3: Grace

Fern

I leave the pack house before anyone can stop me.

The halls are quiet at this hour, the stone floors cool beneath my bare feet as I slip through servant passages I know better than the Alpha wing. I don’t bother grabbing a cloak. The air outside bites, but I welcome it. Cold is easier than the heat burning beneath my skin, easier than the words still echoing in my head.

I am to be traded to Alpha Gaven of Blackmoor to secure an alliance with his pack.  I am to be traded like property.  Like cattle.

There is only one person that can save me from this, I just have to hope she will be willing to help me.  We haven’t exactly been close growing up.

There is only one place Grace would be.

The training yard is already alive when I reach it. Warriors move through drills with practiced ease, steel flashing in the early light. Wolves pace the perimeter, massive and powerful, their presence a reminder of everything I lack.

And at the center of it all, is Grace, my sister.

She stands with effortless authority, her hair black braided back, her posture straight and sure. Her wolf’s presence hums beneath her skin even in human form, something others sense instinctively. Warriors pause when she passes. Some smile. Others bow their heads.

She belongs here.

I hover at the edge of the yard, suddenly unsure. We were never close, not really. Not enemies, but not sisters either.  I have no reason to believe that she will help me.  No reason to think she will be on my side. Still, she is my sister. Blood should mean something.

Shouldn’t it?

It obviously means nothing to my mother and father, but surely Grace will help me.  She has to.  She is my last hope.

I step forward. “Grace.”

She turns, eyes sharp, already assessing me. For a moment, surprise flickers across her face, and then it is quickly smoothed away.

“Fern,” she says. Not unkind. Not warm. Just acknowledging a fact.

“I need to talk to you,” I raise my voice just above a whisper, trying to sound confident.

She studies me for a long moment, gaze flicking over my plain dress, my bare hands, the way I stand like someone prepared to retreat. Then she nods once and motions for me to follow.

We move to the edge of the yard, where the noise dulls. Grace crosses her arms, muscles taut beneath her skin, power coiled and ready. I have never looked like that. I never will.  My body is lean, but I have soft curves.  Curves that not even starvation could dull.  Grace looks like a warrior, and I look like a cupcake in comparison.

“They’ve decided to marry me off,” I say, because I don’t know how else to begin. “To Blackmoor.”

Her brows lift slightly. “I know.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

“You… what?”

“Father told me after council,” she says easily. “It’s a smart move.”

Smart.

I swallow. “Grace, it’s Gaven. Alpha Gaven.”

“I’m aware.”

“He’s dangerous,” I say, my voice tightening. “They say he killed his own father. That he…”

“That he rules effectively,” she interrupts. “Which is more than can be said for most Alphas who hesitate.”

I stare at her. “I’m scared.  I am not enough for him.  We both know that.  He will sense it as soon as he meets me.”

The admission tastes like weakness. I hate myself for offering it so freely. But she’s my sister. If I don’t say it to her, I don’t know who I could.

Grace exhales slowly, like she’s already tired of this conversation. “Fern,” she says, “this isn’t about you.”

I blink. “What?  Of course it is about me.  It is my life being traded.”

“This alliance secures our borders. It keeps us safe. It ensures stability.” Her gaze sharpens. “Father needs this.”

“I need help,” I say. “I can’t go to Blackmoor. I don’t have a wolf. I don’t even know how to…”

She cuts me off with a small shake of her head. “You’re not meant to be Luna.  You are just meant to warm his bed from time to time.  Give him an heir or two.”

There it is.  The truth, spoken without cruelty, but without compassion either. It what no one in the council meeting was brave enough to say allowed.

“But I am meant to be a Luna,” Grace continues, “I am meant to be Alpha. And this alliance makes that possible. Blackmoor’s support will silence any challenges. The elders will fall in line. I can take my rightful place.”

Understanding dawns slowly, bitter and heavy.  I am being traded so she can rise to power. 

“You’re relieved,” I say.

Grace doesn’t deny it.

“This is how packs survive,” she says. “Personal feelings can’t matter.”

Personal feelings. 

I have always put my personal feelings aside.   I think of all the times I was scrubbing floors while she trained. Of watching her rise while I disappeared. Of how easily she stands here now, untouched by fear.

“You won’t help me,” I say quietly.

She hesitates, just for a fraction of a second. Not enough to matter.  Not even long enough to pretend she is thinking about it.

“No,” she says. “I won’t.”

The finality of it leaves my chest hollow.

“I hope you find a way to endure it,” she adds, as if that makes it better. “You always have.”

I take a step back. Then another, but she doesn’t care.

Grace is already turning away, attention returning to the warriors waiting for her commands. Within moments, I am no longer part of her world.

I stand there long after she’s gone, the sounds of training ringing in my ears. The scar on my thigh pulses faintly, a dull echo of something I don’t yet understand.

Blood, it turns out, doesn’t mean loyalty.  It just means proximity, and I have never been close enough to matter.