Chapter 5

Vira's POV 

The wind was just blowing needles of ice against my face until my eyes watered and burned. The massive black warhorse beneath us plodded forward through three-foot snowdrifts, its broad, muscular shoulders straining with every heavy step upward.

I sat stiffly wedged between Gryfyn’s broad thighs, my soft back pressed flat against the rock-hard wall of his chest.

 His heavy leather cloak was wrapped tightly around us both, trapping me inside a suffocating cocoon of scorching heat and his dark, intoxicating scent of pine needles, crushed slate, and raw Alpha male.

His thick, tattooed left arm was locked across my midriff like an iron bar, his broad palm resting flat over the right side of my waist, pinning my full hips against his saddle frame so tightly that every movement of the horse slammed my soft seat against his dense muscle.

 His right hand held the leather reins, his arm brushing constantly against my bare, rounded shoulder through the gaping tear in my sister's silk dress.

My fingers clutched the brass saddle horn until my knuckles turned white, my teeth clicking together from the freezing wind whipping past my cheeks. Every time Gryfyn’s horse took a sharp step over a hidden rock, my body shifted, my lush curves sliding against his hard thighs.

A low, dangerous growl rattled deep within Gryfyn’s broad chest, vibrating through my spine.

"Stop moving, Vira," Gryfyn growled right into my ear, his deep, gravelly voice cutting through the whistling wind. "You are throwing off the horse's balance on the ice."

"I am not moving on purpose," I forced out through my clenched jaw, my voice shaking from the cold. "Your horse is stumbling over the rocks, and your arm is crushing my ribs."

"If I loosen my grip by an inch, the wind will yank you off this saddle and throw you fifty feet down the granite gorge," Gryfyn replied flatly, his thick arm tightening its hold over my waist until I could barely expand my lungs. "Hold your tongue and keep your eyes on the path ahead."

I swallowed the bitter retort rising in my throat, glaring into the blinding white storm. Through the swirling gray haze, massive, jagged shapes began to carve themselves out of the cliffside ahead.

 High up on the sheer granite face of the mountain stood the formidable black stone towers of the Iron Moon Citadel. It was vast, ancient, and utterly terrifying, rising out of the snow like an iron fortress built to swallow anyone foolish enough to cross its threshold.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a sharp spike of terror piercing through my bitter pride.

The warhorse picked up its pace as we crossed the heavy, timber drawbridge spanning the deep mountain chasm. Below us, jagged ice spikes gleamed in the dark abyss, but Gryfyn did not even slow down.

 The heavy iron gates of the citadel creaked open, the massive iron-reinforced doors grinding against stone as we rode into the dark, vaulted courtyard.

Dozens of broad Northern warriors dressed in thick black furs and iron chest plates stood lined up along the stone walls, their sharp, scar-marked faces turning to look at us as Gryfyn pulled his warhorse to a sharp halt near the main mounting block.

"My King!" Kaelen’s voice called out as he rode his own horse through the gate behind us, dismounting swiftly. "The council elders are waiting in the Great Hall. Cassian has already summoned the pack guards to witness the return."

Gryfyn did not answer him immediately. He unwrapped the heavy leather cloak from around my shoulders, exposing my shivering, disheveled frame to the cold stares of his men.

 The torn, powder-smeared silver gown hung loosely off my body, revealing my bare, goosebump-covered shoulders, my messy raven hair, and the full, heavy curve of my waist where the side seam had completely burst open.

Quiet, judgmental murmurs broke out among the assembled warriors. I held my chin high, my hazel eyes flashing with sharp, icy defiance as I looked down at them, refusing to bow my head or cover my body under their judging eyes.

Gryfyn’s golden eyes flicked across the crowd, taking in their whispers, before his jaw set into a razor-sharp, lethal line. Without a word of warning, his big hands grabbed my waist, lifting my heavy body clean off the saddle frame. He swung me down, dropping me unceremoniously onto the cold, frosted flagstones of the courtyard.

My bare, cold feet hit the hard stone, a sharp pain shooting up my ankles as my balance failed. I stumbled sideways, my silk skirts tangling around my calves, but before I could crash onto the flags, Gryfyn dismounted in one smooth, powerful motion, his broad hand shooting out to grab my upper arm with an iron grip that held me upright.

The mate bond flared violently through my veins at his touch, a sudden bolt of heat burning through the freezing cold, but Gryfyn shoved me forward toward the iron-reinforced oak doors leading into the main keep.

"Move," Gryfyn ordered coldly, his voice booming across the silent courtyard, shutting down the whispers of his warriors in a single heartbeat.

"Is this where you lock your hostage away?" I asked, my voice raw and breathless as I stumbled forward over the uneven stone, my bare feet numb against the frost. "Or do I get a proper trial before you put me in chains?"

"You get no trial, substitute," Gryfyn growled behind me, his heavy leather boots thudding softly against the floorboards as he escorted me into the vast, high-ceilinged stone hall. "You are here to answer for your house. Nothing more."

The Great Hall was vast, cold, and lit only by flickering iron braziers lined up along thick granite pillars. At the far end of the room stood a high wooden dais holding two heavy stone thrones carved with the image of roaring wolves. Standing at the foot of the dais was an elderly, sharp-faced wolf with long gray hair and cold, calculating dark eyes, wearing the fine woolen robes of a high council elder.

Elder Cassian stepped forward, his dark gaze raking over my torn gown, my messy hair, and the soft, rounded shape of my hips with open disgust.

"My Lord Alpha," Cassian said, his voice echoing off the high stone arches like dry leaves scraping against wood. "We received word from the border. Is this the bride promised by Lord Lynx? Where is the eldest daughter, Elara? Why have you brought this... soft substitute into our citadel?"

Gryfyn stepped up beside me, his towering frame casting a massive shadow over the floor, his Alpha aura flaring so heavy and dense that the air in the hall grew stifling. He did not put his hand on my back. He did not step in front of me to hide my ruined dress from the elder's sharp eyes.

"Elara Lynx fled her home at dawn like a coward," Gryfyn declared, his voice flat, brutal, and absolute. "Lord Lynx attempted to deceive my pack by putting a veil over this woman's head."

Cassian’s thin lips curled into a bitter, dangerous sneer. "Then it is an insult to the Iron Moon! Execute her, My King! Put her head on the border post to show the Southern packs what happens when they mock our blood!"

My breath hitched in my throat, my fingers tightening into fists at my sides, but I stood my ground, staring straight into Cassian's cold eyes without flinching.

Gryfyn took a slow, deliberate step toward the elder, his dark golden eyes narrowing into lethal, predatory slits that made Cassian instantly back up a half-step.

"I do not take orders from you, Cassian," Gryfyn growled, his voice dropping into a low register that made the iron braziers flicker violently. "Her family's lands are seized. Their granaries are mine. 

And this woman remains here as my personal prisoner. If anyone in this citadel touches a single hair on her head without my express command, I will rip their throat out with my bare teeth."

Cassian swallowed hard, his face turning pale, but he bowed his head quickly. "As the Alpha commands."

Gryfyn turned back to face me, his cold, uncompromising gaze sweeping over my face, taking in the fierce, stubborn glare in my hazel eyes. He stepped closer, his heavy shadow completely engulfing me.

"Take her to the West Tower," Gryfyn commanded, looking toward two heavy-set female guards standing near the doors. "Lock her in the high cell. Strip her of that pathetic silk, put her in plain wool, and place two armed guards outside her door day and night. She does not step out of that tower without my written order."

"Yes, My King," the female guards answered, stepping forward to grab my arms.

I looked up into Gryfyn’s glowing golden eyes, my jaw locked tight, my chin raised high as the guards pinned my arms behind my back.

"You can lock me in your highest tower, Gryfyn," I whispered, my voice carrying a quiet, sharp malice that cut straight through the cold air between us. "You can put me in wool and surround me with iron. But I will never bow to you, and I will never be your broken hostage."

Gryfyn stared down at me, his sharp chest rising and falling hard, his jaw flexed so tightly I heard his teeth grind together, but he did not utter a single word of rebuttal as the guards yanked me backward, dragging me toward the cold stone stairs of the West Tower.