up my arm, making my wolf let out a desperate, shameful whine in the back of my mind. 

I flinched, trying to yank my hand away from the burning electric current running between us, but Gryfyn only tightened his grip, his own jaw clenching hard as his golden eyes flashed with a sudden, volatile anger.

He felt it too. And he hated it just as much as I did.

"Do not try to play the innocent victim with me," Gryfyn growled, his voice tight, rough, and laced with a deep, territorial fury that made the air around us grow heavy. 

He shoved my hand back down to my side as if touching me burned him. "Your wolf may be calling to mine through the blood oath, but I do not take orders from a bond forged on a lie. You are nothing to me but a leverage piece."

"Good," I gasped out, my cheeks flushing dark crimson with a mixture of shame and fury as I rubbed my wrist where his fingers had left pale marks against my skin.

 "Because I would rather rot in your coldest cellar than ever have a man like you claim me as his mate."

A low, dangerous growl vibrated from the depths of Gryfyn’s broad chest, a sound so dark and primal that two of his nearby war guards visibly stiffened, their hands dropping to the pommels of their broadswords. 

Gryfyn stared at me for three long, agonizing seconds, his heavy chest heaving, his sharp jaw flexed so hard I heard his teeth grind together.

"You want a cellar?" Gryfyn whispered, his tone dropping into a deadly, razor-sharp edge that made my blood freeze solid. "Kaelen!"

The scarred head warrior immediately stepped forward, bowing his head in a sharp, disciplined salute. "My King."

"Put her in the heavy iron carriage," Gryfyn ordered, turning his back on me completely as if I were no longer worth his gaze. "Lock the outer bars. She gets no furs, no wine, and no company until we reach the Northern Citadel."

"Gryfyn!" I yelled, my voice breaking over the wind as two heavy, armored Northern guards stepped on either side of me, their iron-gloved hands gripping my elbows with unyielding force.

Gryfyn didn't even turn around. He strode toward his massive warhorse, his dark velvet coat snapping behind him as he swung his broad frame into the heavy leather saddle with dark, practiced grace. "If she faints from her tight dress on the trail, throw a bucket of mountain water over her face to wake her up. We do not stop for political prisoners."

The guards shoved me forward, forcing my stumble across the frozen mud toward a narrow, dark wooden carriage reinforced with cold iron bars over the small windows. 

It was not a luxury carriage meant for a royal bride; it was an armored transport built to hold high-value captives.

"Step up, lady," the guard on my right growled, his voice gruff and devoid of pity as he yanked open the heavy oak door.

I gripped the wooden frame, my knuckles turning stark white as I hoisted my heavy, silk-bound body up the steep step. 

The seams along the back of my borrowed dress let out another loud, violent rip, the stiff bone stays popping out from the lining and digging directly into the soft flesh of my rib cage. Pain flared sharp across my side, but I bit my lower lip until I tasted the copper tang of blood, refusing to let out a single groan.

I fell onto the hard, unpadded wooden bench inside the shadowed cabin. The heavy door slammed shut behind me with a sickening, iron-clad thud, and the heavy bolt slid into place from the outside, locking me into near-total darkness.

The carriage lurched violently forward, the unyielding wooden wheels slamming against the rocky mountain trail. I was thrown sideways, my shoulder crashing hard against the rough timber wall as the carriage began its long, frozen journey toward the Iron Moon Citadel.

I pulled my knees toward my chest, my hands shaking violently as I clutched the torn, ruined silver silk of my sister's dress.

 The air inside the iron box was already biting cold, creeping through the cracks in the floorboards and chilling my bare skin beneath the thin fabric.

I looked through the narrow, iron-barred window, watching the silhouette of Alpha King Gryfyn Black riding ahead on his massive black warhorse, his broad back rigid and unmoving against the bleak, snowy horizon.

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting a single, silent tear fall down my cheek into the white powder on my face, before wiping it away with the back of my hand. 

I would not break. I would not beg him for mercy. If Gryfyn Black wanted a war with his substitute bride, I would make sure he paid for every single inch of ground he tried to take.