Chapter 3

Vira's POV 

The doors of the carriage door rattled with every violent lurch over the frozen mountain track, sending sharp vibrations straight through the unpadded wooden bench and into my spine.

 Snow swept in through the narrow, iron-barred slits near the ceiling, dusting my bare shoulders with bitter frost that made my skin break out in deep goosebumps.

I clutched my arms across my chest, trying to hold in whatever little body warmth I had left. The broken whalebone stays of my sister's dress continued to poke directly into the soft flesh of my waist, every sudden jolt pushing the stiff plastic edge deeper into my skin like a dull knife.

 My ribs throbbed with a dull, sickening ache, the tight silk corset binding my chest so severely that every breath felt like dragging broken glass into my lungs.

Outside, the steady, rhythmic thud of Gryfyn’s warhorse kept pace right beside my door.

I leaned my head back against the cold timber wall, closing my eyes as my teeth chattered uncontrollably. I refused to call out. I refused to bang my fists against the oak paneling to beg for a blanket or a pair of shears to cut the suffocating laces.

 Gryfyn wanted to break me. He wanted the heavy, overlooked daughter of Lord Lynx to drop to her knees and sob for his mercy so he could feel justified in treating my whole family like treasonous dogs.

A loud, sharp crack echoed from beneath the carriage floorboards as the right wheel slammed into a deep frozen rut in the trail.

The heavy transport tilted violently to the side, throwing my body across the narrow cabin. My temple hit the iron window frame with a dull, painful thud, making dark spots dance across my vision as I slid onto the dirty wooden floorboards. The carriage lurched to a grinding halt, the panicked whinnies of the draught horses echoing through the thin walls alongside the sharp curses of the Northern guards.

"The axle is cracked, My King!" Kaelen’s voice shouted from somewhere outside over the howling wind. "The wheel is jammed deep into the ice trench! We need to hoist the carriage out before the timber snaps completely!"

Footsteps crunched heavily through the crusty snow, approaching the door of my iron cage. The heavy iron bolt slid back with a loud, metallic rasp, and the door was yanked open, letting a wave of freezing mountain air blow straight into the dark cabin.

Gryfyn stood on the running board, his broad shoulders blocking out the gray afternoon light. His dark leather cloak was dusted with fresh snow, his thick black hair windblown over his forehead, making his sharp, sculpted face look as unforgiving as the granite peaks surrounding us. 

His dark golden eyes swept over the interior, landing on me as I struggled to pull myself back up onto the bench, my hands slick with ice on the floorboards.

"Out," Gryfyn ordered, his voice flat, deep, and razor-sharp.

I pressed my back against the bench, holding my torn silk skirts over my exposed waist as I glared up at him. "Why? Is the cell not cold enough for your liking?"

Gryfyn’s jaw flexed, a small, dangerous muscle twitching near his ear. He didn't answer my question. He simply reached into the cabin, his broad, calloused hand reaching down to grab my forearm with a grip that left zero room for argument.

"I said out, Vira," Gryfyn growled, hauling me up from the floor with an effortless pull of his broad shoulder. "The carriage is leaning at a thirty-degree angle. If the axle snaps while you are inside, the whole box will slide down the ravine with you in it."

The moment his bare fingers locked around my wrist, the mate bond surged through my skin like a wild electrical current, firing straight up my arm and slamming into my heart. My wolf let out a sharp, desperate whimpering sound in my mind, making my breath hitch as a sudden, shameless heat flared through my lower stomach.

I tried to yank my arm back from his touch, but Gryfyn’s grip only tightened, his golden eyes flashing with a sudden, dark volatile heat as he felt the bond snap between us again. He let out a low, harsh breath through his teeth, pulling me forward until I was forced to step out of the carriage door into the deep, knee-high snowbank below.

My thin satin slippers sank instantly into the freezing slush. The icy water soaked straight through the delicate fabric, chilling my toes until they went completely numb within three seconds. A violent shudder wracked my entire frame, my jaw clicking together so hard my teeth ached.

Gryfyn dropped my wrist instantly, stepping back as if touching me had burned his broad palm. He turned his attention to Kaelen and three other broad guards who were already shoving heavy timber beams under the carriage axle to lift the iron box out of the ice.

"How long does it take to repair the wheel?" Gryfyn asked, his voice cold and businesslike, completely ignoring the way I was shivering beside him.

"At least two hours, My Lord," Kaelen replied, wiping sweat and melted snow from his scarred forehead. "The iron band around the rim is bent. We have to forge it back into shape over a portable brazier before we can move the horses."

Gryfyn cursed low under his breath, his heavy gaze darting toward the steep mountain pass ahead. Dark, heavy storm clouds were rolling over the granite ridges, promising a severe blizzard before nightfall.

"We do not have two hours," Gryfyn said flatly. He turned back toward me, his golden eyes tracking the way my broad, soft shoulders were violently shaking beneath the ruined silk dress. The back of the gown gaped open entirely where he had cut the veil, exposing the bare skin of my spine to the biting wind.

He let out a sharp, irritated sigh, his hands moving to the heavy silver clasp at the front of his neck. With a swift motion, Gryfyn unbuckled his massive, bear-fur-lined leather cloak, stripping the heavy, dark garment off his broad shoulders.

I backed up a step into the snow, my eyes narrowing. "I do not want your charity."

"It is not charity, substitute," Gryfyn snapped, stepping forward and throwing the heavy, warm cloak over my shoulders with enough force to make me stagger. "It is useful. If you freeze to death on the side of a mountain road, your father will claim I murdered my hostage, and I will have to waste three weeks answering politically motivated inquiries from the Southern High Council."

The heavy fur cloak wrapped around me like a thick, warm blanket, instantly cutting off the howling mountain wind. The inside of the leather was scorching hot, saturated completely with Gryfyn’s dark, intoxicating scent of fresh pine needles, crushed slate, and pure Alpha male. My inner wolf let out a quiet, contented purr that made my cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, making me hate myself for taking comfort in his smell.

Before I could pull the edges of the cloak together over my chest, Gryfyn’s eyes dropped to my waist. Through the gaping tear in the side seam of my dress, he saw the deep, jagged red gouge where the broken whalebone stayed, digging directly into my side, leaving a smear of dark blood against my pale skin.

Gryfyn froze. His golden eyes locked onto the blood, his nostrils flaring wide as the scent of my fresh wound hit the cold air.

A sudden, terrifying aura burst off his frame, so heavy and dense that the guards nearby paused their work, looking up in alarm. Gryfyn took a slow, deliberate step toward me, his broad chest heaving, his sharp jaw locked tight.

"You are bleeding," Gryfyn growled, his voice dropping into a dark, guttural register that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"It is nothing," I said, my voice shaking as I pulled the heavy leather cloak tightly around my waist to hide the tear from his view. "The dress broke when your guards shoved me into the carriage."

Gryfyn reached out, his thick, long fingers grabbing the edges of the cloak and yanking them back open. He didn't ask for permission. His broad, calloused hand reached directly into the tear, his rough fingers brushing against my bare skin as he grabbed the plastic bone sticking out from the satin lining.

"Do not touch me!" I gasped, my small hand flying up to slap at his heavy forearm, but his muscle was like striking a solid block of iron.

Gryfyn ignored my hand completely. With a swift, harsh yank of his wrist, he ripped the sharp piece of broken whalebone straight out of the fabric, tossing the bloody stay onto the snow at his feet. His thumb remained pressed flat against my bare side, right beside the bleeding gouge, his rough skin so hot it felt like a branding iron against my freezing body.

His golden eyes lifted to meet mine, burning with a fierce, possessive anger that made my pulse jump erratically in my throat.

"You knew this stay was stabbing you when you climbed into that box," Gryfyn growled, his thumb dragging across my skin, wiping away the faint smear of blood with a heavy, deliberate pressure. "Why did you not say something?"

"Because I would rather bleed in silence than ask a tyrant for help," I spat, holding his blazing gaze despite the overwhelming physical current pulsing through my blood where his thumb touched my waist.

Gryfyn stared down at me, his sharp chest rising and falling hard against his dark tunic, his jaw working as if he were fighting back a roar of pure frustration.

"You are a stubborn, foolish woman, Vira," Gryfyn whispered, his voice dangerously low as his big hand tightened around my hip, holding my soft frame anchored against his side in the snow. "And if you think this pride will save you in the North, you are sorely mistaken."